The Dressmaker's Dowry

by Meredith Jaeger

  He emerged from the shadows of the stable, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his powerful arms. Wiping his sweaty brow, he grunted. Hanna wondered if Clive wished to wipe away his birthmark, like a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

  Gripping a hot poker, Clive stared. “Are you lookin’ for Martin?”

  “Yes,” Hanna said, the straw crunching beneath her boots as she took a step closer. “Is he here?” The barn smelled strongly of horse dung, and for a brief moment Hanna felt faint, trapped between the heat of the fire and the door.

  Perhaps Clive would attribute the color in her cheeks to a long carriage ride. Had he any idea the impropriety of Hanna’s transgression, Clive would think her a common whore. Hanna’s betrothal to Lucas scarcely felt real, other than a slight pain, a reminder of the passionate moment they had shared. But she had already removed the large emerald ring from her finger, tucking it safely into her bodice.

  “Martin!” Clive called into the stable. “Your sister’s come round.” And with that he set down his poker, shuffling off toward his cabin.

  “Thank you,” Hanna said, fanning herself. Her hips hurt beneath the weight of her hoopskirt. Perhaps her dirndl would be more suitable attire for Lucas’s announcement. He wished to tell his parents of their engagement at supper. Hanna believed it braver to stand before them in plain clothes than to hide behind Georgina’s finery. No amount of silk would obscure her lowborn status.

  Martin appeared, leading a large chestnut mare by the reins. The horse whinnied and flicked its tail. Martin smiled. “Hanna! You’re back. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, you see? Right as rain.”

  “Did you have any luck searching for your missing friend?”

  Hanna could not tell Martin of abortion doctors and whorehouses with darkened windows. But her brother saw the distress on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Martin,” Hanna said, taking his hand. “How would you feel if we stayed here for a while longer?”

  He kicked the dirt. “I like Clive well enough. The food is good. But why would we not leave to make a home of our own? I thought that was what you wanted?”

  Hanna swallowed. Lucas had promised she could speak to Martin first, before they revealed their news to the rest of the family.

  “If Lucas was a part of that home,” Hanna asked, meeting Martin’s gaze, “would that be all right with you?”

  Martin laughed, gesturing across the lawn toward the mansion. “And why would he leave all of this?”

  Pressing her lips together, Hanna stared at the grand home. Many women of her station had tried to marry men of society, and whispers passed between gloved hands. They were called social climbers, charlatans—women who would never possess the manners or breeding to fit into their new surroundings. What if Lucas’s parents threatened to cut off his inheritance? Would he still love her then?

  “Lucas and I are to be married,” Hanna whispered. “Look.”

  She stuck two fingers in her bodice, retrieving the large emerald and diamond ring. Martin’s mouth fell open. “Holy smokes! Is that real?”

  Hanna nodded. “Lucas will break the news at supper. But I wished to tell you first. Please say you are happy for me?”

  Martin stared at the jewel. “It must be worth a fortune. Hanna, you could sell this. We could buy a house or a stable full of horses. We could start a business.”

  She sighed. “Martin, I could never. Why would I sell it?”

  He frowned. “You really want to stay here? Do you love him?”

  “Very much,” Hanna said, tucking the ring safely back inside her dress. “Lucas is a kind man. And his sister, Georgina, is lovely. Is she not?”

  Martin shrugged. “I want you to be happy. But what if Georgina does not see you as her sister? She is kind now because she enjoys dressing you up, like a little pet dog. What will happen when she tires of you?”

  Hanna said nothing.

  “Forgive me, Hanna,” Martin said. “That was rude. Please don’t be sad.”

  “If you would give Georgina a chance, you would know her kindness,” Hanna replied. “Why don’t you clean up for supper so that we may eat in the house tonight?”

  Martin shook his head. “I do not want to go in there.”

  “Please, Martin. I would feel much better to have you with me.”

  His face softened. “Fine. If you say so.”

  “Thank you. We eat supper at six.”

  “All right, then,” Martin said, running his hand through his tousled hair. “I s’pose I ought to take a bath.”

  Hanna laughed. “The horse dung is not so welcome inside, yet I don’t mind it. It smells like the fields back home in Mittenwald.”

  “Go on,” Martin said, waving Hanna away. “Your prince is waiting for you.”

  Hanna rolled her eyes, picking up the hem of Georgina’s dress. Then she dashed across the lawn toward the house. Martin was a smart boy, and perhaps it was true Georgina saw her as no more than a plaything. But Hanna would not know for sure until Lucas had made his announcement.

  As Hanna slipped through the door and rounded the corner, Georgina appeared in the foyer, her blond hair falling onto her shoulders in ringlets.

  “There you are!” Georgina exclaimed. “I’m glad to see you’re faring better. There’s some color to your cheeks. The children have been asking after you.”

  Hanna dropped her head. “Thank you for minding them. Truly, I appreciate it.”

  “It is no bother,” Georgina said, waving her fan. “Claudia, our governess, is quite taken with them. Katja is such a bright child. She has learned the alphabet. She will be so happy to recite it for you.”

  “She has?” Hanna asked. “That is wonderful.”

  Georgina began to walk, her long silk skirt swishing. “And Hans, he is such a darling boy. He quite fancies cats. He made me a drawing.” Georgina turned, giggling behind a gloved hand. “The whiskers are a bit askew, but it is charming.”

  Martin was wrong. They would be lucky to have Georgina as a part of their family. Surely such kindness could not be a ruse?

  Following Georgina up two flights of stairs, Hanna entered a sitting room flooded with sunlight. Hans and Katja played on the carpet with colorful marbles and building blocks. They looked up from their game, squealing when they saw her.

  “You came back!” Hans cried, clinging to her skirt. Katja threw herself at Hanna’s feet. “Ana! I miss you.” Hanna gathered the children into her arms, holding them close with their baby-soft cheeks against hers.

  Katja fluttered her lashes against Hanna’s face. “I give you a butterfly kiss.”

  “Thank you, little deer,” Hanna said, planting a kiss on her sister’s forehead.

  “Hanna,” Hans said, pointing to the floor. “Look at my castle I made from blocks. The man that lives there, he is a prince and he has a pet dragon.”

  “A pet dragon?” Hanna asked, smiling at Georgina. “That sounds a bit dangerous.”

  Hans stuck out his bottom lip. “No, Hanna, he is a good dragon. He only breathes fire on the bad people.”

  “What bad people, dear?” Georgina asked.

  “My papa,” Hans said. “He frightens me.”

  Hanna sucked in her breath. “Come now,” she said to Hans. “Show me your drawing of the kitty cat.”

  Perhaps Georgina would dismiss the remark as a child’s overactive imagination. But Hanna had seen Father’s wild face and left him to fend for himself in the street. She would rather he rot in prison than frighten or harm her siblings.

  Lucas stepped into the room, his eyes sending a bolt of electricity through Hanna. In a flash, she saw their tangled naked bodies, and drew in a sharp breath. Her hands tingled at the memory.

  “My dear Georgina,” Lucas said. “It is lovely to see you.”

  “You too, dear brother,” Georgina said, dropping to a curtsy.

  Lucas removed his hat. “And Miss Schaeffer. I see that you are well.”

  Hea
t flooded Hanna’s cheeks as she took in his secret smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Lucas bent down, opening his arms to Hans and Katja. “Hello, children!”

  They ran to him, melting Hanna’s heart like snow from the Alps. Perhaps someday she and Lucas would have children of their own. Hanna did not know if she could bear such happiness, for it felt like nothing but a dream.

  “Hans made a drawing he would like to show us,” Hanna said to Lucas. “And Georgina tells me Katja has learned her letters already.”

  “What a talented bunch,” Lucas said, smiling at the children. “I fear you know more than I do. Now the alphabet, does it go A, G, K, L, V . . . Z?”

  Hans and Katja giggled. In unison, they shouted, “No! It’s A, B, C, D, E, F, G.”

  “Ah,” Lucas said. “Drat. I thought I had it right.” He turned to Georgina. “Dear sister, would you mind if I spoke to Miss Schaeffer alone for a moment?”

  Georgina hesitated before she offered her consent. “Of course. I shall be with the children in the drawing room. I take it you won’t be long?”

  “Not long at all,” Lucas said.

  When Georgina had gone, Hanna bit her lip. “Do you think she suspects us?”

  Lucas stroked Hanna’s hair. “Even if she has caught wind of our engagement, we shall make it known in a few hours’ time. We will brace ourselves for resistance from my family, but together we shall stand strong.” He frowned, rubbing Hanna’s bare finger. “You’re not wearing your ring?”

  “I will put it on later,” Hanna answered. “Only Martin has learned of our betrothal.”

  Lucas nodded. “How did he take the news?”

  Hanna thought of her brother’s creased brow, but she formed a smile. “He is happy. How do you imagine Georgina and Robert will feel?”

  Lucas took Hanna’s hand in his. “Georgina will be overjoyed. She adores you and your brothers and sister. She is a pure rare soul who does not look upon social class as a hindrance. I am sure we shall have her support. Robert . . .”

  “What is it?” Hanna asked. “He will not accept me as part of your family? I am not surprised.”

  “Perhaps,” Lucas said, his eyes somber. “Robert is very traditional. He may appear cold, but he’s been dealt a poor hand. You see, when we were children, he lost his younger sister, Clara, to consumption. She was only eight.”

  “Yes, I remember you telling me this,” Hanna murmured, recalling the sick children who’d perished on the boat passage to America.

  “You may never have noticed,” Lucas said, “but Robert wears a pin tucked in his jacket which contains a lock of Clara’s hair. It’s a lovely shade of red.”

  Hanna had not kept a lock of her mother’s hair, for she believed it a strange custom, but she understood the desire to carry a piece of a loved one. Hanna’s throat tightened, remembering her mother’s kind gray eyes. How Mother would have liked to see her married. “Lucas,” Hanna said softly. “What if your parents disown you?”

  Lucas’s eyes smoldered like embers. “Nothing will deter me from marrying you. If I were to lose my inheritance, I would be monetarily poor but rich in love. I am willing to take that risk. I have an entrepreneurial spirit, and we could start anew.” He smiled. “Come, I would like to show you something.”

  Leading Hanna into a large sitting room, Lucas stopped before a wall of oil portraits. A fire burned in the hearth, flames dancing in reflection on the surface of a marble-topped table. Hanna sat down in a red velvet gentleman’s chair, with roses carved into the wood. She recognized Lucas’s likeness in a portrait, his blue eyes gleaming from the canvas. The artist who had painted him truly captured his features.

  “You are very handsome,” Hanna said, nodding at the painting.

  Lucas laughed. “You thought I have brought you here to show you a portrait of myself? I hope you would not find me so arrogant.”

  Dimples indented his smile. He pointed above the fireplace. “Look there.”

  Hanna looked up and saw her oil painting, the hillside from her father’s house overlooking the ocean. Lucas had set the art in a gilded frame with ornate corners, as if the work had been painted by Renoir, and not a poor, unknown immigrant girl.

  “Do you like it?”

  Tears welled in Hanna’s eyes. When she had given Lucas the painting, she simply hadn’t wanted Father to destroy something of beauty she had created. But never in a thousand years did Hanna expect to find her artwork adorning the walls of a fine home.

  “I fear I do not deserve a place on your wall,” she said, shaking her head.

  Lucas kneeled beside her. “Hanna, you have a place in my heart, and I want your painting here for everyone to see.”

  Hanna clapped a hand over her mouth. No! Had she forgotten it?

  “Whatever is the matter?” Lucas asked.

  Hanna blinked back tears. “My mother painted a beautiful plate. It is very special to me, and I have left it at the boardinghouse!”

  “There now,” Lucas said, rubbing Hanna’s shoulder. “We’ll travel with the carriage to retrieve it. Never fear.”

  “I cannot believe in my haste to remove my siblings from that place, I forgot my most precious belongings. I’ve left Mother’s quilt as well.”

  Lucas took Hanna’s hands in his, pulling her to her feet. “The sentimental value of those items cannot be seen by a common crook. We shall get both back.”

  “Thank you,” Hanna said. “I dearly hope so.”

  Lucas smiled. “When you are my wife, I shall buy you all the paints in the world. You can make enough art to fill this entire house.”

  “With a house so large, it would take many years.”

  Lucas kissed her hand. “And that is what we shall have, many, many years together, until we are old and gray and befuddled.”

  Hanna looked into Lucas’s eyes, as though she could see straight into his soul. “I would love nothing more.”

  “Martin?” Hanna called out in the dim light of the barn, her boots crunching across the straw-strewn floor. If her brother hadn’t bathed yet, he wouldn’t be ready in time for supper. Hanna wiped her brow, the heat from the fire causing her to sweat. Tools and pokers hung from hooks along the wall.

  The mares whinnied, but the barn stood empty. She sneezed, walking toward the door that led to Clive’s quarters. Made of clapboard and similar in size to Father’s home, the carriage house emanated light from the windows. White smoke puffed from the brick chimney into the darkening sky. No wonder Martin felt more at ease here—such coziness could not be found in the mansion.

  Hanna rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Clive? Are you at home?”

  No one answered, yet the floorboards creaked inside. Perhaps he had not heard her. “Clive?” Hanna called, more loudly this time. The door swung open, Clive’s bulky shape filling the frame. Looking down at her, he curled his lip.

  “Forgive me,” Hanna said, suddenly overcome by a sense of unease. “I do not mean to interrupt your supper. Have you seen Martin?”

  Peering into the room, she saw a fire crackling in the hearth and a stout wooden table standing against the wall. Laundry hung from a line pulled taut between two beams, and a narrow bed with rumpled sheets sat beneath the window. A few plates and jars decorated the mantel, reminding her much of her own living room.

  “He’s out back,” Clive said. “I boiled some water and gave him a brush for scrubbin’ and a basin to stand in. He ought to be finished soon.”

  In the flickering firelight, the gleam of something silver caught Hanna’s eye. There, resting on the edge of the fireplace, sat a silver ring. Gasping, Hanna ducked under Clive’s arm and pushed past him, running to the back of the room.

  “Oy! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Clive bellowed, stumbling after her. Grabbing a hot poker lying next to the fireplace, Clive picked it up and pointed it at Hanna’s face. “Don’t move.”

  But all she could hear was the sound of her heart pounding. A wail escaped her lips. My G
od! Reaching into the soot, Hanna grasped Margaret’s silver claddagh ring, the cherished gift from her grandmother.

  “Why have you got this?” Hanna yelled, turning to Clive.

  His hair stood out wildly at the sides, like a man caught in a windstorm. Pointing the glowing amber tip of the sharp poker at her, Clive glowered, his dark eyes gleaming like mud puddles, watery and brown. “You best be leavin’ now.”

  Hanna rose to her feet, shaking with rage, Margaret’s ring held out in her palm. “Where is she? Did you hurt her? Tell me!”

  Clive shook his head, his eyes frantic like a startled animal. “I didn’t want to ’urt nobody. I did what I had to.” Spittle shot from his mouth as he looked at the ring. “He told me to destroy it. I—I put it near the fire, but I couldn’t drop it in.”

  Hanna’s voice trembled. “Who told you to destroy it?”

  “Please,” Clive said, taking a step forward. “I don’t want to harm you. Leave this place. Take your brother Martin, and your young ’uns, and leave right now.” He nodded at the mansion through the window. “That house is evil.”

  Hanna’s fingers wrapped tightly around Margaret’s ring. “Clive, put that poker down. Tell me now. Where is Margaret?”

  Clive lowered the poker, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. He shook his head, his voice breaking. “I gave her to him. I took the ring because he didn’t want proof of what he’d done. I can’t lose my job. But I didn’t harm the lass, I swear!”

  “Whom did you give her to?” Hanna asked. “Tell me!”

  When Clive’s eyes met Hanna’s, they shone with tears, the answer already in them. “Robert. But I fear she’s already dead. God rest her soul.”

  Icy claws gripped her flesh. “No!” Hanna screamed, looking out Clive’s window at the mansion, its lights burning like a jack-o’-lantern in the darkness. “Margaret is not dead. I will find her! Dear God, is she in there?”

  “Aye,” Clive answered, his face ashen.

  Hanna’s body began to convulse as if she had a fever. She could not stop the fit, sinking to her knees and rocking back and forth. She had taken baths in that house, been dressed by servants in Georgina’s satins. And all the while her dear Margaret had been held captive, locked in one of the many rooms. She and Lucas had searched every saloon and back alley of the Barbary Coast, while Margaret lived beneath their roof.