The Dressmaker (6 page)

“Everybody, at some point or another, is a threat,” Lucile said, patting powder lightly across her nose and cheekbones. “That’s why I must keep them all on their toes. It’s an act, Tess. And it has worked so far.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly almost watery. “I know what you want, and I’m going to try to help you get there. But it takes more than talent.”

“Thank you,” Tess said.

“So when will I get those references you promised?” Lucile asked abruptly, turning back to her dressing table, reaching now for a bottle of crimson nail polish.

“References?” Tess could only imagine the anger of the mistress of the house she had fled in Cherbourg, who would certainly have nothing good to say about her. References? There were none. Surely Madame had sensed that.

Lucile looked up from dabbing lacquer onto her nails and laughed. “You should see your face, Tess. Don’t worry, I’m not interested in references—I was just playing with you. Tell me more about your life. I’m curious—not many a young woman would have jumped to leave her country on a minute’s notice as fast as you did. Why?”

“I actually planned it. For a long time.”

“Were you running away from something?” Lucile asked lightly.

“Just cleaning closets and toilets. And not getting paid for my real work.”

“Any regrets?”

“Absolutely none.” Tess said this with such fervor that Lucile laughed again.

“Well, that’s good, because my brain is busy cutting you into pattern pieces. What do you think of that? We’re going to stitch a new
Tess Collins together. Maybe we’ll find a way to hone those sewing skills of yours.”

“I will do my best, truly.”

“I’m quite sure you will.” Lucile covered a yawn with her hand. “Now if you don’t mind, as soon as this polish dries I’m going to take a short nap.”

Tess couldn’t stop thinking about their exchange afterward, examining her memory for holes. Had she read Madame correctly? It seemed a promise had been made; surely she hadn’t let her own hopes read too much into Lucile’s words. But she felt it; it was there, a benevolent mood. And when Madame informed the purser that she wanted Tess’s room moved up from the E deck to the A deck? It was to keep her available for longer hours, of course, but what a thrill it was to hear the news. She ran down the stairs to steerage, to the narrow bunk—only one of many crammed together—where she had tucked her few possessions under the mattress. She squeezed past a man coughing thickly into a dirty handkerchief and shut her ears to the high-pitched bickering of two women fighting over a blanket. She inhaled deeply, defiantly. She was breathing in the rank odors of this dark, windowless place for the last time.

“You’re leaving us?” the girl in the next cot said, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “Didn’t see much of you, but you’re my age and I thought we could talk every now and then. I’m going to my uncle’s in a place called the Bowery. Know anything about it? I’ll work in his saloon, but he says it’s respectable in America. I’ve still got some apples. Share one?”

Tess shook her head and smiled. “I can’t now, but maybe later.”

“Oh, I don’t think once you go upstairs you’ll ever come back down here.”

It was true, of course. Tess felt warm color in her cheeks. “Goodbye,” she said. “Maybe we’ll meet in New York.”

APRIL 14, 1912

The day was glorious. Madame was napping again in the late afternoon, and Tess luxuriated in her new access to the first-class deck. She was allowed to sit on Madame’s deck chair and watch the promenade of privileged people as they strolled by, laughing and chatting, people whose names she should learn. She had never been in a place where everyone seemed on holiday, and if she wanted to stay in their world she had to educate herself.

And then, strolling toward her, she saw John Jacob Astor and his wife. Such an elegant pair! The long, tapered fingers of Mrs. Astor’s left hand rested gently in the crook of her husband’s arm and her face was tipped toward the lowering sun, as if basking in its light. Tess couldn’t take her eyes off them, mesmerized by this first look at what shipboard clothing was for the very, very rich. He wore immaculately creased trousers and a mohair cardigan over a crisp shirt and tie. She, on the other hand, gave little quarter to such casualness—her pale-green gown of cord silk, so perfect with her glowing skin and soft chocolate-brown hair, drew envious glances from other women strollers. The men passing by nodded greetings, some casting equally envious glances at Mr. Astor. “He bagged quite a trophy out of that messy divorce scandal,” one murmured to another.

Some time later, in the first glow of what was clearly going to be a spectacular sunset, she copied their stroll across the deck, trying to imitate Mrs. Astor’s swanlike glide. The other passengers had all disappeared back into their staterooms to prepare for the evening. How had that lucky woman floated so effortlessly? Tess tried, but couldn’t quite rein in her own hurried stride.

She heard a chuckle and glanced over her shoulder. A sailor was watching. And, yes, he was the same one who had quietly mopped up when she spilled the tea. Tall, about her own age, somewhat thin, even with those sturdy shoulders. His hair was unruly, but swept aside with careless confidence. And his eyes were just as warm and alert as she remembered—the kind of eyes that didn’t miss much. They were indeed as blue as the sea.

“Not bad, but you’d do best walking your own way,” he said. “Don’t want to fall on your nose, do you?”

Tess lifted her chin high. “No chance of that,” she said, adding, “I do thank you for cleaning up the mess I made the other day.”

“You handled it well. Walked away quite proper, and no giggles in your wake.”

“My mother’s advice was always to hold my head up.”

He nodded. “First time you let it hang, somebody hammers it down further. Don’t be fooled by these people; they’re just rich show-offs.”

“Mrs. Astor has true grace,” Tess countered.

“Maybe she does, but so do you,” he said gently, studying her face. “You just don’t know it.” He stepped forward and crooked his arm. “Shall we stroll?” he asked, half teasingly.

With only an instant of hesitation, she accepted the invitation. They walked a few paces, alone on that deck as the brilliant sky turned orange and gold, and then, laughing, he coaxed her into a skip. A bubble of pleasure filled her throat. She could release herself for this, for just a few seconds, couldn’t she?

Only a moment, a quick moment. When they stopped, he put a finger to his lips. “Good day, ma’am,” he said, his voice lively with humor. “See? You can play, too. And I’ll never tell.” He headed back to work, whistling as he bent to pick up a heavy coil of rope, then throwing it over his shoulder.

He’s a village boy, Tess told herself as she leaned against the railing and watched the dance of light on the water. A seagoing version, with a more jaunty spirit than most. And quite beautiful eyes.

She stood there for a long time, mesmerized by the expanse of limitless water reaching to a fiery red horizon. She was filled with yearning—for what, she wasn’t sure. But if she listened she could still hear the seductive, melancholy whistle of the trains that had wound their way out of the valley and off to the larger world when she was a child. She had always wanted to be on one of them. Most people had pursed their lips, either disapprovingly or angrily, when she talked about going away. Thank goodness she realized early, somehow, that
they were mostly afraid. And never, never was she going to let herself be afraid.

Tess ate dinner alone in her cabin, listening to the faint music of the ship’s orchestra as the musicians played in the first-class dining saloon. Around ten, she went out on deck for a stroll under the stars, enjoying the solitude, although unable to resist peeking into the dining room. How huge it was, the width of the entire ship, she had been told. The walls and the graceful pillars were a creamy white; the dining chairs covered in a sumptuous emerald-green velvet. Wineglasses sparkled in the glow of the slender white lamps on each table, their light reflected back again through the tall, arched windows that opened onto D deck. How beautiful it was. All those confident, wealthy men and women, most of them in evening dress, laughing, lifting glasses filled with brandy. She found herself trying to piece together their stories.

There was that couple that had boarded ahead of her, sitting by themselves, heads close, murmuring. They were dancers, Madame had told her—Jean and Jordan Darling—yes, lithe, beautiful, coming home to New York for a Broadway play and, everyone said, genuinely in love. “A little past their prime,” Madame declared matter-of-factly. “I’ve dressed her for several shows, but I suspect she can’t afford me anymore.” And there was that handsome man in the tan coat she had met in the gymnasium. In evening dress, he was just leaving the captain’s table, which meant that he, too, must be important. His name, Madame had told her when describing the more important personages on board, was Jack Bremerton. “A Chicago millionaire. No one quite knows how he made his fortune,” she said. “In banking, or something equally shady. Several wives; rumor is, he’s leaving the current one.”

A dining-room steward carrying a tray of glasses suddenly shoved past Tess, pushing her off balance. He stumbled, the tray falling from his hands with a tremendous clatter. At that moment the chairman of the White Star Line strode around the deck corner, head turned to talk to one of the ship’s officers. In evening dress, he looked more like a bony crane than ever. The tray crashed to the floor, splattering
brandy onto Bruce Ismay’s clothes as the glasses smashed into fragments on the deck.

“It was her fault, sir,” the steward said, thinking fast, pointing to Tess. “She splatted a whole tea service on deck the other day.”

“That was clumsy of you, young woman,” snapped the officer. “Good Lord, you
are
the one who made that mess. Why weren’t you looking where you were going?”

“I’m sorry,” Tess said in surprise.

“You need to apologize to Mr. Ismay, who is, in case you don’t know, the chairman of this shipping company,” the officer said. “You’re Lady Duff Gordon’s maid, aren’t you? Surely you’ve been trained better than that.”

“I’m not apologizing, sir, for I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry the accident happened, but I wasn’t the cause.”

“You’re not getting away with this, young woman. I’m going to have to talk to the Duff Gordons about your manners.”

“I did nothing,” Tess said, growing dismayed.

A voice cut through from the dark near the rail. “Actually, her manners are far better than yours, and I suspect her sense of balance is, too. I believe the apology is due to
her
, Officer. Are you in the habit of berating young women—or just those in service?”

Flustered, the officer turned on the steward. “Go get a towel and clean this up,” he ordered. As the steward scurried away, the officer and Ismay walked on, and Tess heard him say, “These last-minute hires, you know …”

“That was a nice scene, wasn’t it?”

Tess looked behind her and saw the mysterious Mr. Bremerton. He had left the captain’s table and was standing by the teak railing, polished and handsome in his evening clothes.

“Officious little men with power—one of the plagues of the world.” He shook his head. “Good lesson, though—position doesn’t make a gentleman. Or evening clothes, for that matter. But you know that, I hope.”

She did, but it might not be wise to say that right now. “I really don’t want any trouble,” she said.

“You didn’t cringe. That took some backbone.”

“I needed to defend myself.”

“Or what?” He looked at her keenly.

“Or it would just happen again.” And again and again. No use trying to explain.

He bowed slightly. “Very wise. I’m glad to see you—I kept wishing after our time in the exercise room that I had asked your name. May I now?”

She couldn’t help smiling. He must think she had been undone by riding that camel. “My name is Tess Collins.”

He peered closely. “Of course. Since we seem to keep meeting, let me introduce myself. I’m Jack Bremerton, and I have no business judging others, to tell the truth. What do you think of your voyage so far?”