Masquerade (11 page)

As the ship began to pull away, the dock swarmed with well-wishers, waving hats and handkerchiefs to the passengers lining the rails of the ship. Lottie marveled at how high she and Dora were from the ground, as if God had lifted them up to carry them across the sea.

“
Arrivederci,
Paolo!” came a voice from a lower deck.

Holding on to the railing, Lottie leaned forward to look at the decks below. There were at least two levels beneath the one for firstclass passengers. The people waving from these decks were dressed in simple dark-colored clothing, the women with kerchiefs covering their hair and babies swaddled in shawls tied across their chests. They looked poor.

Dora must have seen the direction of her gaze. “There are ever so many, aren’t there?”

“Who are they? And why are they going to America?”

Dora offered her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you heard about the thousands of people emigrating to the United States from all over Europe?”

Why would she know such things? “Why do they go?”

“For different reasons. They flee poverty or persecution or politics. Or maybe they simply seek adventure.”

The decks below were crowded compared to the spaciousness of the first-class deck. “I’m very glad they are down there and not up here with us.”

Her statement brought another look from Dora, this one less gracious. “They’ll not bite, you know.”

Lottie felt herself redden. “I’m sorry if they make me uncomfortable. I can’t help it if I’ve never been around such people. Mother and Father protected me from the baser elements.”

“Perhaps they protected you too much.”

It was a concession she might have to make. The world Lottie had known was tightly guarded, with high walls that prevented the entry of disparate persons. And yet they had also prevented Lottie from any knowledge of their existence. The village of Lacock, nearest her family’s home, had provided her knowledge of people of lesser means, but not the mean issues of their existence.

Dora nodded at the crowd below. “I admire them.”

“Admire?”

“It takes courage to flee the known and step toward the unknown.” She looked at Lottie. “Sometimes I wonder what
we
are fleeing.”

Fleeing?
It was a strange word to contemplate. Unlike the emigrants, Lottie was not fleeing poverty, persecution, or politics. Her life in Wiltshire had been rife with advantage.

Had been rife.

The full consequences of her family’s downfall were still unknown. Even if she’d stayed behind, her life would have changed. Her parents had mentioned they would be moving elsewhere to start again. Lottie shuddered at the notion. It was as if they were retreating in shame.

Shame. Was that what Lottie was fleeing? She’d experienced enough of that already. The memories of her party still smarted and elicited sadness and anger. From that day until this one, not a single friend had come calling to say their good-byes or express their regret. How odd it was to realize that a lifetime of friends had turned out to be nothing more than acquaintances. What a waste.

Her own inability to recognize the shallow nature of these friends disturbed her. Did Lottie own the ability to identify true friendship? And if she didn’t know how to have a true friend, did she know how to
be
one?

She glanced at Dora, waving at the crowd on the docks below. They were traveling as friends. Although Lottie had always considered them as such, the truth was she’d always embraced an element of distance. Friends or no, Lottie had been the mistress and Dora the maid. But here on board the ship she was to treat Dora as an equal. Could she do that?

Dora interrupted her thoughts and looked at Lottie with a full smile upon her lips. “Seeing all these people … we must get it in our heads we are not fleeing
from
something but flying
to
something. Something better.”

Lottie nodded and turned her gaze skyward. The sight of the clouds moving to the east as the ship moved west accentuated their departure.

God help me.

God help us.

Dora’s stomach danced in a most uncomfortable manner as they neared the dining room for the evening meal. This was her first real test of being a lady.

“Don’t hold on so tightly,” Lottie whispered.

Dora eased her grip on Lottie’s arm.

“Remember: polite, prompt, pretty, and proper.”

Dora was more concerned about not tripping over her train, or spilling soup down her front, or saying something inane.

There was a parade of couples heading to the dining room, the men in tailcoats and bow ties and the women in elegant off-the-shoulder gowns, layered with drapery, lace, beading, and fringe.

The decorative layers fascinated Dora, but the layers beneath thegowns fascinated her even more. As a maid she’d worn a corset and a petticoat, but to wear the layers and weight of the undergarments that fine ladies endured was beyond cumbersome. It was ironic how women cinched in their waists to portray a thin silhouette when they could appear even slimmer if only they would remove some of the layers between skin and gown.

And the dresses themselves … Dora’s was made of sky-blue satin and brocade, with an overlay of ecru lace ruffled at the bodice and floor. She had no idea how many yards of fabric were used to make the bustle, train, and drapery, or how many different beads or measures of trim decorated her dress, but the result was stunning.

And heavy. Dora felt as if she were dragging several sacks of flour or grain behind her, or perhaps a good-sized child had become a stowaway on board her train, taking a ride.

By her own right, Lottie looked stunning in her gown of sage green, and their chokers made of rhinestones still managed to glisten under the gaslights.

There it was. The dining room.

Two liveried footmen stood stoic beside the double doors as the wealthy and important passed by. Were any of these grand people a pretender like Dora?

If so, she wouldn’t guess it. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing and what they should be saying, and they seemed to be confident in the effect they created by merely
being
.

The dining room itself made her gasp. It was two stories in height, with a balcony rimming the room. Columns edged in gold filigree held up a coffered ceiling that was crowned by a stained-glass dome.

“Where is our table?” she asked Lottie. She’d feel more at ease seated. She eyed the place settings, checking to make sure she knew the specified use of each fork and knife as Lottie had taught her.

“Table seven. We’ll find it—eventually.” Lottie offered soft greetings to those they passed. “The rich never hurry, Dora, nor let on that they are hungry, thirsty, or need to sit. Now is the time to see and be seen.”

Upon further observation that was exactly what was happening. Diners stood about the room in small groups of four or six, making introductions and chatting with the ease of like acknowledging like. No one appeared out of place or nervous. All portrayed a confidence that was both reassuring and presumptuous. Absent was all hint of fear. Apparently that sentiment was Dora’s alone.

A middle-aged gentleman with a woman on his arm approached, and Dora tried to restrain her urge to flee. Lottie took a step toward them, her face open and inviting.

“Good evening, ladies,” said the man.

“Good evening,” Lottie said. She dipped her head slightly, and Dora followed suit.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Lord Thorwald, and this is my wife.”

Dora had heard of him. He was a baron. Would he recognize Lottie’s family name? She hoped not. She didn’t want Lottie to have to defend a scandal at sea.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lord, my lady. I am Miss Gleason and this is my friend, Miss Connors.”

“Evening, sir,” Dora said. “Ma’am.”

Lottie flashed her the quickest of looks, and Dora realized she hadn’t addressed the couple in the same manner Lottie had. She felt her face grow hot.

“Miss Connors, Miss Gleason …” The baroness looked to her husband. Dora feared the woman’s next comment would be in regard to Sir Gleason’s indiscretions. But the baroness had something else on her mind. “Didn’t the captain mention these young ladies, telling us if we met them to take special care?”

Lord Thorwald eyed them with new interest. “I believe they are the ones. You are traveling alone, yes?”

“Yes,” Lottie said. “My mother isn’t well enough to accompany me.”

“Are you traveling to America on holiday?” the baroness asked Dora.

Dora had no idea how to respond. They hadn’t rehearsed such an answer.

Lottie stepped in. “We are, your ladyship. We’ve always wanted to see New York City, and since we were invited by friends …”

“Who are your friends? Perhaps we know them,” the baron said.

Dora hoped not. She longed for anonymity.

“The Tremaines,” Lottie said.

“Martin Tremaine? Of the Tremaine’s Dry Goods Tremaines?”

“You know them?”

“Not at all. But we have heard of them. Who hasn’t?”

It gave Dora pause to realize Lottie was set to marry into such a family. She hoped Lottie’s opinion of Conrad would rise a bit at the complimentary mention.

Waiters began to make their way through the crowd, carrying glasses on large trays. A man in a fancy uniform stood on a dais and clinked a spoon against a glass. “Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I am Captain McShane. Please gather a glass for a toast.”

Lottie took two glasses and handed one to Dora. Dora was grateful for the liquid and started to take a sip, then noticed everyone else was waiting.

As soon as all had been served, the Captain raised his glass. “To a fine voyage, to health, and to prosperity.”

Everyone clinked their glasses, and Dora forgot her nerves long enough to enjoy the sound of it, like a hundred prisms tinkling together. Encouraged, she turned to tap her glass against one held by a woman to her left and—

And missed.

And dropped her own glass to the floor.

Where it broke.

A thousand pieces scattered.

Liquid splattered on the floor.

And on the shoes of a gentleman.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! So sorry!” Dora knelt to the floor and began picking up the pieces, depositing them into her gloved palm. A waiter came to her side with a towel, and she took it from him and began mopping up the mess.

“Dora! Dora!” Lottie whispered. She pulled at her arm.

It was then Dora looked up and saw the spectacle she’d created.

People were looking on, aghast.

Fine ladies didn’t mop up messes or pick up shards of glass, even if the breakage was their fault.

Dora tried to get to her feet, but with one hand full of broken glass, she got entangled in her dress and toppled into the gentleman whose shoes she had wetted. He righted her, and she saw the surprise upon his face.

I have to leave! Now!

She rushed toward the entrance of the dining room, brushing into the rich and famous as she made her retreat.

Lottie called her name, but Dora didn’t stop until she’d reached the safety of their stateroom. She tried to retrieve the key from her reticule, but only then realized she still held pieces of glass in her hand.

A steward approached. “May I help you, miss?”

She held out her open palm. “Please take these.”

He hesitated, then held out his hand.

Just then Lottie strode down the corridor. “There you are.” She removed her key and nodded to the steward. “Thank you.”

“Can I offer more assis—?”

She opened the door. “No thank you. We’re fine.”

They entered the room and Lottie closed the door behind them. Then she pounced. “Whatever were you thinking?”

Dora sank to the bed. “I didn’t mean to break it; it just slipped out—”

“I’m not talking about dropping the glass. Accidents happen. If you had simply laughed at yourself and taken another one, all would have been fine. But getting down on the floor and picking up the pieces, then mopping the spill with a towel …”

Humiliation washed over her. “It’s habit. I felt so bad, and it had splashed upon a gentleman’s shoe.”

“At least you didn’t start wiping
that
off.”

At least.

“And then you called the baron and his wife
sir
and
ma’am
.” Lottie paced the room, expertly flipping her train at every turn. “I used the correct terms of address. All you had to do was repeat them. You need to listen and observe or you’re never going to fool anyone into thinking you’re a lady.”

Dora swiped away tears. “But I’m not a lady. I never have been and never will—”

Lottie stopped pacing and took a breath. “I don’t mean to be harsh. I know this was your first outing. And take heart, after this voyage we’ll never see these people again.”

She could only hope.

“Perhaps your largest sin was not in trying to help clean the mess but in running away.”

“I couldn’t just stay there and—”

“Luckily, I know how to fix it.” Lottie removed a handkerchief from the dressing table and dabbed at Dora’s face. “Just a small refurbishment and we can go back—”