The Dressmaker (4 page)

“So did I,” she said.

“I hope you have a pleasant trip.”

She glanced quickly at a clock. She was late. “I’ve got to go,” she said and hurried out, scrambling by the machines, almost tripping. The tea, the tea. She mustn’t forget the cream. As she rushed to the ship’s kitchen, she found herself thinking about the man’s strong hands and wished she had let him lift her down. She would have liked to feel them. Idiot, what a thought to have. One of these days, she decided, she would find out what squash was—and learn to play it. Lord, what was his name? How could she not have asked?

Lucile watched as the girl moved quickly toward her across the deck, precariously balancing on a silver tray a Limoges teapot, a delicate porcelain cup, a small pitcher of cream, and a white sugar bowl.

“It’s a miracle you made it,” Lucile said as Tess deposited the tray in front of her. “These are the thinnest china cups, as I asked?”

“Yes, Madame. I made sure.” In truth, she had almost forgotten in the busy ship’s kitchen.

“Tea tastes like dishwater in anything else.”

Tess poured a cup and handed it to her, still a bit flushed.

“How were your explorations?”

“Oh, very nice. I saw so much. There’s an exercise room.”

“So I heard. No self-respecting woman would indulge in such nonsense.”

Tess flushed deeper.

“Take all this.” Lucile waved at the tea service. “I’ve had enough. I want you to return to the cabin and iron the blue gown I left out for dinner tonight. Be back in a quarter of an hour, and we’ll walk the promenade again.”

Tess nodded eagerly, gathering the silver and loading the tray. Strolling the promenade with Lady Duff Gordon was as close as she could get to the designer’s rarefied world, and to see such people as John Jacob Astor—the richest man on board, a multimillionare—smiling and chatting with Lucile was a not-to-be-missed experience. She must hurry. She began making her way across the deck, slightly distracted by the sight of two polished men in knickers pushing wood tiles across a painted board. A game of some sort—what was it? Was it squash?

A child’s ball rolled in her path. She tripped, tried to right herself, and went crashing, cream flying from the silver pitcher, small cubes of sugar skittering across the deck, still-hot tea burning her fingers. Women seated nearby jumped up, pulling back their skirts from the mess.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, appalled. Somebody tittered.

Madame was standing now, looking down at her coldly. “Get this cleaned up and get back to my cabin. Immediately.” She turned and walked away.

Tess took the linen napkins on the tray and started mopping up the cream. She’d done it now.

“Nasty piece, that woman. Never mind, if you’ll let me, I’ll take care of it.”

She looked up and saw a sailor frowning down at her. He was about her age, with a strong, tanned face and sturdy arms. He was gripping a mop. His eyes were kind, and as blue as the sea.

She put everything back on the tray, stood and brushed herself off. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, holding her head high. She wouldn’t be humiliated—no more of that. She would stop those titters, and none would see tears from her.

“That’s the girl, show them who you are,” the sailor said gently.

And who might that be, Tess thought. The way out of this was to put on her mask, achieve some semblance of invisibility. She wanted to glance back at the sailor, to thank him silently, but she resisted the impulse. Yet she felt his respect as she walked away.

“Your clumsiness was inexcusable.” Lucile’s voice was like a hammer hitting iron.

“I know it was, Madame, and I am sorry. I picked it all up—nothing was broken, though there was a chip in the cup—”

“If we were on land, I’d fire you on the spot.”

“It will never happen again, I promise.”

“You promised competence, and I’m not seeing any. But I can’t just throw you overboard, can I?”

“I hope not.”

The side of Lucile’s mouth twitched.

“The truth is, I would’ve done anything to sail with you,” Tess said. “I’ve admired you for a long time, and you’ve done things I only dream about. If you had needed a chimney sweep, I would’ve found a way to be one.”

“I wanted a maid.”

“I’m not a good maid; I don’t want to be a maid.” Oh God, she could hear her father telling her to shut her mouth, be obedient. But she might as well get on with it and share the plain truth. “I went out to service early and I hated it, and all I wanted to do was sew. I’m sorry, I admire you enormously. I just don’t know how—”

“To do your job properly,” Lucile finished sharply. She stared at Tess. “Isn’t that right?”

“With all proper respect, it depends on the job.” Tess prayed that her words didn’t come across as insolent.

Another twitch of the mouth. “You don’t want to be a maid? Here—” Lucile beckoned Tess over to the desk, where she had laid out the cut pieces for a wool jacket. It wasn’t an important piece; if the girl messed it up, it would not be a significant loss. “Prove yourself. Assemble these without a pattern. The stitching must be hand-done. I will be back in an hour to see how you are doing.”

“Yes, Madame.” Tess picked up a piece of the wool as Lucile left the room. It was loosely woven, a delicate plaid of copper and green—quite fine material, better than she had ever worked with. She must be careful. No, she
would
be careful; this was no stupid teacup. Her head bent forward; her fingers began their precision work. She was breathing better now.

Lucile picked up the completed jacket and held it at arm’s length, a frown on her face. She studied it carefully as Tess nervously bit her lip.

“Well, you’re obviously determined to prove yourself,” she said finally, fingering the jacket. Tess had tucked the darts perfectly, which wasn’t easy to do on a patterned fabric. “This is a reasonably good job. Meticulous stitching.” She cast a studying glance at Tess, then folded the jacket and tucked it into her trunk. “Perhaps you have the makings of a seamstress. You might not be dusting bureaus all your life.”

Just the hint of a promise, that’s all. But it sent a shiver of relief down deep in her heart. Lord, thank you. If there had been any more talk of dumping her over the side of the ship, she would have jumped on her own.

Lucile glanced at a small jeweled clock on her dressing table. “That’s enough talk about sewing for the moment. Get my dress out, will you, dear? It’s almost time for dinner.”

Tess flew to obey as Lucile began rummaging in her jewelry box. “Did I not bring them?” she murmured fretfully to herself. “Where are they?”

“Can I help, Madame?” Tess asked.

“Ah, here they are.” Lucile pulled out a small bag of midnight-blue velvet, opened it, and shook its contents onto the dressing table. Earrings. She picked up one and held it to her ear, facing Tess. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are.” Tess was fascinated. She had never seen anything quite like these. Three pale-blue stones, one below the other, all shimmering with inner light, separated by tiny diamonds and what she thought were sapphires. “What are they?” Tess asked shyly.

“Moonstones from Ceylon, very fashionable.” Lucile fastened the earring in her ear and gently moved her head. The stones danced and glowed. “They call this the traveler’s stone,” she said. “It’s supposed to protect against the dangers of travel, which is total nonsense, of course. But it sells jewelry, I suppose.” She fastened the second earring, then reached for her ever-present lipstick.

This was her cue to go. “Good night, Madame, I hope you have a nice dinner,” Tess said as she turned to leave, pulling the door closed behind her.

That night, back down in the claustrophobic quarters of steerage, amid the whimpers of children and the snores of their parents, she slipped into restless sleep, the kind where memory flowed like water through her dreams.

Tess awoke with a start. In reality, there had been no fog. And how different the messages from her mother and father.