The Clockwork Three

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “You miss all the girls,” she said. “Madame Pomeroy keeps me busy.”

  He took a few quick steps, almost a skip, and slipped around in front of her. He walked backward for a moment, hands behind his back, grinning at her with his blue eyes.

  “So,” he said. “Is it true?”

  Hannah stopped. “Is what true?”

  “That she has a tiger up there.”

  “You told me you’d seen it.”

  “Me? Nah. I heard it from somebody, though.”

  “Well, it’s not true. I certainly would have noticed a tiger in her suite.”

  “What about the ghosts?”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “You know you really shouldn’t believe all the rumors you hear, Walter.”

  “So it is true!”

  “I didn’t say that.” Hannah skirted him and started up the stairs.

  “Hey,” he called after her. “Some of us are going for a clambake this evening. You want to come?”

  Hannah stopped and looked back at him. “I have plans this evening.”

  “What plans?”

  “I’m going to the opera.”

  “With the tiger lady?”

  She ran her fingers over the banister. “And a boy.”

  “Who?”

  “Just a boy. Enjoy your clambake, Walter.”

  “Come now. Wouldn’t you prefer a clambake over some fancy opera?”

  Hannah laughed and rose up the flights of stairs. That was Walter. Jovial, and charming, with lips born smiling. Not like Frederick, who seemed to be made of seriousness and nothing else. Where Walter seemed to glide on a boyish and inviting air, Frederick stayed remote and intriguing. Of course, there were those rumors about Walter. Connections and coincidences with several thefts from hotel guests. Hannah chose to ignore such things.

  She reached the top floor and used the key she had been given as Madame Pomeroy’s attendant to enter the suite. She paused in the entryway.

  “Madame?” she called.

  No answer.

  “Yakov?”

  The only sound to reach her was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the drawing room. Hannah had never been alone in the suite before. She wondered if she ought to wait until Madame Pomeroy returned before going in. But then she thought of the treasure. Stroop’s suite had been somewhere up here. She tried to recall the image of the floor plans to her mind’s eye. The two suites had been arranged next to each other, one on the north end and one on the south. Both looked out over part of the square. Madame Pomeroy’s suite took in the view of the Opera House and cathedral, as well as the mansions up on the Heights. What would Mister Stroop have seen out his window?

  Hannah left the entryway and opened the door to the southernmost room in the suite, the library. Neither Madame Pomeroy nor Yakov used the room, and Hannah had only peeked in before. Now she crossed to the window and looked out. A buttress of brick blocked her view to the south, but she could see the edge of the Archer Museum.

  Hannah heaved the heavy window open, admitting a breeze and noises off the square. She leaned out over the sill, flapped away a few warbling pigeons, and craned her neck to see around the wall. From her stretched vantage point she saw what she had anticipated. There were city blocks and the Old Rock Church’s white wooden steeple needling the sky. And the park. McCauley held the key to his happiness. Green and billowing, broken only by what looked to be a silver sliver of Grover’s Pond.

  Hannah leaned back into the room and looked to her left, to the wall of books. Somewhere on the other side was another set of rooms entirely, and the view from that hidden suite would have fallen directly on McCauley Park and on Grover’s Pond.

  Hannah heard the front door open.

  “Hannah? Are you here, child?”

  She slid the window shut as quietly as she could.

  “Hannah?”

  “I’m here!” she called.

  “Come to me. I want to show you something.”

  Hannah closed the door to the library behind her and followed Madame Pomeroy’s voice into the drawing room. The woman wore her customary black lace, her hair up in a loose knot at the back of her head. She held in her arms the most beautiful gown Hannah had ever seen.

  It was made of pale blue satin that shimmered like the sky reflected in ocean waves. Royal blue applications of panne velvet decorated the dress with iridescent floral shapes, chrysanthemums and flowering vines that grew up from the train to the waist. Embroidered chiffon and lace circled the open neckline and shoulders, and the bodice sparkled with gems of aquamarine. Hannah covered her mouth.

  “Come, child,” said Madame Pomeroy. “We must get you dressed for the opera.”

  Hannah took a halting breath, and then began to cry.

  “There, there,” Madame Pomeroy said. “We must see if it fits, and tears will stain a satin gown.”

  No one had ever done anything so wonderful for her. Madame Pomeroy’s kindness shocked her, and she looked at the older woman as if meeting her for the first time. She wiped her eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Madame Pomeroy looked down at the dress in her arms. “I think so.”

  “It’s for me?”

  Madame Pomeroy chortled. “With a waistline this size, you think it’s for me?”

  A giggle bubbled out of Hannah. “Madame, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You still need to try it on, Hannah.”

  “Of course.” Hannah reached around her back to untie her apron.

  Yakov cleared his throat in a corner of the room, and Madame Pomeroy and Hannah looked up at him.

  “Come,” Madame Pomeroy said. “Let’s change you in my room.”

  Hannah bounced behind the older woman from the drawing room, down the hallway, and into Madame Pomeroy’s bedchamber. There her mistress laid the dress out on the four-poster bed and threw the heavy curtains open. Hannah took off her apron, and removed the white blouse and black skirt that all the maids in the hotel wore. She stood, goose-bumpy, in her chemise and petticoat and tucked her arms in, hands at her neck. She stared at the gown flowing over the bedspread like a satin waterfall.

  Madame Pomeroy lifted the new dress with a flourish. “I dispensed with the corset,” she said. “Barbarous devices designed to torture women with suffocation and a bent spine. Besides which, your figure needs no assistance.”

  Hannah felt her cheeks flush as the older woman unlaced the bodice at the back. A moment later Hannah stepped into the gown, and Madame Pomeroy lifted it up around her. It was like getting wrapped inside a fairy story of dancing princesses. Hannah stood up tall and looked at the ceiling as Madame Pomeroy cinched her in. She felt her mistress’s hands working their way up her back, then adjusting the lace around her neck and shoulders.

  “There.” Madame Pomeroy stepped back and looked Hannah up and down as if she were inspecting a mare at market. “Can you breathe?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Well, I must say, you look exquisite, child. Come have a look.”

  She led Hannah by the hand to a corner of the room with several tall mirrors set at angles to one another. Hannah stepped into their midst and found she could see all of herself, from her head to her bare feet, her front and her backside. She did not look like herself at all, and she felt ridiculous, embarrassed. The girl in the mirror was much too fine. Hannah thought she looked more like a paper doll, not really wearing the gown at all, as if it were only laid over her, fastened with paper tabs.

  “Absolutely breathtaking,” Madame Pomeroy said.

  Hannah did not feel breathtaking.

  Madame Pomeroy clapped her hands. “We must do your hair next.” She gestured to the ottoman in front of the vanity, and Hannah sat down. She faced an expanse of mirror, and an arsenal of silver pins and combs, powders and creams.

  “Now.” Madame Pomeroy stepped into the mirror behind her. “I think we shall pull your hair up in a loose twist. Some curls around your face, and some locks looping down in back. Yes, I thi
nk so.”

  Hannah said nothing as Madame Pomeroy fingered out her long braid. Then the older woman pulled out irons for curling and went to work, and within a few moments, Madame Pomeroy started to hum. Hannah closed her eyes at the feeling of someone’s hands through her hair, remembering how her mother used to wash and brush and braid. But her mother had not touched her hair in a long time. Hannah felt an urge to turn around and hug Madame Pomeroy, but she kept her eyes closed, held her hands in her lap, and let her mistress take care of her.

  Time passed, and every so often Hannah peeked at the transformation taking place in the mirror. It was like being privy to the secrets of some magic being worked. When Madame Pomeroy stood back and said, “There,” Hannah opened her eyes fully.

  She looked beautiful. Without vanity or shame, she could see that. But would anyone else? “Thank you, Madame,” she whispered. She turned her head to see all sides, and the combs and pins glinted in the evening light.

  “You are most welcome, child. I quite enjoyed myself.”

  Neither spoke, but both of them had tears in their eyes.

  Madame Pomeroy cleared her throat. “I don’t want to sully your face with the vulgarity of makeup. I wear the stuff because I need it. But you certainly do not. Maybe just a little of this.” She lifted a bottle of rose water and spritzed Hannah with a floral mist. “Stand up now, child.”

  Hannah rose, still caught up in the world inside the mirror, and pulled her eyes from her reflection. She did not want to, as if she would cease to be that girl if she looked away. It was still hard to believe it was truly her.

  “Here are your shoes and gloves,” Madame Pomeroy said, and helped Hannah into them. Then she stepped back and rubbed her chin. “But there’s something missing.”

  A rap at the door.

  “Come in, Yakov.”

  The door opened. “Madame, I …” He stopped.

  “Yes, Yakov?”

  The Russian stared at Hannah. She watched his face, waiting for his reaction. Both corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Like a princess,” he said.

  And Hannah knew the girl from the mirror had come with her. She wanted to rush to him, to hug him in gratitude.

  “Very much like a princess,” Madame Pomeroy said. “What was it you wanted?”

  “It is nearly time,” Yakov said.

  “So it is.” She returned her attention to Hannah. “I know what is missing.” She opened one of the dozen small tins on her dresser, one stamped with the shape of a butterfly, and pulled out a key. Then she marched over to a painting and removed it from the wall, revealing a safe. Madame Pomeroy unlocked it and reached inside. She pulled out a box, closed the safe, and replaced the painting.

  “I know I’m gilding the lily, as it were, but I cannot resist.” She opened the box and presented it to Hannah.

  A necklace of diamonds sparkled inside.

  Hannah touched her chest. “Madame Pomeroy, I couldn’t.”

  “Nonsense.” The older woman set the box down and withdrew the jewelry. She reached around Hannah’s neck to clasp it. “It was given to me by one empress or another, but I never wear it. Someone should.”

  Hannah felt the cold weight of the stones against her skin. All those years admiring the guests’ jewelry, and here she was wearing a finer piece than anything she had ever seen.

  Madame Pomeroy nodded. “Now you are ready.”

  As they came down the hotel stairs into the lobby, Hannah glanced at the tiny holly leaf carved near the base of one of the massive marble newel posts. Mister Twine had never desired to replace them, and Hannah smiled at her father’s little signature, as if he were whispering to her how beautiful she looked, and wishing her a magical night.

  She looked for Walter by the doors, but did not see him. She held the train of her gown up and tried to keep from tripping over the fabric. They reached the marble floor, Hannah in her blue dress, Madame Pomeroy in her customary black, and Yakov in his long gray coat.

  “I am so excited,” Hannah said, but then Miss Wool appeared in front of her.

  The prickly woman raised an eyebrow, and her gaze oozed over Hannah like coal tar, coming to rest on the diamonds around Hannah’s neck. “Where are you off to in such a costume?” she asked.

  “The opera,” Madame Pomeroy said. “I would invite you, but alas I haven’t an available seat in my box.”

  Miss Wool had not taken her eyes from Hannah. “I have no time for such things.”

  “Well, it appears that time is an enemy to us both,” Madame Pomeroy said. “We’re running a bit late, I’m afraid. If you’ll excuse us.”

  Miss Wool stepped aside with a curt nod of her head. “Enjoy your time.”

  Madame Pomeroy blew onward like a billowed pirate sail. Hannah tried to follow after her, but before she could slide past Miss Wool, the woman leaned in toward her.

  “You know you’re just a toy to her,” she said. Then she grabbed Hannah’s arm, pulled her close, and hissed in her ear. “Just because you’ve been to school and wear a fancy dress doesn’t make you any better than the rest of us.”

  Hannah said nothing and kept her head bowed.

  Miss Wool released her. “Go.”

  Hannah curtsied and hurried to catch up with Madame Pomeroy. She did not regain her poise until she passed through the lobby doors. Out on the steps, she took a deep breath, caught sight of the Opera House across the way, and tried her best to ignore the stinging echo of what Miss Wool had said. She and Madame Pomeroy and Yakov traversed the square in silence. Hannah told herself that she was not a toy. The affection Madame Pomeroy had shown her while dressing her felt real. Madame Pomeroy cared for her. They reached the queue of operagoers outside the theater.

  Hannah scanned the crowd. “I wonder where Frederick is.”

  “Oh,” Madame Pomeroy said. “With the excitement over your dress I’d forgotten all about him. He said he’d come?”

  “He did, ma’am.”

  “I thought he might. I’m sure he’ll be here.”

  They arrived at the Opera House steps and the setting sun dusted everything with gold. Hannah took note of the women around her. There were so many beautiful faces and gowns, and Hannah’s earlier doubt crept back. She worried whether she truly fit in. No one openly stared at her, except a few of the men, which made her blush. But then Yakov came up behind her.

  “Like a princess,” he said, his hand on her back, and her fears fell away.

  As they mounted the first few stairs Hannah heard someone call Madame Pomeroy’s name. She turned to see Frederick rushing toward them, waving his arm. “I apologize,” he said as he came up, out of breath. “I lost track of time.”

  “Hmm,” Madame Pomeroy said. “Ironic, for a clockmaker.”

  Frederick grimaced. “Please forgive me, Madame. Your invitation was most gracious.”

  “Well, I’m glad you could come,” Madame Pomeroy said.

  “What were you working on?” Hannah asked.

  “Reading,” he said, and turned to her. His eyes widened. “Oh.”

  Hannah looked down at her dress, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  Frederick stammered. “I, uh — you look nice this evening, Hannah.”

  “Thank you,” she said. He stood tall and handsome in a suit that looked new, still pressed from the tailor’s shop. “You look very fine as well, Frederick.”

  “Come, you two.” Madame Pomeroy winked. “We’re going in.”

  The Opera House blazed inside with gaslight and crystal chandeliers. Enormous vases, larger than any in the hotel, bore explosions of exotic flowers. Gilded cherubs and mermaids and angels leaped halfway from the ornamented walls, like they had been frozen trying to escape into the real world. Their smooth eyes oversaw Hannah’s climb with Madame Pomeroy and her party to the second floor.

  “It’s just what I imagined it would be,” Hannah said to Frederick, but found he was still staring at her. She looked down again, but smiled this time, feeling flattered.
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  He looked around as if noticing their surroundings for the first time. “Oh. Yes, it is impressive.”

  An usher approached them with a bow, and escorted them to Madame Pomeroy’s box. He pulled aside a thick curtain and extended his white-gloved hand to indicate that they should enter. They stepped through the portal into the theater where the view opened wide and fell away.

  Hannah gasped and rushed around their seats to the balcony rail. The low murmuring of hundreds of people filled the air like the thrum of cicadas. Hannah looked down a full twenty feet over the opera patrons in the floor seats, and up another two stories at the molded ceiling and massive chandeliers. Frederick appeared beside her. Madame Pomeroy’s box nestled right up to the stage, and Hannah had a view into the orchestra pit.

  “Shall we take our seats?” Madame Pomeroy asked. Hannah turned and saw that she already had.

  Frederick extended the crook of his arm. The seats were only a couple of feet away, and Hannah felt a little silly. But he was obviously trying to play the gallant so she allowed him to escort her. He showed her to a seat beside Madame Pomeroy, and waited until she had adjusted the train of her gown before taking the seat next to her. Yakov stood in the shadows at the back of the box.

  Hannah relaxed into the plush seat cushions, contented, waiting for the production to begin. She listened to the cacophony of the orchestra members tuning their instruments. With all the people in the auditorium, the air grew warm, and she touched the back of her hand to her forehead. Across the audience, fans sprouted in women’s hands and fluttered like tethered birds. Madame Pomeroy pulled a fan from her handbag and flicked it open. She handed it to Hannah, and then produced one for herself.

  Hannah looked at the blue Chinese pattern printed on the corrugated paper: a tall house with a tiered roof, a heron, and a cherry tree in blossom. She batted the air in front of her face, and felt a little cooler.

  The lights dimmed, and the audience applauded for several moments before falling, save for a few stray coughs, into quiet anticipation. The orchestra conductor grabbed that silence and held on to it until it seemed ready to break. Then he made a delicate incision in the air with his baton, and the prelude music rose up from below. The melody began as a quiet whisper from the violins, sad and haunted, but soon lightened and expanded in mood until the opera began.