The Dressmaker's Dowry

by Meredith Jaeger

  “Thank you,” Hanna said, wondering how she could ever repay Georgina’s kindness. “Please, if you require any help, I can mend your dresses.”

  Mrs. Havensworth sniffed like something stank.

  Georgina smiled. “Why, thank you. I do have a few dresses in need of mending. I should have learned to do it myself.”

  No lady would ever do her own washing or mending, and they both knew as much. Georgina’s hands would only ever touch the ivory keys of a piano.

  With a burst of laughter, Lucas, Robert, and a third man entered the room.

  Georgina waved the newcomer over to her side. “Hello, dear husband. Charles, this is our guest, Miss Hannelore Schaeffer.”

  Charles turned to Hanna, his face pleasant. “Good evening, Miss Schaeffer.”

  “Good evening,” Hanna said, lowering her head.

  Taking a seat next to Georgina, Charles turned to Hanna, twisting the end of his waxed moustache. “I hope conversation has been harmonious thus far. My wife, whenever she entertains, chooses guests for their beauty, wit, talent, or money.”

  Mr. Havensworth coughed. Hanna stiffened, but Charles hardly seemed to notice. He smiled at Hanna. “With these four necessities, the hostess may eat her dinner in comfort, secure in the knowledge that the verdict of her guests will be in her favor. I see she’s brought you into the fray.”

  Georgina giggled. “Oh, Charles, stop.”

  “Tell me, Miss Schaeffer,” Charles said. “Which category do you fall into?”

  Georgina touched her husband’s arm. “Charles, Miss Schaeffer and her siblings have lost their parents. We have extended our Christian kindness to them by offering respite at our home. They are immigrants from Prussia.”

  Charles stared at Hanna. “Veritably so? I’m quite sorry. And have you no other family?”

  “My grandparents are in Bavaria,” Hanna said. She swallowed, looking about for Hans, Katja, and Martin. Hanna turned to Georgina. “Will the children eat with us?”

  Georgina’s eyes softened. “No, dear, with Claudia, our governess.”

  Hanna nodded, as if she understood.

  Georgina sipped her sherry and then blotted her lips with a napkin. “Your brother Martin asked to take supper with Clive in the carriage house. We extended the invitation to him to dine with us, but he insisted.”

  “Perhaps he is more comfortable there,” Hanna said.

  Mr. Havensworth coughed again, his face growing red. Mrs. Havensworth fanned herself vigorously. Suddenly, the room felt far too warm, and Hanna’s corset too tight. She had not meant to offend, simply to state the truth.

  “Miss Schaeffer,” Charles said. “Tell me, what is your father’s line of work?”

  Hanna sucked in her breath, picturing Father wild-eyed, wandering the streets in search of her. Sipping her sherry, Hanna tasted the sweet burn of alcohol. After she set the glass down, her nerves abated slightly.

  “He worked as a blacksmith,” Hanna said, looking at Charles. “But he has died.”

  Lucas turned to face his parents. “Hanna speaks quite well. You can see she has learned much from her mother, who was an educated woman.”

  Hanna shook her head. “Your son misleads you.”

  As Frances refilled their glasses and conversation flowed along with bottles of champagne, Hanna could not join in the spirit of felicitation. The men laughed through courses of various soups and sliced into their juicy steaks. The appeal of the rich foods diminished when Hanna thought of Margaret.

  Where had Margaret gone?

  Hanna looked out the window into the darkness. Tree branches scratched against the windowpane. Moaning like a phantom train, the wind seemed to carry the hint of a scream. Hanna shivered. When she found Margaret, she prayed she would find her alive.

  Chapter 13

  Sarah, Present Day

  My footsteps echoed in the marble lobby of Havensworth Art Academy, where a security guard manned the front desk. It was late now, and quiet. On an impulse, I’d decided to stop by, emboldened by the glass of wine I’d had at dinner.

  I’d tried to cheer Jen up at our favorite Italian restaurant, but she hadn’t laughed at my jokes and had managed only a few forkfuls of pasta. I’d urged her to tell Nick what James had said to her, but she didn’t trust Nick not to spread the news.

  I had half a mind to report James to HR myself. Could I do that? I hadn’t liked the way he’d looked at me after he’d reentered the office, his eyes beady and cold. He seemed like the type of man to be threatened by a strong woman.

  I cleared my throat. The security guard looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine.

  “Hi,” I said warmly. “My name is Sarah Havensworth. I’m here to help my mother-in-law set up for her event, the Canova by Moonlight gala.”

  The guy sat up straighter, his shiny badge catching the light. My mouth felt dry. “And um, well, there’s some paperwork in the upstairs office that she asked me to get for her tonight. I was wondering if you might have the key?”

  His bushy brows drew together. “You got ID?”

  “Yes,” I said as I dug around in my purse. Pushing my ID across the desk toward him, I pasted a smile on my face.

  He picked it up with both hands and studied it. “Sarah Havensworth, huh? Okay, looks like you’re part of the family.”

  My shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” I said, adrenaline pumping through me. The security guard removed a large key ring from a hook. He sorted through the jumble of metal before handing me a square brass key that I recognized.

  The security guard smiled, almost making me feel guilty. “Bring it back when you’re finished. I’m here all night.”

  “Great,” I said, turning on my heel. “I won’t be long. Thank you again.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, then traversing the dark corridor, I reached Lucas Havensworth’s office as if propelled there by an unseen force. Shutting the door behind me, I approached the wooden wardrobe in the back corner of the room. My hands shook as I stuck the skeleton key into the lock. It was a perfect fit. My breath shuddered as I grappled with my conscience. Was I doing the right thing?

  What if there was something horrible behind that door—something I didn’t want to find? But it was too late; I twisted my wrist to the right and pulled on the key with both hands, tugging the stubborn door open. At first I thought the wardrobe was empty.

  But then I blinked, noticing a canvas lying on its side. Stuffing the key into my pocket, I reached into the wardrobe with both hands and pulled out a painting in a gilded frame. Sneezing once, I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow.

  I brushed off the dust, my eyes drawn to the beautiful color of the oils. Curving coastline faintly resembled Telegraph Hill, long before it had been developed. The hillside rippled vibrant green, and the sky swirled pink and orange, like the hues of early dawn. A schooner with billowing white sails bobbed in the water.

  The thick brushstrokes transported me into the scene. I yearned to sit on that grassy knoll with the breeze in my hair and to experience the quiet of the city as it once had been—over a hundred years ago.

  The German word sehnsucht popped into my mind. I’d once written an article on thirty untranslatable words. Yes, the Germans managed to capture this feeling perfectly: nostalgia for a place or experience I’d never had.

  I looked at the dimensions of the frame. My eyes darted above the desk, meeting the faint outline of a rectangle. Could this have been the painting that had once hung above Lucas Havensworth’s desk? It was the right size and shape. If so, why had it been taken down? And by whom?

  Tapping my chin, I stared at the swirl of oils, once again transported into the ethereal beauty of that place. Just below the frame, the looping letters of a signature poked out. Carefully pressing back the canvas with two fingers, I could make out the black letters of the artist’s name and the date.

  HANNELORE SCHAEFFER, 1876.

  Blood rushed in my ears. It couldn’t be. I sneezed, waving the dust particles
away. Reading the cursive again, the signature was unmistakable. My pulse started to race as if I had downed too many cups of coffee.

  My missing girl had known my husband’s great-great-great-grandfather? She’d been a poor German immigrant and he’d been—what, a real-estate mogul, with a fortune in silver from the Comstock Lode? It didn’t make any sense. The art university hadn’t been founded until 1880 and Hannelore had gone missing in 1876.

  Nothing added up, and yet here was Hannelore’s name. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my mind racing. If Hannelore and Margaret had been such good friends, was it possible Lucas Havensworth had been acquainted with both of them? I shivered, running my hands along the goose bumps prickling my arms.

  By unlocking this wardrobe, I’d unleashed the skeletons in the Havensworth family closet. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I steadied my shaking hands and snapped a photo of the painting. Deep in my gut, I felt a twinge. If Lucas had known what had happened to Hannelore and Margaret on the night of their disappearance, did that mean Gwyneth and Walter also knew something they weren’t letting on?

  My phone pinged in my hand. I pulled it out, swiping the screen. A Gmail notification popped up, the sender’s address: anonymous0982561@gmail.com. I gasped, my eyes racing across the two lines of text.

  I know what you’re doing. And I strongly advise you to stop.

  Chapter 14

  Hanna, 1876

  Hans and Katja sat at a small round table, their fingers fumbling with silver spoons. The walls of the room had been painted in gay bright colors, and all around them were blocks and storybooks. A bit of porridge stuck to Hans’s cheek. Wiping it away with a cloth napkin, Hanna smiled at her brother’s new clothes. Hans looked such the little gentleman in his brown trousers, while Katja wore a frilly pink frock.

  “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” Hanna asked.

  Katja nodded, a bow holding her dark curls in place.

  Hans spoke with his mouth full. “This is the best food I ever had.”

  Georgina’s son, Marcus, let his spoon drop into the bowl, then set his chin on his tiny fists. “It is only boring old porridge and I’ve had it a thousand times before. I want eggs Benedict. Mother, tell the cook to make me some.”

  Georgina smoothed her son’s hair. “Now, Marcus, eat your breakfast like Hans and Katja. It is not polite to complain.”

  He stuck out his lip. “They are poor. They can’t even speak properly. They probably think porridge is something grand because they eat slop for pigs.”

  Georgina reddened. “Marcus William Havensworth Chapman, I will not tolerate such language. Go to your room!”

  He threw down his napkin and stomped away. For a boy of six, he was quite a little terror.

  Annabelle continued to eat her porridge quietly. She had Georgina’s blond curls and rosy cheeks. Hanna hoped Georgina’s daughter and Katja would become playmates, but in the time they had spent together, the child hadn’t uttered a word.

  “I’m sorry about Marcus,” Georgina said, her eyes apologetic. “He has a temper.”

  “It must be difficult for him,” Hanna said. “He has many strangers in his home.”

  “Oh, please do not feel like a stranger.” Georgina clasped Hanna’s hand. “It is my hope that we shall become friends.”

  “I would like that,” Hanna replied, touched by Georgina’s kindness.

  Georgina let go of Hanna’s hand, motioning toward the stable. “Your brother Martin fixed the broken wagon wheel that Clive could not. Father was very impressed.”

  Hanna smiled. “Good. I am glad to hear that.”

  Georgina smoothed her dress. “I’ve spoken with Father, and he has agreed to allow you to stay until you’ve made other arrangements. Your brother has proven himself useful in the stables, and I will take you up on your generous offer to mend my clothing.”

  Hanna exhaled, her fear of walking the streets amongst stray dogs fading from her mind. “Thank you,” she said. “Truly.”

  “Annabelle,” Georgina said, stroking her daughter’s cheek. “Katja shall join you in your lessons today. Would you like that?”

  Annabelle looked up at her mother. She gave a tiny nod.

  Georgina straightened the hem of her daughter’s dress. “The children are reading Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy stories. They are also practicing arithmetic and French.”

  Hanna swallowed. What if Marcus was to poke fun at Hans for being unable to read? If Hans felt ridiculed, he might strike the boy.

  “My siblings are not schooled,” Hanna said. “They cannot yet read, write, or do arithmetic. And they do not know French, I am afraid.”

  Georgina’s face fell. “Oh. I’m terribly sorry. Our governess has been with us for so long, I fear I’ve taken her services for granted. But I understand that not all families are so fortunate.” She appeared to sense Hanna’s unease. “Annabelle is still learning her letters. Hans may join the girls in their lessons. It will allow him to catch up.”

  Hanna kissed the top of Hans’s and Katja’s heads. “Did you hear that? Today you have lessons. Listen to your governess, and be polite.”

  “Yes, Hanna,” Hans said.

  Hanna patted his arm. “You will thank Mrs. Chapman for her hospitality.”

  Hans turned to Georgina. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Should Martin join the lessons as well?” Hanna asked, hoping her eldest brother would take an interest in learning.

  Georgina frowned. “He’s with Clive, at the stable. Unfortunately I don’t believe we have a tutor available for a child his age.”

  It was Father’s life Martin wanted, even though he was capable of becoming so much more. But he enjoyed stoking the fire and putting shoes on the horses.

  “Go now,” Georgina said to the children. “Mrs. Blackford is waiting.”

  Katja, Annabelle, and Hans scampered down the hallway hand in hand toward yet another room, where they would have their lessons.

  Rising to her feet, Georgina turned to Hanna. “Will you join us in the drawing room today? Mother and I shall practice our needlepoint, and perhaps later, piano.”

  Though Hanna could not play piano, she had confidence in her needlepoint ability. However, a day spent on such leisurely pursuits would be time wasted. It was imperative to find Margaret.

  Hanna raised a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me. I feel a bit faint.”

  “Oh dear,” Georgina said. “Are you all right?”

  With a slight roll of her eyes, Hanna allowed her knees to buckle. Falling to the floor, she lay motionless.

  Georgina gasped. “Frances! Come quickly. Miss Schaeffer has swooned. Please see her to her room, immediately.”

  Hanna blinked. “Heavens. What has happened?”

  Touching Hanna’s forehead, Georgina clucked her tongue. “You’ve had a fainting spell. Please, you must retire to your chamber. I insist.”

  “Thank you,” Hanna murmured. Frances narrowed her eyes, helping Hanna to her feet. Did she see through the charade?

  “I am all right,” Hanna said, brushing off her dress. She felt awful for deceiving Georgina, after Lucas’s sister had shown such kindness. But Margaret needed help. “I can see myself upstairs. Thank you.”

  “Are you sure?” Georgina asked.

  Hanna nodded. “Yes, thank you. A bit of rest will do me good.”

  She made a show of leaning heavily against the banister as she climbed the stairs. But once she reached her bedchamber, Hanna shut the door quickly, struggling to unbutton the cumbersome taffeta gown Georgina had lent her.

  Hanna removed the whalebone corset from around her waist, and the heavy hoopskirt, stepping out of both. She smiled, able to breathe once more. To think she and Margaret had once dreamed of wearing such finery.

  Gertrude had washed and dried Hanna’s dirndl, which Hanna slipped over her head. Quickly, she fastened it, and then stuffed two pillows under the duvet, to make it appear as though she lay in bed sleeping.

  Slipping off Ge
orgina’s satin shoes, Hanna laced up her dirtied boots, which she’d begged Gertrude not to take from her.

  Sneaking down the servants’ staircase, she held her breath. The labyrinthine nature of the mansion would befuddle anyone. But these stairs would take her to the kitchen, Hanna knew that much. Tiptoeing the remainder of the way, she succeeded in slipping by the staff unnoticed.

  The side door creaked as she opened it. Looking to her right and left, she darted across the wet grass, past hedges trimmed into circles and cubes. Where were the potatoes, tomato plants, and chickens? With so much land to grow food, it was a wonder the rich did not use it. Checking behind her, she saw no one.

  As Hanna passed the stables, chestnut mares whinnied and stomped their hooves. The sweet smell of hay bales reminded her of home in Bavaria. Beneath her boots, a twig snapped. She winced. Before she could run, a figure appeared in the doorway.

  Hanna gasped. “Martin! You frightened me.”

  Her brother wore a leather apron and a dirty shirt. A crease divided his brow. “Where are you going?”

  Hanna’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I must find Margaret.”

  Martin nodded toward the house. “Do they know what you’re doing?”

  “They think I took ill. I put pillows under the blanket in my room to make it appear I am in bed.”

  Martin grinned like a boy, instead of a serious young man. “Don’t get caught, then.”

  Hanna squeezed his hand. “Have you eaten enough? You missed supper. The Havensworths are wealthy, but they are kind. You ought to come inside.”

  Martin shook his head. “They don’t like us, Hanna. And they don’t see us as equals. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”

  His words stung like the lash of Father’s belt. Hanna gestured toward the hay and horse dung. “You like working here?”

  “Yes. We work hard, and then we eat. Clive’s wife made us a mutton stew with potatoes.” He patted his belly. “I haven’t eaten so well in a long time. I think I may finally grow some muscles, like a real man.”