The Luxe (16 page)

D
IANA WAS ALMOST DOZING OFF IN THE STUFFY
private room where her sister was being outfitted for tomorrow’s first public appearance with Henry, when she heard that magical name she had been waiting for all afternoon.

“So…is Henry being romantic with you?”

It was Penelope who had asked the question, with a somewhat put-on nonchalance. She was wearing a black chiffon shirtwaist with puffed sleeves and a fawn-colored skirt with black silk trim. She had directed the question at Elizabeth, who was standing on a wood block in the middle of one of the private dressmaker’s rooms at Lord & Taylor, but it was Diana whose heart fluttered at the mention of Henry’s name. Elizabeth, who was encircled not only by the dressmaker, Mr. Carroll, but also by an attentive Penelope and a small fleet of shopgirls, did not appear interested in the question. She stared ahead vacantly and shrugged.

“No…” she said slowly. “But tomorrow night is the first
night we will appear as a couple, so perhaps he is waiting till then.”

“Yes, he is probably just being shy until he is sure of himself with you,” Penelope replied quickly. She seemed to have recovered from her public vomiting of the week before, Diana noted. But of course, girls of their set were like moths to the light when it came to a wedding, as evidenced by Penelope’s constant presence beside the bustling dressmaker.

Mr. Carroll was not a tall man, and he wore measuring tapes draped around his neck. Even though he was in his early thirties, he was already nearly bald, and he moved with a decided grace. Elizabeth stood with quiet entitlement at the center of the frenzy, even though he had been perfecting the fit of her dress for nearly an hour, marking various points to be taken in. It was a modest dress in theory, covering clavicle and wrists in Belgian lace, but every alteration seemed to bring the cloth closer to her skin. It was constructed of the palest pink silk, and its skirt was gathered in ripples and waves that cascaded downward toward the floor. The neckline was adorned with tiny freshwater pearls set in gold, hundreds of them clustered together. Diana had heard her mother exclaiming over these pearls that morning—they were a gift from Mrs. Schoonmaker, apparently.

Diana watched from one of the soft plum-colored velvet couches as Penelope pointed out an uneven cut to the
dressmaker. The whole of the department store—located on Broadway at the very top of what they called Ladies’ Mile, a stretch of luxury shops to rival any in the world—smelled of musk, which wafted up from the lower floors, where gloves, brooches, and bonnets were sold. Every surface seemed to be covered with mirrors, so that at any moment a young girl could be pleased by the sight of her own reflection from a new and surprising angle. Diana usually enjoyed visits to the department store, if only because they were staffed mostly by handsome young men. But today she felt already weary of the image of her sister reflected so many times over, illuminated by glittering chandelier light. She could see only a tiny bit of herself in the mirror, a background face in the grand tableau of Elizabeth’s fitting.

Beside Diana was their chaperone, Aunt Edith, who was nodding off. She was wearing a maroon dress, and her neck was covered by a cream scarf, which she claimed would protect her from catarrh. Every ten minutes or so, a salesgirl would reappear with some new treasure to show them—feathered caps and leather opera gloves and bracelets inlaid with mother-of-pearl, all resting in pale pink tissue paper—and occasionally with the glasses of champagne they provided for choice customers.

“And have you chosen a wedding date?” Penelope went on, her blue eyes wide with a peculiar curiosity.

“Oh, yes…sometime in winter, perhaps, or spring.”

Diana took one of the champagne flutes from the salesgirl and sipped. This was odd, her sister being so vague, but she wasn’t about to make a point of it. If she had, she might also have pointed out that Penelope, who had little natural curiosity about other people, was being unusually inquisitive. In Diana’s experience, Penelope’s favored conversational topic was the subject of herself.

“That is soon,” Penelope said. “Maybe you should ask Buckie to help? With the wedding planning, I mean. He is very good at what he does, you know….”

“You think so?” Elizabeth stared vacantly at herself in the mirror. “All right, then. But could you ask him? You know him so much better than I do.”

Diana slouched back, her head against the dark blue wallpaper, and waited for her turn to be dressed. There was something going on between Elizabeth and her friend—perhaps Penelope was jealous that Elizabeth was first to be engaged?—but Diana was having trouble following it. Ordinarily she couldn’t have cared less, but today she found herself eavesdropping, listening for any mention of Henry. Henry, in any context, was interesting to her again.

Earlier, when they were lunching at the Palm Garden at the Waldorf, Elizabeth had been making a big deal about how much it meant to her that Penelope was going to be her
maid of honor, and how beautiful the wedding would be, and on and on and on. When Penelope had gone to sneak a cigarette in the ladies’ lounge, away from Aunt Edith’s prying eyes, Elizabeth had whispered to Diana that she was sorry that she could not have two maids of honor.

“I really
had
to ask Penelope—you’ll forgive me, won’t you?” she’d said. “After all, we did make a promise to each other.”

“I already told you that I don’t care,” had been Diana’s perfectly audible reply. “Penelope is probably a better candidate for official flower holder at a loveless wedding, anyway.”

Elizabeth had drawn back quickly at that comment, although Diana hadn’t meant for it to be cruel. It was just a statement of fact. But Elizabeth had been acting withdrawn ever since—moody, even—and that was not a face she wore in public, ever.

“But you have been seeing him?” Penelope prodded. She was extremely close to Elizabeth, almost uncomfortably so, and checking the lace detailing at her throat.

“Oh, yes. We went for a ride in the park, on…when was it, Di?”

“On Sunday,” Diana replied with authority. She didn’t even have to think which
he
Penelope was referring to. “He was very gallant,” she added thoughtlessly.

“Oh, was he?” said Penelope, moving her fingers to the pearls near Elizabeth’s heart, but turning her eyes on Diana.

“He was nice enough,” Elizabeth put in. “He rescued Diana’s runaway hat.”

“Oh,” Penelope said, and returned to examining the dress.

Diana had replayed that afternoon in Central Park many times since, and found herself watching it in her mind again now. The blur of green and gingham as they ran over the lawn, Henry comically heroic as he waded into the murky water. The subtlety of his smile and the knowing way he looked at her.

“Have you ever taken a train in the western direction out of Grand Central?”

Diana looked up from her daydreams to see her sister, still somewhat vacant in the eyes and asking a totally illogical question. The room—with its patterned blue wallpaper and opulent rug—came back into focus as Diana considered why her sister would ask something so strange.

“No, not unless you count Newport, which is due north, I believe,” Penelope declared. Diana watched her in the mirror as she bent to examine the ruffles of Elizabeth’s skirt.

Elizabeth lengthened her neck, and her seven or so reflected images turned their chins up contemplatively. “How many trains do you think leave from Grand Central, in the direction of California, every day?”

“Why would you want to know a thing like that?” Penelope replied flatly, without looking up from the hem of her friend’s dress.

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted down to the yards and yards of pale pink satin spilling out around her. “Just that the world is so big now, I suppose. Don’t you think about that sometimes?”

“No,” came Penelope’s quick response. She stood, her arms across her chest, and leaned against one of the mirrors so that she was looking right at Elizabeth. “Outside of New York and Newport, what do you need? Newport was so much fun last summer, by the way. It was truly the best summer of my life.” Then she added, in a purposeful tone: “Henry was there.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Diana put in. “At least, not for all of it. He was in Saratoga for some of the season, too…at least, I remember there being reports of him.” The two older girls were giving Diana a perplexed look, and so she continued in a quieter tone. “Wasn’t he, Aunt Edith? Don’t you remember everyone saying that William Schoonmaker’s son had come to town?”

Aunt Edith, whose head was tipped backward and whose eyes were mostly closed, made a snoring sound. “What?” she said, coming awake for a moment. “Not bustles…” she went on dreamily, even as her eyes returned to resting. “Those were all the rage when I was a girl, but no more, no more…”

There were muted giggles all around the room, quiet enough not to wake Aunt Edith, and then Mr. Carroll brought them back to the business of the day.

“All right, my gorgeous gal, I am done with you,” he singsonged. Elizabeth gave him her old winning smile and allowed him to help her down from the block. Mr. Carroll had long been a favorite of the Holland sisters, and they visited him often at his own shop, as well as at the workroom he kept at Lord & Taylor so that clients like themselves could get the first pick of fabrics. “Penelope, m’lady, you’re up next.”

Elizabeth and Penelope linked arms and moved in the direction of the little room where Elizabeth could take off her new dress and Penelope could put on her new one. Diana was slouching indulgently and she was sorry, she realized—looking at the backs of their heads—that they were leaving even for a minute. Surely there would be talk of Henry she would miss, and Henry talk—no matter how banal—made her breath quicken.

“Oh, excuse me, mademoiselle,” said a salesgirl in a simple black shirt and white skirt. She was carrying a long, thin, white box. “I have a package from Henry Schoonmaker—”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward and turning a little pink in the cheeks.

“—for Miss Diana Holland.”

“Oh!” Penelope exclaimed, turning sharply in Diana’s direction.

The salesgirl advanced toward Diana, who was still
lounging on the sofa, and handed her the box. Then she stepped backward, hovering expectantly.

“Why would Henry be sending presents to
you
?” Penelope’s voice was sharp, and her plush lips were hanging open expectantly.

Diana stared down at the clean lines of the box. She could hardly believe she was holding something from Henry, especially in front of other people. She was almost afraid of what was inside, as though her secret thoughts about Henry were enclosed, ready to be revealed the moment she lifted the top. But Diana was not easily frightened, or so she reminded herself.

“Go on,” Elizabeth said. She had drawn herself up the way their mother might have, and was watching Diana irritably. “Open it up.”

Diana gave a little exhale and lifted open the lid. Inside was a pretty but really very ordinary ribbon of light blue silk, decorated with little ships, sewn in navy and yellow thread. Diana tried not to look disappointed as she held it up for Penelope and Elizabeth to see.

“Oh, a ribbon,” Elizabeth said flatly. “To replace the one on your hat.”

“A little girl’s gift, for our little Di,” Penelope added, smiling in a smug sort of way. “How adorable. You see, Henry
is
being sweet with you, Elizabeth, by sending trinkets to your little sister.”

Several witty rebuttals clamored in Diana’s brain, but Penelope and Elizabeth had already turned and were heading for the changing room, and the girl who had delivered the ribbon was on her way back to work, looking somewhat let down by what she’d witnessed in the Hollands’ private room.

Looking at the ribbon, Diana couldn’t help feeling foolish. Penelope was right—that was what stung. It was the kind of gift you gave a child to shut her up. And maybe that was what Henry was trying to do. She pulled at the ribbon angrily, its whole length unfolding from the box, and as she did, a small, intricately folded piece of paper fell to the ground.

Diana raised her eyes and checked the activity of the others in the room. Aunt Edith was still snoring lightly, and Mr. Carroll was moving busily about, mumbling to himself and oblivious. Diana reached down and picked up the paper.

Her heart paused its relentless thumping as she read, and a thrill crept through the whole of her body. It was almost as good as a real and sudden kiss.

L
INA HOVERED IN THE FOYER OF THE HOLLAND
house, hoping for something to happen. Maybe Will would sneak up behind her and whisper in her ear how much he appreciated the gentle nursing of his wounds. But if she’d put away her hopes for a moment, she might have admitted to herself that Will wasn’t paying her very much attention at all these days. Since that Sunday afternoon when she’d bandaged his hand, he had seemed completely absorbed in his own private thoughts. His mind was still stuck on Elizabeth, she knew, and Lina was beginning to get the sinking feeling that she should have told him how she felt that day in the carriage house when she’d had her chance.

Outside, the whole city had been thrown into the activity of the parade. Of course, she herself was stuck behind the oak door of her employer’s home, looking out through the beveled glass. She wished she could be there in the crowd, eating freshly popped corn at Will’s side. Or better yet, on one of those big yachts that the fancy types went all over the world
on. What a thing that would be, to feel the ocean air against her face, to be able to go anywhere and see anything.

Supposedly there were soldiers all over the city. She had read in
Harper’s Weekly
that tomorrow, thirty thousand of them would march through the city, from Grant’s Tomb to the Battery, as part of the parade. She tried to glimpse some of those hordes of uniformed men through the glass, but all she saw was her sister hurrying up the sidewalk. She was with one of the lithe Lord & Taylor boys—they hired only attractive salesmen, the better to lure soft-headed female shoppers—and they were carrying two gigantic, unwieldy dress boxes.

Lina opened the door and decided that the salesman, though certainly worth looking at, wasn’t nearly so handsome as Will. “Do you need help?” she called.

Her sister’s face was red with exertion, but the Lord & Taylor boy gave her an effortless smile. He couldn’t have been much older than Claire, and his face had fair stubble scattered across it.

“We’ve almost got it,” Claire said as she puffed up the stairs, onto the iron filigreed porte cochere. They managed to get the oblong boxes in through the door, and placed them on the polished oak table by the entryway. Claire sighed and smiled at the salesman who had helped her. “Well, thank you…”

He shrugged indifferently, and stared at the red-haired maid with lazy confidence. His eyes were hazel and unflinching.
It was clear that he thought his profession put him several rungs above the Broud sisters. Lina noticed her sister blushing and was embarrassed for her. It was perfectly obvious that the boy’s stalling had nothing to do with his interest in them. When the awkwardness had become excruciating, he said, “The payment…?”

“Oh!” Claire gasped, her cheeks turning an unflattering eggplant color. She looked at Lina helplessly. “Well, we don’t…but I’m sure if you…”

He nodded carelessly, then reached into his pocket and removed a bill of sale. “If you could give this to Mrs. Holland, then. And Mr. Carroll told me to remind her that there are a number of unpaid bills.”

“I see,” Claire said softly as she took the paper. “I will tell her.”

“Please do,” he said. There was an unpleasant irony in his voice. Then he lifted the brim of his hat and began a slow swagger down the stairs and back toward Broadway. Just before she turned and followed her sister back inside, she saw the Lord & Taylor boy turn and shoot her a wide grin.

“He was handsome,” Claire whispered excitedly as they lifted the oversize boxes and carried them up the back stairs. Lina tried to make an affirmative noise, but she only felt bad for her sister for being attracted to men like that. They were hired for their ability to flirt with ladies on shopping trips, not with ladies’ maids running errands. But Claire was always
more or less living in a fantasy world, and Lina supposed it was better not to disturb it.

“I can’t wait to see them,” Claire said as they came into Elizabeth’s room. They laid the dress boxes on Elizabeth’s broad sleigh bed, and Claire removed the top. She pushed aside the tissue paper and unfolded the ornamented, pale pink gown from its resting place. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered, almost to herself. The light of the dress seemed to reflect back on her face, illuminating it.

“Yes,” Lina admitted grudgingly. It
was
beautiful, and though she was loath to be interested in such things, she could not help picturing herself in it, just for a moment.

“She’s going to wear it tonight, when she’s in public with Schoonmaker for the first time. She’ll look perfect, don’t you think?”

Lina grunted. The thought of Elizabeth’s perfect appearance gave her no pleasure. It caused her pain, in fact, reminding her as it did that she would never be done up in jewels and silks, that all the tricks with which Elizabeth caught Will’s attention were off-limits to her.

“Did you see Miss Liz’s ring, Lina? What a thing it is.” Claire laid the dress down across the bed. She examined its clusters of gold and pearl embellishments.

“I saw it.” Lina looked away from the intricate folds and ruffles and wondered what Will’s face would be like if he saw
her in that dress. She’d always thought that pink silk would be lovely against her skin, but she had never had the chance to find out. “It’s enormous.”

“The papers say it cost one thousand dollars. Can you imagine? One
thousand
dollars!”

Lina shook her head disgustedly. “No, I can’t. It’s immoral is what it is. I mean, just think how long it would take us to make that kind of money.”

“Well, we each make twelve dollars a month, so that’s…” Claire rolled her eyes up to the coved ceiling and seemed to be calculating it. She shrugged when she lost count and said, “I don’t know, but a long time, that’s for sure.”

“We’d get there in something under a
decade
, you ninny. Think what we could do with that kind of money, where we could go.
Anywhere
, really. We could make our own decisions, and get out of these groveling, mind-numbing jobs.” By
we
Lina had meant Will and her, and she could feel a smile creeping onto her face at the very idea. “I mean, if we had that ring, and we sold it—”

“Don’t talk that way!” Claire’s dreamy voice had been replaced by a sharp, slightly frightened one. “It’s wrong to be gossiping like this.”

Lina couldn’t help an affectionate laugh. “But you
love
gossip.”

“Not about the Hollands,” Claire said in a final tone. She
drew her hand across the dress, smoothing out its wrinkles. Then she picked it up and hung it from the black-and-gold paneled screen that Elizabeth dressed behind. She lingered by the dress, staring at it affectionately.

Lina gave her a moment, and then said, “That was odd downstairs, don’t you think?”

“What was?” Claire turned innocently to look at her sister.

“The bit about the unpaid bills.”

Claire’s eyes darted toward the door nervously and then settled on her sister. She gave her a worried look and said,

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Lina said in a low, confidential voice.

“I think they’re having some money…
trouble
.”

“Who?” Lina asked, taking a step closer to her sister across the deeply shaded oriental carpet.

“The Hollands.” Claire looked around her, as though she might suddenly find one of their mistresses in the room. “It’s just that, I’ve seen that man, Mr. Broussard…the one who sold off some of Mr. Holland’s collection when he died? He’s been here, I’ve seen him several times, and he’s left with…things.” Claire bit her lip, as though she was coming to the most painful part. “And not just the out-of-fashion things.”

“But the Hollands couldn’t be…” Lina paused to consider the possibility that the Hollands, with all their fancy things and ridiculous rules and uppity attitudes, could want for money.
Although she had come, in the last few days, to entertain many bad thoughts about her mistress, the idea that her employers might not be rich was shocking. It turned her whole world on its head. It meant that the ways she spent her hours, and the subservience with which her sister carried herself, were absurd.

“And the other day,” Claire whispered, “I think I heard something. It was when Mr. Cutting was here, and Miss Diana said—”

They were both startled from their hushed conversation by the scraping of the door against the floor, and the sight of Elizabeth coming into the room. “Oh!” she said, clearly surprised by the sight of her two maids in her bedroom.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Claire gasped. She moved away from her sister and tried to put on a big smile. “I just brought the dresses back from Lord and Taylor, and we were making sure everything was all right with them.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said slowly. She looked back and forth at the two Broud girls. Perhaps she was wondering why both of them needed to be there, Lina thought as she shifted under Elizabeth’s suspicious gaze. For a moment, Lina felt something like pity for her mistress—she was probably poor, and it would be especially hard for her to get used to a life without gowns, because she was accustomed to it. But then Lina reminded herself of all that Elizabeth had taken from her, and she subtly squared her shoulders.

“And I must say, your dress is exquisite,” Claire went on
in a high, silly, overly enthusiastic voice that made her younger sister wince. “You will look truly, unbelievably beautiful in it.”

This seemed to satisfy Elizabeth. “Thank you, Claire, that is very sweet of you to say.”

She turned her gaze back on Lina, and for a long moment they stared at each other. Lina tried to give her a smile, but her mistress did not return the expression. Once upon a time she had looked up to Elizabeth, but that time felt very far away. Now it seemed like every day she was learning dirty little secrets about her former friend. That perfect image she tried so hard to maintain was cracked all over.

Lina let the smile fade from her face, but she did not budge from the spot in the middle of her mistress’s room. She knew what society girls did with dirty little secrets. They collected them and used them to their own social advantage. Well, Lina had ambitions, too, and she could play that game just as well. Sitting around feeling sorry for herself and bemoaning the injustice of her life as a ladies’ maid wasn’t going to get her anything; she could see that now.

Lina would play her game, and sooner or later, Will would realize how duplicitous Elizabeth was. Then he would be able to see Lina with new eyes—not as a maid—but as a lady worthy of his affections.