The Dressmaker's Dowry

by Meredith Jaeger

My chest tightened as I thought of James. I’d said aloud that Jen should report him to HR, which would threaten his job. Had he heard me?

  Exiting the building, I zipped up my sweatshirt. As I walked down Fulton Street, toward the Panhandle, I smelled eucalyptus, mingled with the scent of the ocean, carrying over from the outer avenues. On weekends, Hunter and I liked to ride our bikes through Golden Gate Park, sometimes all the way to Ocean Beach. I enjoyed the sleepiness of the Sunset District and the Outer Richmond, a few of the last remaining neighborhoods where longtime San Francisco residents lived.

  A pang hit me, thinking of a happy family, cozy in one of the small, stucco houses: a mom, a dad, and two little children, laughing as they played together in the living room. I swallowed, hard. That would never be my life.

  Pulling my phone from my purse, I dialed Nick. I’d promised Jen I wouldn’t say anything to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help me.

  “Hey,” Nick said. “What’s up, Sar?”

  “Hey, buddy. I need to ask you something.”

  “Wait, don’t tell me,” he said. “You want help making your Instagram account better so you can get more followers. I already told Jen to download Afterlight, but even a great filter can’t help a mediocre photo. The trick is in finding the right subject and the right mood. And please, no more brunch photos. Food is meant for eating.”

  I laughed. “What? I don’t care about my Instagram. I need your help with some computer stuff. Do you know how to trace an IP address?”

  The smile in Nick’s voice disappeared. “What’s going on, chica?”

  “I got this creepy email from an unknown sender who calls himself Anonymous.”

  “Yikes. What did it say?”

  “I can’t tell you. But I need to find out who it’s from.”

  Nick’s voice went up an octave. “Oh, really? Well, don’t get yourself into too much trouble, Nancy Drew. Forward me that email.”

  “So you think you can do it?”

  “It won’t be easy.” He paused. “If you ever want to find the IP of an email sent to you, you can investigate the message’s headers—you know, that stuff that looks like a keyboard exploded on the message. Then you do a ping on a known address, or a ‘who is’ check, where the information will be sent out to a database, queried, and then returned with the registration information for that IP address.”

  My eyes glazed over. “Nick? You know, you might as well be speaking Spanish right now, because I don’t understand a word you said.”

  “Okay, then Déjame en paz!”

  I laughed as I rounded the corner, spotting my bus stop. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “Oh, so you do understand Spanish.”

  “Not really,” I said. “Only the stuff you taught me. Anyways, I’m about to catch my bus, so I’ll let you go. Thanks for helping me out.”

  “Wait,” Nick said. “Before you go, I have to ask you something. Do you think Jen has been acting weird lately?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Not that I’ve noticed. Why?”

  “She seems skittish at work. She hasn’t been laughing at my jokes.”

  “Can you blame her?” I smiled. “Your jokes are terrible.”

  “Hey, they’re not that bad. But honestly, I’m a little worried about her. She’s been really quiet at her desk, and it seems like something’s on her mind.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Nick was trustworthy. I wanted Jen to tell him about James. The more friends she had on her side, the better. “Talk to her. Find out what’s going on.”

  “Okay,” Nick said. “Will do. Bye, hun. Let’s chill again soon.”

  “Bye,” I said, feeling a bit guilty as I hung up the phone. But I hadn’t told Nick what had happened. I’d only encouraged him to find out for himself.

  As I stood at the bus shelter, waiting for the 5R to arrive, I heard my phone ping. When I swiped the screen, my breath hitched. This time, the email had an attachment. My knees buckled underneath me, and I sank to the concrete, the world around me going dark.

  Unless you want people to see this, stop what you’re doing now.

  Chapter 16

  Hanna, 1876

  Hanna crept through the side door of Lucas’s house, her pulse racing. Margaret was with child. But why hadn’t she been forthcoming about her predicament? And Kieran McClaren hardly seemed trustworthy, having sent Margaret to an abortion doctor. Had Margaret been forced to go through with it?

  Hanna steadied herself on the counter in the servants’ pantry, breathing deeply. The potions and surgical methods used to rid women of their children could kill Margaret. Surely she would never endure such a procedure. But then again, Margaret hadn’t told Hanna she’d given up her virginity, and Hanna had been none the wiser.

  “What have we here?” Frances said, crossing her arms as she entered the room. “A little mouse, sneaking round the kitchen, up to no good?”

  Beneath her frilly white maid’s cap, Frances’s eyes shone black.

  “Oh, hello, Frances,” Hanna said. “I’ve come to look for . . . potatoes.”

  Frances scoffed. “Potatoes? You ain’t wearing your fancy clothes no more, and now you’re after potatoes? What for?”

  “I would like to help cook supper,” Hanna answered.

  Frances stuck her hands on her hips. “I know your kind. Herr Schmidt, who runs the jewelry on Market Street, he’s always scheming good folk out of their hard-earned money. You lot are a bunch of dirty Jews.”

  Hanna frowned. “I am not Jewish. Not that it would matter to you, thinking all German people are the same.”

  Frances threw up her hands. “And you don’t think all Irish are the same? You call us Micks and give us dirty jobs. If me ma knew I was working for a family of Protestants, she’d roll over in her grave.” Making the sign of the cross over her chest, Frances sighed. “I should’ve stayed in Dublin, even if I would’ve been no more than a chambermaid.”

  “Frances, you were right about the potatoes,” Hanna said. “I was lying. That’s not why I am here.”

  Frances’s eyes widened. “I knew it! You’ve come to steal the silver.”

  “No,” Hanna said, her voice breaking. “I haven’t come to steal anything. My dearest friend, she’s Irish, an immigrant from Dublin, like you.”

  The hard line of Frances’s mouth softened. “Go on.”

  Hanna sniffed. “Her name’s Margaret. She’s gone missing. And I’ve learned she’s with child. I’m terribly frightened for her, and I am looking to find her.”

  “What’s her family name?” Frances asked.

  “O’Brien,” Hanna said. “Margaret lives on Minna Street, by the boardinghouse above Tomkinson’s livery. Do you know her?”

  Frances smirked. “I know the O’Briens. Not well, mind you. But the wee ones are always running amok. Her ma’s a drunk, just like her da. It’s not a good life down in Irish Town. That’s why I’ve been raised up. Brought meself here.” The kindness in Frances’s eyes disappeared. “And if I tell Mr. Lucas you’re sneaking around searching for your pregnant friend, he won’t think you’re such a nice girl then, considering the company you keep.”

  A surge of anger swept through Hanna. “Lucas knows about Margaret. He will help me find her.”

  Frances turned around, grabbing a knife and peeling the skin from an onion. She brought the knife down with a loud slice. “Good luck then. But don’t expect to live in this house like a fine lady. I know what you are.”

  Hanna’s eyes stung as she made her way up the servants’ staircase. Lucas’s kindness could be extended only so far. It was as Frances said—she didn’t belong here. Pushing open the doorway at the top of the stairs, Hanna peeked down the hall. Seeing it was empty, she moved quickly and quietly across the carpet.

  Rounding the corner, her body collided with a man. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.

  “Hanna,” Lucas said, taking both of her hands in his. “You look as thou
gh you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever is the matter?”

  Hanna trembled, breathing in the piney scent of his cologne and faint cigar smoke. “Oh, Lucas. It is Margaret. Things are worse than I ever imagined.”

  “There now,” he said, stepping closer. “I heard you had a fainting spell, and I came upstairs to see if you had recovered.” He studied her face, and then the dirty hem of her dirndl. “But you appear quite well. I gather you haven’t been truthful with Georgina?”

  “I am sorry I lied to your dear sister. She has been lovely to me. But I had to speak with Kieran McClaren.”

  Lucas’s eyes widened. “You went down to the wharves alone? Hanna, that was very foolish. It is too dangerous a place for a woman.”

  Hanna glared. “You may believe that, but I am familiar with such places. Do not think me to be a delicate flower who wilts at the sight of vice.” But even as she spoke, her lip quivered. Lucas touched it with his thumb, bringing on a rush of longing.

  He smiled. “You may not think yourself a flower, but to me you are a rose.”

  A tear trickled down Hanna’s cheek. “Margaret is with child. She went to Kieran for help, but he is betrothed to another girl. He sent Margaret to an abortion doctor.”

  Lucas’s face grew pale. “Do you believe it to be true, that Margaret is pregnant?”

  “I know not. Perhaps the seams on her dress pulled more tightly than usual. She had taken on a bit of weight.” Hanna’s throat tightened. “We must find her. It is more important than ever that we bring her home safely.”

  “This abortion doctor,” Lucas said. “Do you know her name?”

  Hanna frowned. “I do not.”

  Voices carried from downstairs, and Hanna tensed. Taking her by the arm, Lucas guided her into an alcove. They stood merely inches apart, their noses almost touching. Perhaps Lucas could hear her heart beat, for Hanna heard it ringing in her ears. Lucas’s mouth, full and perfect, was close enough that she felt his breath.

  “Have you this morning’s paper?” Hanna whispered, looking at Lucas. “Doctors such as these place advertisements.”

  “Yes, I can bring it at once.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Though the voices abated, they remained hidden in the alcove, their bodies nearly pressed against each other. The air filled with a charge like lightning, the same way it had outside Frau Kruger’s house on the night Lucas had taken her to the theater. This time, Hanna knew she was not imagining things. Lucas’s mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers.

  When his fingers cupped her chin, tilting it upward, Hanna closed her eyes. And in the exquisite moment when Lucas kissed her lips, tingles shot through Hanna as the hairs on her arms stood to attention. Warmth flooded her body, as though she were butter melting in a hot pan. Parting her mouth to feel his tongue, Hanna lost herself in the lightness of her being. She couldn’t resist him any longer.

  After a time, Lucas drew back, breathing heavily. “Forgive me,” he said, taking her hands gently in his. “I have been too forward. I do not know what overcame me.”

  “Do not apologize,” Hanna said. “I did not stop you.”

  “My dear Hanna,” Lucas said, leading her back into the corridor. “Perhaps you should rest before resuming your search for Margaret.”

  “No. Not when it is imperative that we find her. Will you come with me to town?”

  Lucas sighed. “All right. Change into one of Georgina’s dresses, and meet me downstairs in the parlor. I shall tell my family we are taking the carriage into town together. They might find it improper, but Margaret’s safety is of more importance than abiding by protocol.”

  “Thank you,” Hanna said as they walked down the corridor toward her chamber. “I cannot tell you how much your help means to me.”

  Lucas nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “I know how it feels to lose a friend unexpectedly. I do not wish it upon anyone.”

  Hanna waited for Lucas to explain further, but she did not wish to press him.

  Dropping his voice to a whisper, Lucas pointed toward the bedroom door. “Gertrude shall expect to find you in bed. I’ll send for her, to help you dress.” He winked. “What better cure for a fainting spell than a carriage ride in the fresh air?”

  As the horses’ hooves clattered against the cobblestones, Hanna pointed to an advertisement on the back page of the newspaper. “You see? There.”

  Lucas squinted. “This one? But it does not mention anything of note.”

  “It must be discreet.”

  Lucas read the advertisement aloud. “To the ladies, Madame Costello, female physician, still continues to treat, with astonishing success, all diseases peculiar to females. Those who wish to be treated for obstruction of their monthly visits can consult Madame C. at 34 Kearny Street, at all times.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  Unfortunately, some of the words had eluded her. “What does it mean, ‘obstruct’?”

  “To block.”

  “There you have it. She treats female diseases and also treats when there is a blockage of a woman’s . . .” Hanna’s cheeks grew hot.

  Lucas was a quick study. He gave the address to Clive.

  “Yes, sir,” Clive said, pulling the reins so that the horses trotted faster. Hanna watched as the grand homes of Nob Hill faded into the distance. The wind whipped her face, and she nestled into Georgina’s elegant coat, protected from the cold.

  By the time they reached the city center, it was lunch hour. Men in high hats walked with young girls in furred opera coats toward the theater. Ribbon counters, dressmakers, and milliners strolled arm in arm idly from window to window, taking in the air during their break. Hanna’s throat tightened, remembering strolls with Margaret.

  Ducks and geese scattered when the carriage barreled down Kearny Street. Barefoot women and children held out their cupped hands, begging for food on the planks of the sidewalk. Hanna sucked in her breath, watching girls with hollow cheeks and too much rouge collect tidbits of junk they could sell for a glass of opium.

  If not for the kindness of Lucas and his family, Hanna would also be there amongst the stray dogs, searching in the rubbish for scraps of meat.

  “Whoa,” Clive called to the horses, pulling the carriage to a halt. Hanna stared up at the facade of a building with darkened windows. On the ground floor, a small wooden sign bore the name MADAME COSTELLO, FEMALE PHYSICIAN.

  “This is the place,” Hanna said.

  Lucas stepped down from the carriage and held out his hand. Struggling to move beneath the weight of Georgina’s dress, Hanna maneuvered the hoopskirt through the carriage doors as Lucas steadied her. Once both of Hanna’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, she noticed the young girl who stood outside Madame Costello’s office.

  “Wait here,” Lucas said to Clive. “We shan’t be long.”

  Approaching the girl, Hanna realized she could not be much older than Martin. Green eyes peered out from her strikingly beautiful face, her plump lips lacquered cherry red.

  “Are you waiting to see the doctor?” Hanna asked, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder.

  The girl nodded, clutching her stomach. “Aye. I’ve got to get rid of it or the madame won’t let me back in the house.”

  Hanna’s insides clenched like she’d drunk spoiled milk. “What house, dear?”

  The girl tilted her head in the direction of Pacific Avenue. “Madame Evangeline’s house. If I don’t get the baby out, men won’t lay with me and I won’t get paid. Madame says men pay good money for girls like me.”

  Hanna touched the girl’s cheek. “How old are you, dear?”

  “Thirteen,” she said.

  Hanna swallowed. “And what is your name?”

  “Molly.”

  How could a girl so young have already lost her innocence? And to grown men? Molly must have a family, someone to take care of her.

  “Where are your parents, Molly?” Hanna asked.

  Molly picked her cuticles. “My
mother is dead. My father sent me away.”

  Lucas’s face went as ashen as a stormy sky. Perhaps it was not often he saw the world outside his mansion’s walls for the cruel and dangerous place it was.

  Lucas patted Molly’s bare shoulder. “Are you warm enough, child? Have you enough to eat?”

  A coy smile played at her lips. “You could buy me something to eat. I can show you what I’ve learned from the French girls.”

  A crease divided Lucas’s brow. “No, my dear. You mustn’t speak that way.” He took off his coat and put it around her shoulders. “You are but a child in need of help.”

  Molly’s lip trembled. “Madame Costello will help me. She’ll get the baby out, and then I can work again and have my old room back.”

  Hanna turned to Lucas. His eyes mirrored what she felt.

  “There must be another way,” Lucas said, rapping his knuckles on the door to the building. “A convent or a safe place. I will gladly pay for it.”

  A man with thick spectacles and a white moustache pulled open the door. Across his barrel chest hung a gold pocket watch. He glared at them. “State your business.”

  “We are here to see Madame Costello,” Lucas answered.

  The man looked down at Hanna’s stomach. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Hanna placed a hand over her belly, feigning concern. “Madame Costello’s advertisement stated we could visit during any hours.”

  “Make haste,” Lucas said. “And this matter requires some privacy.”

  “One moment,” the man said, shutting the door behind him.

  “Molly!” Hanna cried out, watching as the girl stumbled backward. Hanna steadied Molly by the elbow, but her complexion had taken on a greenish hue. Touching Molly’s forehead, Hanna’s fingers came away damp. “You’re burning up.”

  “I drank some potions,” Molly mumbled. “They’re s’posed to get the baby out. But Madame Evangeline told me to come here, just to be sure.” She bent over and retched on the wooden planks of the sidewalk.

  Hanna pulled Molly’s long, straggly hair away from her face and held it back. “Lucas,” Hanna said. “We must call a doctor. I will not send her in there.”