by Bess McBride
“Could you stand, miss, to see how they fit?” Except for the dress and the audience waiting with seemingly bated breath, Annie almost felt as if she were in a modern shoe store trying on shoes.
Annie stood and put her weight on the shoes.
“They fit fine,” she murmured.
“Excellent!” Miss Simpson pronounced. “And you, miss?” She turned toward Marie.
“Too small,” Marie chuckled. “I have big feet. You said there was another size?”
Marie found the right size, and the sisters looked toward Mrs. Sanford for guidance.
“Gloves, Miss Simpson? And Miss St. John would like a shawl. Did you happen to bring any shawls?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sanford. We did.” Miss Simpson produced a beautiful, gauzy shawl in a shade of gold that matched the embroidery on Annie’s overskirt. “We have a shawl for the other young lady as well. And here are the gloves for their evening wear.”
Mrs. Sanford checked her watch. “I think since these dresses fit well, we will not keep you any longer, Miss Simpson. The ladies will try on the rest of the clothing tomorrow. Should we need alterations, I hope you can send someone promptly?”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sanford. Sally and Jennifer will be happy to return here tomorrow to help the young ladies with their clothing. Shall I have them come just in case?”
“An excellent idea. Yes, please do. At about eleven o’clock, I should think.”
“Come, girls, let’s go. Thank you so much, Mrs. Sanford, Misses St. John. Thank you for shopping with us.”
After the door had closed behind them, Annie attempted to slump into her chair but couldn’t do more than sit erect, if not slightly forward given the curvature of the corset.
“I’m too exhausted to go to dinner. Mrs. Sanford. Women can’t possibly go through this every night, can they?” Annie asked.
Mrs. Sanford smiled. “Fashionable ladies change clothing frequently throughout the day depending upon their social calendar, so yes, they do ‘go through this’ often.” She held out a hand to help Annie up. “And now to your hair.”
Annie and Marie followed Mrs. Sanford back into the bedroom, where Mrs. Sanford seated Annie at a lovely cherry wood vanity.
“Mr. O’Rourke mentioned you had no luggage, so I took the liberty of bringing my own brushes with me. I hope that is acceptable. It is a pity the clothing store didn’t bring combs or ribbons for your hair, but that would have been too much for Mr. O’Rourke to have remarked upon when he visited with them.”
“No, that’s fine,” Annie said. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for us, Mrs. Sanford. We both do.” She pulled the band from her bedraggled ponytail and looked at Marie through the mirror, who nodded agreement.
“So, we have to wear our hair up?” Marie asked, alternately admiring herself in the cheval mirror and turning to watch Mrs. Sanford brush out Annie’s hair. “Is that mandatory?”
“Mandatory?” Mrs. Sanford repeated. “It is customary for adult woman to wear their hair up. Only children and young girls may wear it long.”
Annie watched as Mrs. Sanford backcombed her hair, teased the front into a pile and smoothed the hair around her forehead over the height to form a pompadour. She then formed a loose bun at the crown and wove the rest of Annie’s hair into it, dropping a few loose curls for event.
“Just a minute,” Mrs. Sanford said as Annie prepared to rise. She hurried over to the vase of flowers on the cherry dresser and retrieved two pink rosebuds, which she broke off and inserted into Annie’s coif.
“Oh how cute!” Marie said. Annie couldn’t see the back of her hair but trusted Marie’s assessment.
“It is very common to wear flowers in one’s hair,” Mrs. Sanford said. “Now, if you please, Miss Marie.”
Annie rose and swapped with Marie.
“I am fortunate you ladies have such lovely waves in your hair as the texture holds this style better. Otherwise, we would have needed a frame, and I do not have one.”
“A frame?” Marie asked.
“Hair that is collected, saved and formed to a frame, over which the hair is combed.”
“Ugh,” Marie said with a wrinkled nose.
“I do not favor collecting my hair either.” Mrs. Sanford smiled. She bound up Marie’s hair and stuck baby’s breath from the vase into the bun at her crown.
“They call these hairstyles Gibson’s, don’t they, Mrs. Sanford?”
“Yes, for the Gibson Girls, a creation of Charles Gibson.”
“Hah! I knew it!” Marie said with a grin. She stood and tilted her head. “My head feels heavy.”
Mrs. Sanford checked her watch. “Mr. O’Rourke will arrive to escort you downstairs at any minute. I had no idea so much time had passed. Your gloves!”
She handed them each a pair of long white gloves.
“Do we have to wear these?” Annie said. “Not through dinner, right?”
“No, you may take them off to dine,” Mrs. Sanford answered patiently, “but you must at least wear them into dinner.”
Annie pulled her gloves on and then helped Marie into hers. They stared at themselves side by side in the mirror, similar expressions of awe on each of their faces.
Mrs. Sanford brought the rest of the boxes into the bedroom and set them in a corner.
“I believe there must be some nightwear in here, and clothing for tomorrow. As you know, the shop girls, Sally and Jennifer, will come around to see if you need any help with the clothing. I must leave. Will you be all right?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sanford,” they answered in unison, looking at each other and giggling.
“Good night, girls,” Mrs. Sanford said as she grabbed her hat and gloves. She pulled open the door.
“Mrs. Sanford! Still here?” Rory said, dazzling in black coattails, white shirt and a bowtie, his hand raised as if to knock.
Chapter Six
Rory beheld the visions just beyond Mrs. Sanford—Marie, elegant and statuesque in blue, and Annie, petite and adorable in rose, the same color as her cheeks. She dropped her eyes at his admiring glance, and he returned his attention to Mrs. Sanford.
“Yes, sir. I was just leaving.” She stood back and allowed him to enter.
“You have outdone yourself, Mrs. Sanford. The ladies look lovely.”
“Yes, they do,” she agreed.
Annie felt as if she should drop a curtsey, but resisted. She nodded her head in greeting.
“Miss St. John was wondering if you might take a photograph of them, sir. I understand you probably do not have your equipment with you, but perhaps another day.”
Rory blinked. “A wonderful idea. I actually do have a small camera in the trunk of the car, which I carry around with me. One never knows when the opportunity to photograph beauty might present itself, as it has now.”
“Oh, you don’t have to…” Annie began. If possible, her cheeks were an even brighter shade of red than before.
“Would you?” Marie asked. “That would be great! We might not get this chance again, Annie.” She elbowed her sister, who winced and grabbed her side.
“I shall return momentarily with the camera,” Rory said. “If you are finished, Mrs. Sanford, I could escort you down to the carriage. Joseph is waiting for you.”
He closed the door behind her and walked down the hallway toward the stairs.
“I had no idea dressing the young ladies would take you so long, Mrs. Sanford. I apologize.”
“Neither did I, Mr. O’Rourke,” she chuckled. “It has been some years since I worked as a lady’s maid, and even then, my employer knew her clothing. The Misses St. John do appear to be lost, as you stated earlier. They had no inkling as to the articles of clothing or how to put them on. I hoped to form my thoughts better before I spoke to you about young ladies, but since we are together, I suppose I can offer my first impression.”
They reached the red-carpeted stairs and began to descend them.
“Yes?” Rory encouraged her.
Mrs.
Sanford lowered her voice. “If I believed in such things as time travel, I would say these young women have traveled in time. I cannot imagine where else they might have come from. If they are from Chicago, it can only be surmised that they were raised in a convent or some other austere environment without exposure to fashion, society, or…education.”
Rory opened his mouth to protest the last, but Mrs. Sanford rushed to speak.
“I do not mean they are uneducated or without schooling, Mr. O’Rourke—far from it, as they do sound intelligent—but the Misses St. John do appear to be remarkably uninformed and naïve—certainly when compared to other young women I have known.”
Rory sighed as they rounded the last landing before reaching the lobby.
“Yes, I know. Thank you for confirming my impression. I thought I must be losing my mind. Did you arrive at any conclusions regarding their origin? I confess I cannot imagine where they could come from.”
Mrs. Sanford kept her silence while they crossed the lobby and exited through the front door to descend the stone steps. Joseph awaited her with the carriage at the street level.
She stopped and turned toward him, keeping her voice hushed as strollers passed by.
“I cannot wonder if we should not give some credence to their story of…time travel.” She ended on a whisper.
Rory reared his head back and stared hard at his housekeeper. Had she also fallen under the young women’s spell—as he had himself? He shook his head vehemently then smiled broadly, reaching to hand Mrs. Sanford into the carriage.
“I think not, Mrs. Sanford. I would more likely believe they came from the jungles of Borneo.”
“Then I am at a loss, Mr. O’Rourke. Enjoy your dinner. I will see you tomorrow.”
Rory went around the corner to his car and retrieved his small box camera from the trunk. The camera was a new portable version he enjoyed toying with, suitable for quick photographs. He returned to the hotel, doing his best to put Mrs. Sanford’s earnest whisper from his thoughts. Time travel, indeed! Hah!
Upon his knock, Annie opened the door, and Rory felt the breath escape from his lips yet again. Jungles of Borneo notwithstanding, she looked beautiful in her ethereal gown with her glossy hair piled atop the crown of her head, and he could only stare at her besottedly for a moment before she stepped back and allowed him to enter. He gave himself a shake.
“Forgive me for ogling, Miss St. John. You and Miss Marie look stunning. I shall be the envy of all eyes as I escort you to dinner.” He flashed her a smile, forgetting for a moment that Annie seemed to dislike it.
Rather than challenge him or mock him as she had on the train, she blushed and lowered her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.
The quiet miss before him startled Rory for a moment, so different from her usual vivacious character.
“Have I embarrassed you? I apologize,” he said quickly.
“No, no,” she said, turning away.
“Well, not me! I agree with you. I think we do look stunning,” Marie said with a grin. “Are you ready to take our pictures?”
“Yes, of course,” Rory said. “If I could just set my hat here on the table.” He removed his hat and checked his camera. “Where would you like to pose? I’m not traditionally a portrait photographer, but I think a portrait by the fireplace might be nice.”
Annie and Marie moved across the room to stand by the marble mantle of the fireplace.
“Excellent! Are you ready?”
Both women smiled, and it was all he could do to keep the camera steady, so dazzling were they in their finery. His heart skipped a beat, and he took the picture, promising himself a copy.
“That’s it?” Annie said. “I thought we would have to pose for a few minutes without moving while the camera focused.”
“No, that was long ago. This is a new camera with a quick focus. I enjoy it for smaller projects.” He set it down on the table. “I’ll collect the camera when we have finished with dinner.
“When can we see the pictures?” Marie asked.
“I can have a copy to you by tomorrow,” he said. “I have a darkroom in the house.”
“Great!” Marie said.
“Shall we?” Rory said, grabbing his hat and holding open the door. They descended to the lobby. Rory was acutely aware that both Marie and Annie moved awkwardly on the stairs, both leaning heavily on the banister. Marie hitched her skirts a little higher than was proper. It was not possible for Rory to offer both women his arms in the confines of the stairwell, but he was able to extend his arms when they reached the lobby. Marie took his arm willingly, but Annie seemed reluctant. Nevertheless, she tucked her hand under his arm. They passed a myriad of well-dressed people and made their way to the dining room, where the maître d’, having taken Rory’s hat, escorted them through the crowded dining room to a table for four.
“It is good to see you again, Mr. O’Rourke,” the elderly, rotund man in coattails said, pulling out chairs for Annie and Marie.
“Thank you, Mr. Hopkins. May I introduce Miss Annie St. John and Miss Marie St. John? They will be guests of the hotel for a time, and I know that you will extend the same welcome to them as you do to me.”
He bowed, flicking his tails away in an exaggerated fashion. “But of course! It is a pleasure to serve you, ladies.” He flicked his finger for a waiter who appeared with menus.
“What would you like to drink?” Rory asked. “They have many different wines, champagne, tea, coffee, water.” He noted the sisters pulled their gloves off as if unused to them and laid them upon their laps.
“Oh, let’s have champagne!” Marie said.
“Marie!” Annie remonstrated.
“My favorite,” Rory said with a grin. He placed the order and sat back to watch Annie and Marie study the menu with interest. They consulted with each other as if there were some items on the menu they had not seen before.
“If you need assistance with the menu, I am happy to be of service,” Rory offered, momentarily distracted by the delicate roundness of Annie’s shoulders. He blinked and looked up to meet her eyes regarding him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. An unusual heat spread across his face, and he rubbed his chin and pretended to cough behind his hand.
“There are a lot of foods we don’t recognize, but I’m sure we can figure out what they are with my high school French. Is this a French restaurant?” Annie looked around with an expression of fascination.
Rory shook his head with a wry smile. “I think not. The use of the French menu is probably a bit of pretension, but I do enjoy the food here.”
The waiter returned to pour the champagne, and they ordered.
“Look at all these people!” Marie marveled. “And so dressed up!”
“It is customary in the finer restaurants.”
“So, you come here a lot?” Annie asked.
“Yes, when I am in town. I live alone and am not fond of dining by myself.” He cleared his throat, worrying that his response had held a note of pathos. “I usually dine with friends,” he offered.
Annie tilted her head and regarded him quizzically. He plastered a beatific smile upon his face and took a sip of champagne. Gracious! It was as if the woman could see right through him. Not even to himself had he admitted how lonely his life seemed…until now.
“Mr. O’Rourke!”
They all looked up to see a young redheaded woman in a yellow satin gown stop before their table. Accompanying her were a middle-aged couple, the man in coattails and the woman in an emerald green silk gown.
Rory jumped up. “Miss Washburn, Mr. and Mrs. Washburn! How nice to see you again.” He bowed his head, trying to ignore the white-gloved hand Miss Washburn laid upon his arm.
“May I introduce Miss Annie St. John and Miss Marie St. John?”
Annie and Marie looked up and nodded politely.
“Misses St. John,” Miss Washburn acknowledged. She turned to Rory. “Are these the sisters you mentioned on the tr
ain, Mr. O’Rourke?”
Rory’s eyes flew to Annie’s face. Her eyes rounded but her lips twitched. Had he really mentioned them to the Washburns? He could not remember.
“Yes, yes, they are. Well, no. Did I say sisters? Silly of me. I meant my cousins,” he said. “Annie and Marie are my cousins…from Chicago.”
“What lovely young women, Mr. O’Rourke,” Mrs. Washburn offered. “I hope you are feeling better now?” she addressed Annie and Marie. “Train travel can be so exhausting, I know.”
Annie nodded with a wide-eyed expression, a suggestion of a twitch to her lips. She looked up at Rory from under her lashes, and he ignored her.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Washburn agreed, twisting one end of his handlebar mustache.
“Father, do you have a card?” Miss Washburn said. He produced one, and Rory already knew Miss Washburn’s next words as she handed the card to him.
“Please come to call on us, Mr. O’Rourke, and bring your cousins. I should so like to hear more about your photography.”
“Yes, yes, of course, we shall. I cannot schedule anything just yet as my mother has need of me, but soon.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Washburn said. “Let’s go find our table, girls.”
“Soon, Mr. O’Rourke,” Miss Washburn said with a coy look. “Perhaps next week?”
Rory looked down to see Annie watching with interest, albeit with narrowed eyes.
“Yes, of course, next week.”
They moved off and were seated at a nearby table—too close for Rory’s comfort, though he didn’t understand why. Miss Washburn was a lovely woman, and he had no qualms with calling on women before.
He seated himself and, keeping his eyes on his glass, took a rather large swallow of champagne.
“Sisters, Mr. O’Rourke? Cousins? How awkward for you,” Annie chuckled. “I forget. What did you decide?”
Marie grinned hugely.
“Cousins, I think,” Rory said faintly.
“I take it that’s the family you met on the train this morning?” Annie asked. “I thought they looked familiar.”
