by Nancy Moser
“ ‘Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee. Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day, lull’d by the moonlight have all pass’d away. . . . ’ ”
Rowena was astounded by his mellow voice, and blushed when he looked in her direction to continue the song.
“ ‘Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, list while I woo thee with soft melody. Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng, beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.’ ”
Rowena’s heart caught in her throat.
Was this what it felt like to be in love?
If so, dear Edward, sing on.
Sofia threw a pillow across the workroom. “This isn’t fair. Not fair at all!”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said as she stepped in front of the cots, trying unsuccessfully to hide them from further view. “It was not my doing.”
Sofia pointed out the window toward the main house. “You can’t tell me in that huge mansion there’s not space enough for Mamma and me.”
Lucy had no answers, no excuses. She looked to her mother for rescue.
Mamma retrieved the pillow and pressed it into Sofia’s arms. “We are not here to sleep, we are here to work, and for work, this space will be quite satisfactory.”
“Why does Lucy get all the fun?”
That did it. “Fun?” Lucy said. “I spend hours and hours every day repairing Rowena’s clothes, and now I have to create these costumes besides?” She handily kept to herself the free time she’d had for taking walks and meeting Dante. The truth remained: she had been working hard.
Mamma moved to one of the trunks. “Let me show you the fabrics we’ve brought. We have work to do.”
Yes, they did. So there, little sister.
“Thank you for the delicious dinner, Mrs. Oswald,” Lucy said.
“You’re very welcome.” She extended a bowl of boiled carrots to Sofia. “Please have more, Sofia. You’re eating like a bird.”
“No thank you.”
Sofia hadn’t eaten much—which was unlike her. Lucy suspected it was done to show her displeasure at having to stay down here in the groundskeeper’s house. Her silence was supposedly another punishment. So be it. Lucy had no time for her sister’s moping moods.
Mamma rose and helped Mrs. Oswald clear the table. “I can’t believe you’ve worked for the Langdons twenty years.”
Mr. Oswald handed Mamma his plate. “That’s the year they renovated this place. It was the best of the best, the fanciest of the fancy, until these upstarts came along the past few years and started thinking a summer house had to look like a palace from Europe.”
Although Porte au Ciel was a mansion by anyone’s standards, it was homey compared to the museum quality of some of the other homes Dante had pointed out.
“Yes indeed,” Mr. Oswald continued. “We’ve seen the two children grow up from babes to . . . to . . .”
From the sink, Mrs. Oswald looked over her shoulder at him. “Be kind, Otto.”
He sighed and ran a finger along his gray mustache. “Miss Rowena is the kindest of the kind, a genuine lady.”
Lucy’s interest was piqued. “But her brother?”
“What can I say? Hugh doesn’t know the concept of responsibility, taking it or assuming it.”
“What’s the difference?” Mamma asked.
Mr. Oswald shared a glance with his wife, but when she shrugged, he continued. “I’m still waiting for that boy—that young man—to take responsibility for causing his sister’s injury. Until he does that, I just don’t think he’s going to be capable of assuming the responsibility of the family—”
Lucy was confused. “I thought Rowena fell on their yacht.” At least that’s what Hugh told me.
“She fell all right, after saving Hugh from going overboard.”
“She saved him?” Mamma asked.
“He was only ten or eleven, and was misbehaving something awful. I’ve heard it said he was told many times to quit climbing on the railing. He kept doing it, and when a wave made the yacht teeter, he lost his grip and footing. Miss Rowena lunged for him and got his hand. She held on to him until adults came to the rescue.”
Mrs. Oswald finished the story. “In the saving, Rowena broke her hip and her leg in three places. They were far from shore and sped to the nearest port. But it was a tiny town, with no real doctor, and . . .” She paused to genuflect. “The bones weren’t set correctly and now she limps. Her leg never did grow properly.”
“We certainly hope her marriage to Mr. DeWitt goes through. She’s not getting any younger.”
Lucy objected to the last statement. Rowena was three years younger than herself. “But Rowena is so lovely in every other way,” Lucy said. “Any man who can’t look past her limp is—”
Sofia shoved her chair back and stood. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Lucy and the others stared at her, dumbstruck by her rudeness. But before Mamma could chastise her and tell her to sit down, Sofia walked out of the Oswald’s living area toward the back room.
Mamma’s face reddened. “I’m so sorry. I apologize for my youngest daughter. She’s headstrong and . . .”
There was no defense for rudeness.
While Mamma helped Mrs. Oswald with the dinner dishes, Lucy excused herself. Before heading back to her quarters, she detoured to the workroom, expecting to find Sofia in bed, and also expecting to wake her to give her a good scolding. “How dare—”
Sofia wasn’t there.
Lucy went outside, hoping to find her sitting against the building, pouting.
But Sofia wasn’t there either.
Lucy scanned the grounds, having no idea where to look. Her first fear was that Sofia had stomped up to the main house and made a fool of herself demanding some right she didn’t deserve. Her mind filled with the apologies she’d have to make to the staff and, heaven forbid, the Langdons. What could Sofia be thinking to be so brazen and—
Lucy heard Sofia’s laughter, and whipped around toward the sound. It was coming from the stables nearby.
Although her anger was still afire, Lucy felt some relief. At least Sofia wasn’t breaking some protocol of society.
But then she thought of Haverty and all the other men at the stables. Sofia was a pretty girl. They were virile men. . . .
Lucy walked faster.
She followed the sound of Sofia’s laughter and rounded a corner, through the open stable doors. There was Sofia, leaning against a stall, one knee raised to enable her shoe to lie flat against it.
A stableboy stood nearby, his left arm extended to the stall, leaning close.
“Sofia!”
Sofia rolled her eyes and offered a dramatic sigh.
Lucy turned her wrath on the young man. “Leave her alone! She’s just a child.”
Sofia stomped a foot upon the ground. “I am not!”
Lucy recovered quickly. “That action proves you are. Come with me. Now. Mamma is waiting.”
“She’s always waiting.” Yet in spite of her words, Sofia moved away.
The boy made his defense. “I didn’t go after her. She came in here. We were just talking.”
Lucy knew who was at fault. “I know. And I apologize for snapping at you. But if she comes in here again, send her back where she—”
“I am not a wayward dog, needing to be sent home!”
Lucy exchanged a look with the young man, then grabbed her sister by the upper arm and marched her out of the stable.
“Let go of me!”
“Stop making a scene.”
“Then . . . let go!” Sofia pulled her arm loose and ran ahead toward the workroom.
Lucy shook her head, exasperated. Although her sister had grown feisty in recent years, Lucy had never, ever expected her to act up like—
Lucy looked to the left toward the main house and saw Hugh Langdon sitting sideways upon a second-story windowsill, one leg bent. He gave her a one-fingered salute.
Great. Just what she needed. An audienc
e. And not just any audience.
Hugh. A spoiled liar.
She suffered a shiver.
Chapter Sixteen
Why can’t they come to us for the fittings?” Sofia asked as she lugged three bolts of fabric to the main house.
“You wanted to see the house; now you’re seeing it,” Lucy said. “Mamma, tell her to be polite in front of the ladies. I don’t want her embarrassing me.”
“Sofia will be the essence of polite to the ladies,” Mamma said as she readjusted a bolt of satin against some striped fabric. “As will you be, Lucia, to your sister.”
Lucy wanted to argue but knew it would do no good. But she also knew if Sofia didn’t watch herself and wise up soon, she’d end up in big trouble. Lucy was already regretting her presence. If only Mamma could have come alone.
They entered the house via the servants’ entrance.
Mrs. Donnelly was passing by and gave them a what-for look. “And who are you?” she asked.
Lucy made the introductions. “This is my mother and sister, Mrs. Donnelly. They’ve come to help sew some costumes for the Vanderbilt ball.” She nodded toward Mamma. “Mother, Sofia, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Donnelly, the housekeeper. She’s in charge of . . . of . . .”
“Everything,” Mrs. Donnelly said.
Well put.
“And where are you going with all that fabric?” she asked.
“To Mrs. Langdon’s morning room,” Lucy answered. “We’re having the fittings there.”
Sofia dropped a bolt and picked it up with difficulty.
“Don’t leave a mess for the housemaids or I guarantee you’ll hear about it.”
“We won’t, Mrs. Donnelly.” Lucy led her family to the stairs.
“Who does that woman think she is?” Sofia asked. “The queen of the house?”
“Next to Mrs. Langdon and Mr. Timbrook, the butler, that’s exactly who she is. You need to show her some respect.”
Sofia made a disgruntled face but kept any comeback to herself.
The back stairway emptied out in a rear hall. They passed the dining room on their way to the morning room.
“Well, I’ll be,” Mamma said.
Lucy turned around and saw Mamma and Sofia stopped in the doorway, taking it in. She remembered her first look at the dining room and allowed them their awe. “Isn’t it something?”
“How many can they seat in there?” Mamma asked.
Lucy did a quick count of the chairs. “Thirty or so. At least.”
“Look at that ceiling,” Sofia whispered.
They all peered up at the painting of cherubs, clouds, flowers, and ribbons that covered the ceiling, which was edged with a carved golden cornice.
“Who are these people?” Sofia asked. “They’re rich as royalty.”
“Come, now,” Lucy said. “The ladies will be arriving soon, and I’d like to have the fabrics nicely displayed before they do.”
Mrs. Langdon’s morning room was on the east side of the house, across from the dining room. It was radiant with sunshine.
“It’s a room made for a princess,” Sofia said.
Lucy remembered her initial impression of this room when she’d met with Rowena after arriving in Newport. She too had been struck by its airy lavishness. Unlike the darker hues in the rest of the house, it was decorated in soft tan, fern, and mauve. The delicate furniture, with its light-colored wood, curved legs, and ornamental filigree, revealed a woman’s touch.
“Set the bolts over there.”
Sofia ran a hand along the silk back of a chair. “So Mrs. Langdon just uses this room in the morning? She uses another room in the afternoon?”
“I don’t think ‘morning room’ is to be taken too literally. I think she uses it all day, but it’s her room.” Lucy moved to a desk near a window. “See? This is her desk, where she handles her correspondence.”
Sofia picked up a pen and ran it between two fingers. “I would correspond with people too if I had a desk like this—and had someone to write to.”
Lucy took the pen out of her hands. “Please quit touching everything. It’s not yours.”
Sofia drew back and sulked. “Don’t rub it in.”
Lucy turned to her mother for support. “Please, Mamma. Tell her to behave. We can’t have her making such comments when the ladies come.”
Mamma gave her youngest a scathing look. “If I have to order you to silence, I will.”
Sofia shrugged but shook her head.
Lucy let out a sigh. Mamma and Sofia were there to help her, yet she’d felt more stress in the last twenty-four hours than she had with the concept of handling all the sewing herself.
The clock on the mantel chimed the three-quarter hour. They needed to get the fabric organized.
With her family’s help, Lucy grouped the fabrics according to costume and draped them dramatically over various chairs. Hopefully the fabrics would speak for themselves and delight the Langdons and Mrs. Garmin.
“Take that fringe and lay it over the red—”
As the clock began to strike the hour, Mrs. Langdon entered, followed by Rowena and Mrs. Garmin.
Mrs. Garmin clapped her hands together. “It’s a fabric extravaganza!”
Leave it to her to make Lucy feel the extra effort was worth it.
“Well, well,” Mrs. Langdon said as she strolled past the three displays. “I can see how the fabrics lend themselves to your designs.” She stopped in front of the green cloth for her costume and touched it. “The depth of the velvet is exquisite.”
Lucy caught Rowena’s eye and received an encouraging nod. Then she held the coral silk that would be the underskirt over her arm. “And see how this one drapes?”
Rowena stepped forward. “It will feel heavenly when you walk, Mother.”
Mrs. Langdon studied it a few moments, nodded, then looked at Lucy. “Well done.”
Lucy was so happy she could have called it a day right then.
Mrs. Garmin pulled the length of paisley challis from her display and wrapped it around her shoulders, sashaying across the room. “As a gypsy queen I’ll need some castanets, or perhaps a tambourine.”
Mrs. Langdon shook her head. “Alice will have a conniption if you do.”
“All the more reason.”
Lucy moved to Rowena’s display of butter-colored silk with golden thread embroidered throughout. “Do you like your fabric?”
Rowena’s smile revealed her answer. “It’s just as I envisioned. More.”
Lucy leaned close. “I will make yours.”
“Which one will I make?”
It was the first time Sofia had spoken, and as the three women turned toward her voice, Lucy realized she hadn’t introduced them to her family.
She hurried forward. “I’m so sorry. Please let me introduce my mother, Lea Scarpelli, and my sister, Sofia. Mother, Sofia, this is Mrs. Langdon, the lady of the house, and her daughter, Rowena, and this is Mrs. Garmin, who befriended me on the train.”
Mamma bowed her head. “So nice to meet you. Thank you for bringing us here.”
“Do you find your accommodations and work space acceptable?” Mrs. Langdon asked.
“Yes, very. Thank you.”
Sofia stepped forward. “Actually, I’d like to stay in this house with my sister.”
Lucy grabbed her arm. “Sofia, shush!”
Mamma pulled at Sofia from the other side. “Please forgive my daughter, Mrs. Langdon. She speaks when she should be silent.”
Mrs. Langdon’s face was stoic, but Lucy could see thoughts moving behind her eyes. She finally said, “If Lucy will have you in her room, I have no objection.”
Sofia stepped out of her mother’s shadow. “Really?”
Lucy wanted to wave a hand and ask, “What about me? What if I don’t want her in my room?” But she didn’t have time, for Mrs. Langdon asked, “Is that agreeable, Lucy?”
No! “Of course, Mrs. Langdon.”
“Good. Now, let’s proceed with the fi
ttings.”
It had finally happened. Sofia had gone too far.
“I’m sorry, all right?” Sofia was done with this discussion. You’d have thought she’d asked to stay in Rowena’s room.
Hoping to diffuse the scolding, she tossed a tape measure into the air, but instead of catching it, she let it slip through her fingers and die upon the floor.
Lucy pointed scissors at her. “You had no right to complain about anything, especially to Mrs. Langdon.”
“But she asked how we liked . . .”
“She was being polite!”
Mamma stepped between them. “This argument is getting nowhere. Sofia, your sister is correct. You shouldn’t have complained about our accommodations. They may be simple, but they are satisfactory. The Oswalds are nice people and—”
Boring people. “I just wanted to—”
Mamma stopped her word with a hand. “And, Lucia, you must be more forgiving and stop presenting yourself as some bastion of society perfection.”
“I’m not; it’s just that Sofia needs to keep her mouth shut when she doesn’t know—”
Mamma shook her head. “Remember what Papa said: ‘Chi non fa, non falla.’ ”
Those who do nothing make no mistakes.
“See?” Sofia said. “Papa would’ve said it was all right.”
Mamma turned on her. “No, he would not have said that. His wisdom only means that mistakes happen. That doesn’t mean we should run willy-nilly into them.”
Lucy had to have the last word. “From what I’ve heard and seen, Newport society will only forgive so much. It’s far better to remain silent than risk offense.”
Mamma spread the red satin for Mrs. Garmin’s costume on the workroom table. “What’s done is done, and what is not done . . .” She nodded toward the bolts of fabric. “We have much to do, girls.”
Sofia picked up the measuring tape. Lucia walked past and took it from her—none too gently. The warning was blatant: Sofia had better work doubly hard today or—
Or what?
She hated when Lucy acted more like her father than her sister. And yet . . . Sofia remembered seeing Lucy and Papa in deep discussion—as equals. Such times had aggravated her, and more often than not, she’d made a point of intruding, of interrupting their conversation by going to sit on Papa’s lap.
