by Nancy Moser
Lucy was up with the dawn, her thoughts racing. Mrs. Garmin wanted her to create a costume? And two more for the Langdons?
During the night she’d made a mental list of the supplies she’d need, and the first thing she did upon waking was to start a new letter to Mamma, explaining the situation. If she could have it finished before Rowena woke up—
There was a rap on her bedroom door. Lucy panicked and realized she wasn’t even dressed, but there was nothing to do but answer. “Rowena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the time and—”
Rowena shook her head. “The time is far early, but I couldn’t sleep for thinking about the costumes.”
Lucy indicated her letter. “I’m writing my mother right now, telling her what supplies to send and—”
“Your mother is a part of an idea that just popped into my head. Why don’t you ask her to come here to help you?”
Lucy was shocked into silence.
“She’s a seamstress at the Emporium too, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Lucy said, “as is my little sister.”
“Then have her come too. They can bring the supplies with them.” Rowena tied the bow on her ruffled wrap. “If you tell them the type of fabrics you need, could they bring those too?”
Lucy was overwhelmed. Her legs felt weak, and she staggered to sit on her bed.
Rowena rushed to her. “Are you all right? I should have been more subtle this early in the morning. I can be more subtle, but—”
Lucy touched Rowena’s hand. “It’s . . . it’s just that ever since I got here I’ve been worried about them and—”
“Worried? Why?”
Lucy didn’t want to burden Rowena with their problems with Bonwitter again. There was nothing she could do about it anyway. “Remember that man back home who’s been bothering—”
“The rat man. What’s his name? I’ll have Father take care of him.”
A laugh escaped and Lucy quelled it. Did Rowena truly think her father could do what the police could not? “It’s a complicated matter. The police—”
“Police are involved? What else did he do to you?”
Oh dear. “It’s more what I did to him. If you remember, I arranged things so he was caught stealing from my employer. He lost his job and fled. Needless to say, I’m not his favorite person.”
“And with you out of town, you fear for your family.”
“Yes.”
“Then you must bring them here, for their safety and to help you with the costumes.”
It did seem like a feasible solution.
Rowena took Lucy’s hand and pulled her through the dressing room into her bedroom. “Come see the sketches I did of a costume I’d like to wear. I even have an idea for Mother’s. And Mrs. Garmin is coming over this afternoon to talk to you about hers.”
Was this really happening?
Sometimes Sofia regretted learning how to use a sewing machine. The machine made it audibly obvious when she was working and when she was not. And today she was not in the mood to work.
There was a subtle mood of unease in the workroom today, as if the other ladies didn’t like her anymore. Could she help it if Bonwitter kept targeting her? If Lucy were here, he would have harassed her. Sofia was an innocent in all this. She didn’t deserve Bonwitter’s stalking; nor did she deserve the hostility of her co-workers. Considering all this, she was in no mood to work, much less work hard.
The desire to escape into a book dogged her, demanding attention. Maybe if she slipped into the storeroom . . .
Her fear of seeing Bonwitter made her think twice. But after sewing two more seams, she chose escape over fear.
While the other ladies were busy discussing the neckline of a ball gown, Sofia nabbed her latest novel from a basket at her feet and went to the storeroom. She glanced toward the window and was relieved to not see Bonwitter staring back at her. Had she really seen him the other day? Or was it all in her imagination as the other ladies—
Sofia pulled up short. For there, on the floor, was one of her novels, torn to shreds.
Bonwitter!
Yet the scene confused her. She looked at the book in her hands, to the debris on the ground, and to the book again. Maybe this wasn’t her book at all . . . She knelt beside the pieces and saw the title: Lovers Once But Strangers Now. This was her book!
She stood and took a step back. Yes, it was her book, but worse than that, it was a book she’d last seen in her bedroom. Her mind raced through her memories, trying to remember if she’d ever even brought this book into the shop.
She hadn’t.
Which meant Bonwitter had been up in their apartment, in the room where she slept.
A wave of chills coursed through her, propelling her to race back into the workroom. “He was in our apartment! He was in my bedroom!”
All conversation stopped and Sofia could see by the ladies’ skeptical looks that they had already deemed her outburst another false alarm.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at them. “You don’t believe me? I have proof.” She pointed to the back room. “Come see.”
The workroom cleared out in parade fashion as the women followed Sofia to the storeroom, grumbling all the way. She stood over the remnants of her book and presented them with a wave of her hand. “See?”
Mrs. Flynn picked up a piece. “It’s a book all right, but who’s to say it was up in your apartment or—”
Sofia’s anger rose. “You’re calling me a liar?” She snatched up the portion that owned the title and turned to Mamma. “Wasn’t I reading this book the other evening?”
“You were.” Mamma looked at Mrs. Flynn. “Sofia is not a liar.”
Dorothy chose another scrap. “I think the main point is that Sofia would not rip up one of her own books. She loves those books.”
Finally, a champion. “Exactly,” Sofia said.
Dolly hugged herself and looked toward the alley door and window. “Does that mean everything she said was true? That Bonwitter’s been peeking in the window at us? That he’s coming and going as he pleases?”
They all looked to Mrs. Flynn to give the verdict. “I guess that’s exactly what it means. I’ll send word to Mr. Standish that the locks must be changed immediately.”
“Those on our apartment too,” Sofia added.
She nodded. Mrs. Flynn and the other ladies went back to work, but Dolly stayed behind and helped Sofia pick up the pieces of her book.
“I always believed you,” she whispered.
It was something.
Mrs. Garmin took Lucy’s hands and kissed both her cheeks. “It’s so good to see you again, my dear. Are the Langdons treating you well?”
Lucy glanced at Mrs. Langdon. “Very well. Extremely well.”
“I knew as much. For why would they not? Women with a talent such as yours must be cultivated like a fine orchid.”
Orchid?
Mrs. Garmin took a seat on a burgundy settee beside Mrs. Langdon. Rowena sat nearby, leaving Lucy standing awkwardly before them. She wasn’t sure what to do, what was expected of her.
“I . . .” She nodded at Rowena. “Miss Langdon created some drawings of possible costumes and—”
Rowena raised a finger. “Crude sketches that Lucy has since embellished.”
Mrs. Garmin rubbed her gloved hands together. “A collaborative effort. Bravo. Now let me see!”
Lucy handed the ladies their respective sketches. She spoke to Mrs. Langdon first. “Your daughter said you wished to portray a lady in waiting in Queen Elizabeth’s court.”
“You’ve always liked that era, Mother.”
Mrs. Langdon nodded.
Lucy resumed the commentary. “For your dress I was thinking of a deep olive velveteen with a pink satin in the underskirt.”
“What about the stiff collar they always wore?” Mrs. Garmin asked. “How will you ever make that?”
Lucy had thought it through. “I’ll starch lace and mold it into the required shape.”
>
“How ingenious.”
Rowena sat beside her mother. “I was thinking you could wear your emerald necklace in your hair, with the main bauble on your forehead. I have a picture of Queen Elizabeth wearing a jewel like that.”
“That’s entirely possible,” Mrs. Langdon said as she studied the drawing.
Mrs. Garmin raised a hand. “My turn!”
Lucy caught Rowena’s eye as she moved to Mrs. Garmin. They shared a smile. This was going better than they’d hoped.
“For you I was thinking of a rich paisley for a shawl and as a portion of the overskirt.”
“What colors?”
“Mostly red with swirls of blue and gold.”
“I love deep colors.”
Lucy continued. “And the main skirt would be a red satin and—”
“Gypsies wouldn’t have worn satin,” Mrs. Langdon said.
Mrs. Garmin objected. “They probably had dirty hands and feet too, but I want to be a luxurious gypsy.”
“A gypsy queen,” Rowena said.
“Exactly. A queen.” She waved a hand at Lucy. “Go on. Red satin . . .”
“Red satin, and probably a layer of blue too. Or perhaps a blue-and-gold-striped skirt showing at the bottom.”
“And the blouse?”
The picture in Lucy’s mind was vivid. “Something simple in a white gauze, with flowing sleeves. And a laced girdle in black.”
“A girdle on the outside.” Mrs. Garmin put a hand to her midsection and sighed. “To think I’ll be able to go without a corset for a night. Now that is true luxury. Sometimes I get tempted to go without and breathe free and—”
“We really shouldn’t be talking about these things,” Mrs. Langdon said.
“And why not?” Mrs. Garmin said. “These things may be unmentionable, but truth be told, they are quite ridiculous and worthy of discussion and disdain. Hourglass figures, my foot. I’d like to see a man wear one of the contraptions we endure every waking hour. Would the world come to an end if we began a revolt and simply refused to wear our corsets?”
None of the ladies answered.
With a dramatic sigh, Mrs. Garmin gave up trying to incite a mutiny. She nodded to Rowena’s drawing. “And your costume, my dear?”
Rowena turned her drawing around so both women could see. “My inspiration comes from the books of Jane Austen.”
Lucy gave the details. “I thought a butter-colored silk would supply color yet represent the pastels of the Regency period. The piece of fabric I’m thinking of is covered with gold embroidery.”
“You have this fabric with you?” Mrs. Langdon asked.
“No, no,” Lucy said. “But it’s in stock at the shop where I work.”
Mrs. Garmin studied the drawing. “I do like the feathers in the headpiece, and is this a width of lace fabric hanging down?”
Lucy nodded. “I was thinking of a lace piece we have that’s a brick red. It would hang from the headpiece and skim Rowena’s shoulder. I think the color would complement the yellow of the dress quite well.”
“I have a citrine necklace that would look beautiful with it,” Rowena said.
Each lady examined her sketch and nodded—to Lucy’s relief.
“So then,” Mrs. Langdon said. “We are definitely impressed with your designs.”
“Your daughter came up with the initial ideas,” Lucy said.
“Then my kudos go to you too, Rowena,” she said. “But the next question involves the implementation of these wonderful ideas. How and when?”
Rowena sat forward in her chair, eager to share the answer. “Lucy needs help, so I thought we should send for her mother and sister—who are also seamstresses. They can come on the train with all the fabrics and supplies she’ll need.”
“Would they be willing to do that?” her mother asked.
“More than willing,” Lucy said. She could hardly wait to send word. If only she could see her mother’s face and hear Sofia’s squeal of joy.
“Then do it,” Mrs. Langdon said. “I’ll talk to my husband and he’ll see that the arrangements are made. Firstly, he’ll send a telegram this very afternoon.” She looked to Lucy. “Could they come on the train day after tomorrow?”
“I’m sure they could.”
“Very well, then. That will be all, Lucy.”
Lucy nodded and left the room.
Two days. In two days she’d see her family!
Then suddenly it hit her. What would Mrs. Flynn’s reaction be? Would she let them leave? Would she let them take supplies? Would she help them get the fabrics Lucy needed?
Lucy hadn’t talked about the expense with the Langdons or Mrs. Garmin, and she wasn’t even sure how much such a costume should cost.
But perhaps money wasn’t mentioned because money didn’t matter. It would cost what it would cost. Money talked.
Surely Mrs. Flynn would let it talk to her.
The bell on the front door of Madame Moreau’s chimed. “Hello? Telegram!”
All the ladies turned aflutter at the distraction and received a loud “Shush now!” from Mrs. Flynn—who went to the lobby to retrieve it.
Sofia kept sewing a satin petticoat for a day dress. Since finding her book torn apart, and having the ladies finally believe her about Bonwitter, she’d felt relief overshadow any fear that he was still out there. Yes, Mr. Standish had been called, and had assured them the locks would be changed by tomorrow, but it was more than that. Or actually less. Losing her title of “Baby Sofia” made her feel like one of the group again, which made her want to work harder.
If she thought about it, she had Bonwitter to thank.
Sofia barely looked up when Mrs. Flynn returned to the workroom. She didn’t see her hand Mamma the telegram, but only knew of it when Tessie and Dorothy exclaimed.
“Lea? You get the telegram?”
“What’s it say?”
“Who died?” Dolly asked.
Leona slapped her shoulder. “Stop that. Telegrams can be good news. Remember Lucy’s?”
Sofia remembered Lucy’s. Her telegram had been like getting a summons to a royal feast. But now, getting another one . . .
Mamma’s face sagged with worry and she hesitated to open it. Sofia rushed to her side. “Do you think Lucy’s hurt?”
Mamma pressed the envelope into Sofia’s hand. “You open it.”
Her heart pounded and her throat tightened. As much as she envied Lucy, she loved her and . . . God, please don’t let her be hurt.
She opened the seal and pulled out the note, scanned it, then burst into laughter.
“You’re laughing?” Tessie said. “What does it say?”
Sofia cleared her throat and read aloud. “ ‘Mamma and Sofia: You are needed in Newport to help make costumes for Vanderbilt ball. Train tickets at Grand Centr—’ ”
Mrs. Flynn tried to grab the telegram away. “The gall! What’s Lucy doing, emptying out my workroom!”
“Wait,” Sofia said. “Listen to the rest. ‘Tell Mrs. Flynn much money coming. List of supplies attached. Come Friday. Lucy.’ ” Sofia flung her arms around Mamma. “We’re going to Newport!”
“We’re going to see Lucia!” Mamma said.
Mrs. Flynn clapped her hands. “Hold on there. Only if I let you go.”
Mamma and Sofia parted. Mamma took a step forward. “Please, Madame. Let us go see Lucia and do this work for you.”
Dorothy gave her defense of it. “It will be a feather in your cap, Madame. Not just gowns for a Newport ball, but costumes.”
“And not just any Newport ball,” Tessie said. “A Vanderbilt ball.”
Dolly nodded. “They’re richer than Croesus.”
Everyone looked at her. “Do you even know who Croesus was?” Dorothy asked.
Dolly thought a moment. “Isn’t he one of the Vanderbilts’ cousins?”
The laughter was a balm and led to Mrs. Flynn saying, “Let me see the list.”
Sofia was going to Newport!
And
getting away from Bonwitter.
So much for meeting Dante.
Lucy sat by the window, furiously mending Rowena’s wardrobe. She had two days to finish her work before her family arrived and the costumes would need to be started. Her leisurely strolls were a thing of the past.
Oh well. At least she’d had a chance to walk along the sea. Once. It was probably best she didn’t go back to see Dante. She knew nothing about him. She didn’t even know if he was an honorable man.
He saved me.
But wouldn’t any man do that?
She tried to shove the thoughts of Dante away. “Quando la pera è matura, casca da sè,” she said aloud. All things happen in their own good time.
But they wouldn’t happen at all if she never showed up. Couldn’t happen.
Lucy pricked her finger. Served her right for letting the idea of love enter her head.
She looked up when Rowena entered the dressing room. The look on her face was quizzical. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
Rowena pointed out the window. “Isn’t it time to meet your Dante?”
Lucy was surprised she remembered. “I have work to do, especially with the three costumes to make as soon as my mother and sis—”
Rowena plucked the needle from her fingers. “Nonsense. I will not have you ruin a chance with your hero because of a split seam. Outside with you, and you’d better hurry or you’ll miss him.”
Lucy was ashamed when her heart began to pound. This whole thing was silly.
But Rowena would not be denied. She pulled a pink dress from the rack. “Here, wear this. You can’t have him seeing you in the same outfit.”
“I have another blouse.”
“Save it for the next time you see him. This dress, I say. Come now. Time is ticking.”
Lucy stopped her argument. The thought of wearing a truly beautiful dress was exciting, one with lace sleeves, a wide ruffle at the hem, and rows and rows of lace.
Rowena buttoned the back of it, then helped Lucy wind her hair into a soft bun. All finished, she turned her around and beamed like a proud mother. “There now. Off with you!”
“But—”
“I expect a full accounting upon your return.”
Rowena stood at the window and watched Lucy run across the grass toward the Cliff Walk. It felt good to be instrumental in bringing two lovers together.
