Lucas cleared his throat. “These children have lost their parents. I beg of you to let them spend the night. They have nowhere else to go.”
“Poor dears!” Georgina cooed, rising to her feet.
Mr. Havensworth turned to Lucas. “Son, that is unfortunate. However, we’re not running an almshouse. I fear this family will have to find elsewhere to stay.”
Hanna felt as numb as if she had been standing barefoot in the snow. Bending down to eye level with Hans and Katja, she whispered, “Go play outside.” Without missing a beat, Frances opened the door. Hans took Katja’s hand, and they ran into the garden. Martin shrunk into the shadows, like a boy hoping to vanish.
“Father,” Lucas said, his voice steady. “As I stated before, Miss Hannelore Schaeffer is a friend. She has nowhere else to go. I have welcomed her here as my guest, and I would appreciate your cooperation.”
While Hanna admired Lucas’s belief that the world was an inherently good place—a place where she would be welcome—she did not share it. There would be more nights in the boardinghouse above the livery, and perhaps nights on the streets. She shuddered, thinking of the perils of homelessness.
Georgina placed her delicate white hands on her father’s coat sleeve. “Papa,” Georgina said, her deep blue eyes filled with determination. “Have you no compassion? These children require a place to stay. It is our duty as Christian people to help those less fortunate than we are. Is that not what we are taught in church?”
Mr. Havensworth studied his daughter’s face. The deep frown lines around his mouth drew downward. “My dear, we cannot . . .”
Hans and Katja pushed open the front door. Breathing so heavily he could barely speak, Hans ran to Hanna, grabbing the hem of her skirt. “There’s a robin outside! And a squirrel too! Hanna, you must come see him. He has a big tail!”
Mr. Havensworth’s expression softened. He turned to Georgina and sighed. “When will I ever learn to say no to you?”
“Thank you, Papa!” Georgina cried, grabbing hold of his hand.
Mr. Havensworth looked at Hanna. “Although my daughter has quite silly notions at times, I suppose it would not be Christian of us if we were to turn you away.”
Hanna let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you. You are too kind.”
Perhaps Lucas’s family was Catholic like Margaret, or some other type of Christian faith. That was of no importance to Hanna. All that mattered was she and her family had a place to stay the night—a true blessing indeed.
“All right. That’s settled then,” Georgina said with a smile. “I’ll have Gertrude run Hans and Katja a hot bath. When they’re ready I shall introduce them to my little Annabelle and Marcus. How it shall delight my children to have friends to play with.”
Georgina turned to Katja. “Would you like to get cleaned up?”
Katja shook her head. “When I take a bath I stand in the cooking pot and Hanna washes me with the dishcloth. It’s cold and scratchy.”
Hanna stroked her sister’s hair, though her cheeks stung at the child’s admission of their poverty. “It’s all right, little deer. Go with the nice lady. Hans, you go too.”
A man in dirty coveralls appeared in the foyer, removing his hat as he knocked once on the open door. Hanna recognized him as the Havensworths’ carriage driver from the dark mark on his cheek. He had taken Robert into town on the Sunday Lucas and Hanna had walked the length of Long Bridge with Margaret.
“Pardon me, sir,” he said. “But the carriage wheel is broke. It came right off. I been hammerin’ at it tryin’ to set it right, but it don’t want to go back.”
“Well, that won’t do, Clive,” Mr. Havensworth replied. “I’ve a meeting at the Merchants Exchange that I am to attend after supper.”
Clive rubbed his head. “I’d call on Zeke over at the livery and stable, but his lady took sick, so he ain’t working today.”
Martin looked up, his eyes brightening. “I can fix it.”
Mr. Havensworth turned to Martin. “But you’re not more than thirteen.”
“I am twelve, sir,” Martin said. “And I’ve worked the past four years with my father as a blacksmith.”
Though Hanna wished Martin were in school, she felt a small swell of pride. For his age, her brother was strong. He could handle a hot iron with care and precision.
“Well then.” Mr. Havensworth lifted one bushy eyebrow. “I suppose you can make a go at mending the carriage wheel. But please don’t damage it further.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Clive here will show you to the stable.”
Clive beckoned Martin. “Come wiv me, lad.”
Martin followed Clive out the door into the garden, his shoulders relaxing as he made his way toward more familiar surroundings.
“Hanna,” Lucas said, “Frances here will show you to your room upstairs. There will be a hot bath waiting. I shall see you for supper.”
“Thank you,” Hanna said, meeting his eyes, which sparkled like deep blue pools. She yearned to hold his hands in hers, which she knew to be soft and not calloused, so different from the hands she’d seen of longshoremen, bricklayers, and miners.
Following Frances up the wooden staircase and down a long hallway, Hanna passed several doors leading to different rooms. Gas lamps illuminated the dim corridor, and crystal chandeliers twinkled overhead. She could not help herself from staring.
“You look surprised,” Frances said.
“I’ve never seen lights like this before,” Hanna murmured.
Frances smiled wryly. “Then I suppose you don’t have running water in your home neither.”
“No,” Hanna said.
“Well then,” Frances answered. “Enjoy it while you can.”
The cryptic comment sent a shiver down Hanna’s spine. True, she could not stay here forever, and believing in such fantasies would be foolish.
Frances turned down the hall, pointing to a room on the left. “In here,” she said. “Gertrude will help you.”
“Thank you,” Hanna replied, stepping inside. Rich peach drapes matched the light pink wallpaper. A few framed watercolors of lilies hung on the walls. Perhaps Georgina had painted them, for Lucas had mentioned his sister’s art lessons.
A pleasantly round woman appeared from the washroom. “Hello, dear,” she said, her rosy cheeks lending her a kind appearance. “I’m Gertrude.”
“Hello,” Hanna answered, her eyes skimming the low dressing bureau, washstand, easy chair, and chaise longue. This chamber held more furniture than Father’s entire home. “I am Hannelore, but you may call me Hanna.”
Gertrude looked Hanna over. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
Slowly, Hanna unbuttoned her dirndl, hunching her shoulders and turning away so Gertrude would not see her naked flesh. Hanna’s sides ached when she lifted her arms above her head, slipping out of her chemise.
When Gertrude noticed the purplish bruises that bloomed on Hanna’s rib cage, she covered her mouth. “Oh, my word. You poor dear.”
The lashes on Hanna’s back from Father’s belt buckle hurt, especially with the rush of cold air. Hanna shivered, wishing to cover herself.
Gertrude clucked her tongue like a protective mother hen. “Come with me,” she said, leading Hanna into an adjacent room. A large basin sat in the center, filled to the brim with steaming water. Odd metal pipes connected the bath to the wall. “Go on, step in,” Gertrude said. “It’s only a tub. Don’t be afraid.”
Hanna slowly lowered herself into the soapy water, sucking air in through her teeth. The lacerations on her back stung. But within a few moments the pain subsided and the hot water wrapped Hanna up like a blanket. She moaned in pleasure.
“We’re going to give you a proper clean,” Gertrude said, taking a sponge from a hook on the wall. “Go on. Scrub yourself with this.”
Hanna did as she was told, scrubbing her arms, her chest, and her legs. The filth of Old Sydney Town sloughed
off Hanna’s body, dirt from years of living amongst the evils and sin of the Barbary Coast. Soon after, the water took on a muddy hue.
A lump rose in Hanna’s throat when her thoughts turned to Margaret. Was she trapped in a dark brothel, surrounded by low women and vile men? Nearly a whole day had passed since Margaret had disappeared. Was she . . . Hanna couldn’t even think it.
Gertrude turned a silver knob, and water poured from the tap into the bath. “Ha!” Hanna exclaimed, sticking her hands beneath the stream. “How is it possible?”
“Modern plumbing,” Gertrude said, rubbing soap into Hanna’s scalp. Her strong fingers sent shivers of pleasure down Hanna’s spine. “Magic, ain’t it?”
Gertrude drained the dirty water, filled the basin again, and let Hanna soak in the tub for what felt like a very long time. When Hanna’s fingertips had wrinkled like prunes, Gertrude helped her out and toweled her off, the rough cloth invigorating Hanna’s skin. Careful to avoid the bruises and cuts, Gertrude managed to be gentle.
“Turkish towels,” Gertrude said. “Good for the health. I’m going to shine you up like a copper teakettle.”
Hanna’s eyes welled with tears. Gertrude’s cool hands reminded Hanna of her mother’s, and the way Mother used to braid her hair while she hummed.
“It’s all right, dear,” Gertrude said, hanging the towel back on the hook. “Follow me, let’s get you dressed.” She smiled, opening a wooden bureau. “You see here? Miss Georgina has generously lent you a few gowns.”
“Oh!” Hanna put her hand to her chest. “She needn’t have. I will wear my dirndl.”
Gertrude shook her head. “I’ve already put that in the washbasin for a good scrubbing. When you have it back it will be good as new.”
Once again, Hanna’s cheeks prickled with heat as she stood stark naked, feeling useless while Gertrude puttered about. Tugging open a drawer, Gertrude coughed as a puff of lilac powder filled the room. She reached inside, removing a handful of frilly undergarments. “Here,” she said, handing Hanna a pair of lace-trimmed bloomers. “You can put these on yourself. I’ll help you into the crinolines and the corset.”
As Hanna tugged the chemise over her breasts, she noted how the lace sleeves matched the trim of the drawers. Gertrude wrapped the corset around Hanna’s middle and tugged the ties tight, expelling Hanna’s breath from her lungs. Next Gertrude lifted a crinoline around her, encircling her waist like a birdcage.
Made from the same whalebone as her corset, it felt surprisingly heavy. While Hanna struggled to get used to the weight, Gertrude pulled an evening gown from the bureau. It was the shade of the ocean at midnight, the silk shimmering under the lights. Hanna covered her mouth, taking in the exquisite knife pleating along the bodice. She knew the difficulty of those stitches, her fingers thick and calloused from sewing them.
“What a beautiful dress,” Hanna murmured, touching the collar trimmed with black lace. She drew back her hand, admiring the tiers of pleats like a wedding cake and a bustle big as a hot air balloon. Hanna had seen lovely dresses in the tailor shop before, but none quite as magnificent as this one. She simply stared, unable to move.
Gertrude chuckled. “The dress won’t bite you, child. Now, raise your arms.”
Tugging the dress over Hanna’s head, Gertrude clucked happily. “Fits like it was made for you, don’t it?” Then Gertrude bent down to pull the yards of fabric over the hoopskirt. Hanna stood there like a doll. It was necessary to keep a maid just to coax oneself into the contraption.
“Thank you,” Hanna said, smiling. “I do not think I could have put it on myself.”
“Oh no, dear,” Gertrude said, tugging a brush through Hanna’s tangled wet curls. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, let’s make you up pretty.”
Hanna’s scalp prickled as Gertrude yanked, and Hanna pressed her lips together.
“My, that’s quite a lot of hair you’ve got,” Gertrude said, twisting pieces into place at the crown of Hanna’s head.
“Yes,” Hanna replied. “I don’t pay it much attention.”
Gertrude pinned a large plait across Hanna’s part and pulled at sections of hair, muttering to herself. The hairstyle felt heavy at the front, but long pieces hung free in the back. Hanna had seen women toss their follow-me-lads flirtatiously, curls hanging low over their shoulders. Never did she expect to do the same.
Smiling at her creation, Gertrude tucked a tortoiseshell comb into the braid. “Go on,” she said to Hanna, pointing at the mirror on the vanity. “Take a look.”
Hanna gazed into the looking glass, unable to believe the woman staring back at her. With this shimmering dress and lovely hair, she appeared far comelier than usual, her strong features softened. But Hanna was no lady, even if tonight she resembled one. She gently touched her hair, to see if it would hold in place.
Turning to Gertrude, Hanna shook her head. “I—I am not this person. I do not belong in such finery.”
Gertrude took Hanna’s hands in hers. “Love, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I know it ain’t pretty. You deserve some happiness, and I think this dress suits you.” Gertrude’s eyes shone bright as her rosy cheeks.
Hanna squeezed her fingers. “You have shown me much kindness. Thank you, truly.”
“It’s an unkind world we live in,” Gertrude said, frowning. “We have to help each other when we can. Now, go on, get yourself to supper.”
Taking a few steps forward, Hanna practiced walking in a pair of Georgina’s satin high-heeled shoes. They fit a little snugly, for Georgina’s feet were smaller than Hanna’s. But unlike Hanna’s boots, the heels felt comfortably soft and had sturdy soles.
“One more thing,” Gertrude said as Hanna turned to leave. “Wear these.” She handed Hanna a pair of black silk gloves.
“Thank you,” Hanna said, slipping the first one onto her hand. She bit her lip. “Do I wear them when I eat?”
“No, dear,” Gertrude said. “You take them off when you reach the table.”
Hanna exhaled, fearing she would make a fool of herself, unfamiliar with the customs of the wealthy. “I cannot go downstairs,” she whispered, looking to Gertrude’s kind face for guidance. “I do not belong here.”
“Hush,” Gertrude said. “You will do just fine. Go on now.”
After leaving the bedroom, Hanna descended the grand staircase, steadying herself on the banister. Beneath the glow of the gas lamps, the dark wood creaked like it was whispering to her. Hanna stopped, wondering if she had heard a cry. Perhaps one of the children called out? No, it was merely the wind.
Shaking her head to clear the uneasy feeling, Hanna walked down the remaining stairs and slowly made her way to the dining room. When she entered, Hanna found a long table laden with porcelain plates rimmed in gold. White tapered candles flickered next to a bowl of white flowers, and the silver shone to such a high gleam, Frances must have polished the utensils for hours.
Laughter emanated from the other room. Hanna hesitated, wondering if she ought to follow the sound or stay in place. The door behind her creaked, and she spun around. Lucas stood there, holding a crystal glass. His eyes swept over Hanna’s dress and then her face. He covered his mouth with his hand.
Hanna held her breath, waiting for him to speak.
“Hanna,” Lucas said, his hand falling at his side. “You are a vision. I am thunderstruck.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The air crackled with static, like the rumble of the new cable cars. When her eyes met his, the room seemed to slip away. Lucas took Hanna’s gloved hand, raising it to his lips. How she wished she could feel his mouth against her skin instead of the fabric. Did he feel the charge in the air, or was his kiss only customary?
“Ahem.”
Hanna dropped her hand, gasping. When her eyes met the pale eyes of the man in the doorway, a jolt of nerves shot all the way from the crown of her head down to her feet.
“Robert,” Lucas said. “You’ve given poor Miss Schaeffer
quite a fright. Hanna, you do remember my cousin, don’t you?”
Robert placed a hand on his stomach and bowed. “Good evening. Forgive my shock. I did not expect to see you here.”
“Good evening, sir. It is I who apologize.” Hanna stared at the floor, feeling more out of sorts than a fish in a stable. She should have helped Frances polish the silverware.
Lucas pulled a chair out and gestured to Hanna. “Please, sit.”
“Thank you,” Hanna said, trying to keep the full skirt from becoming trapped beneath the wooden leg. Her corset pulled in her stomach, hindering her breathing.
“Care for a glass of sherry?” Lucas asked.
Judging from the scent of his drink, it had to be some kind of Schnaps. Did ladies drink alcohol around the dinner table? Lucas had offered, so perhaps it was safe to assume that they did. Hanna smiled. “Yes, please.”
While Lucas and Robert disappeared into the adjacent room, Hanna looked at the arrangement of engraved cutlery. On the right side of her plate lay two large knives and a small knife, next to a very small fork. On the left side three large forks lined up next to a tablespoon. Heavens! In her home, they’d had only one silver spoon, which had belonged to her Oma on her mother’s side. But then Father had pawned it. Most often, Hanna and her siblings tore bread with their hands, sharing what little they had.
Hanna stood to attention when Mr. William and Mrs. Elizabeth Havensworth entered the dining room, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Georgina followed, resplendent in a green gown with pearl buttons. She had changed from the pink gown she had been wearing when Hanna arrived. Did ladies always change clothing before supper?
Mrs. Havensworth regarded Hanna with a thin raised eyebrow. Hanna had scarcely heard Lucas’s mother speak a word. Perhaps this was customary, as every proper woman believed herself to be merely an extension of her husband, silent and passive. Mr. Havensworth sat down in a chair at the head of the table.
“Miss Schaeffer, you look lovely in my blue dress,” Georgina said, taking a seat adjacent to Hanna. “I thought it would suit you. Please, sit down.”
The Dressmaker's Dowry Page 15
