by Jane Steen
Teddy sighed, looking downward again. “I keep thinking about what Miss O’Dugan said about not giving the people we love snakes or scorpions for gifts. My heart is divided in twain, truth be told. I want my sister to be happy—if anything can make her happy, which sometimes I doubt—but I want her to make my parents proud too.” He splayed long, bony fingers, the raw hand of a very young man, over his chest. “I want to do right by her, but I can’t grasp what right is. I’ve always liked you, Mrs. Rutherford, and I was downright knocked over with gratitude when you promised to help us, but I’m unsure if I made the right choice after all.”
Sympathy engulfed me as I looked at the young man—so very young and so keen to take up burdens of care and worry that were better suited to one twice his age. He was insulting me, if I cared to bristle at the insult—but I didn’t. I smiled instead.
“Neither do I. After all, I’m only six years older than you. Don’t forget that. But can’t you trust my sincerity? Or Martin’s at least?”
We both jumped as the ship’s horn sounded, a massive wave of noise that startled a large group of seagulls from the roof of the deck house where the Ladies’ Saloon was situated. From somewhere below us, a cheer arose, men’s voices, followed by laughter and speech raised in a hubbub of comment.
“I wonder if that signifies land?” I stared at the horizon, one hand shielding my eyes from the diffuse glare of a half-hidden sun. “I can’t see anything.”
“We will soon. The seagulls mean land is near, I think. We’ll see the coast of England—and then Liverpool, where we’ll part ways.” Teddy smiled suddenly, a genial expression that made him look like his father. “I will miss you, you know. I hope we separate as friends.”
“Always.” I held out my hand to Teddy, who grasped it briefly. “Sarah will be sad when you leave,” I said. “She’s so fond of you.”
“And I of her. But we’ve had some pleasant talks this last week.”
“Yes, you have. And thank you for playing with her on deck—watching you and Martin explain the rules of baseball to her and Miss Baker had me in stitches.”
“She understands I have to work in England,” Teddy said. “She talked about your work too—your studies under Mr. Worth—as if it was the most normal and expected thing on earth.”
I shrugged. “When she was smaller, I had to toil to earn our living, like any woman does when she doesn’t have a man to support her. She’s more intrigued by Mr. Worth being a man in a woman’s world—now that might be eye-opening to all of us.”
28
New ideas
“Turn, please, madame.” Worth smiled his tired smile. “I beg your pardon for addressing you so brusquely, but I wish to see every detail of your gown. Arlette Belvoix wrote to me about you at length, and I am intrigued.”
I turned, aware of the drag of the gray ottoman skirt with its short, ruffled train. I had worn this ensemble because of the difficulty of draping the heavy silk and cotton cloth with its pronounced ribbing. I was sure I had cut it exceptionally well. The light would make the sheen of the gray fabric move like the waves on the sea, accentuated by the slight iridescence of the silk I had used for the ruffles. The black satin bodice, cut long in the cuirass style to descend in points below the hips, was heavily embroidered in grays, sea greens, and blues, with touches of mauve to pick up the multihued effect of the ruffles; a deep border of Indian silk added yet more richness. I had intended to wear a much lighter dress that day, but I was finding Paris cold for June. I didn’t want to appear before the great Worth all pinched and chilly.
He was unprepossessing in his person, this Napoleon of dressmakers. An ordinary-looking man of medium height and around fifty years of age, he would have disappeared into any crowd if it weren’t for his outlandish mode of dress. He wore a flowing gown of almost Oriental appearance over a matching vest, a floppy cravat, and an equally limp velvet cap on his head. The cap, I rather imagined, was to hide a balding pate—but his mustache was thick and dark, and from beneath it came a rapid flow of British-accented syllables as he commented on every aspect of the gown I wore. He spoke in the efficient undertone of a man accustomed to working with women amid the overblown luxury of gilded carving and velvet draperies.
“Now bend, as if you are petting a small dog—yes, reach down. Straighten, and then walk on a little, turning to left and right as if you are greeting acquaintances.”
I did as he asked, trying not to grin as my gaze met Martin’s. My husband was reclining on a sofa ornamented with far too much gilt metal, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed. He said nothing, but his eyes were busy. I sensed him noting every detail of the room and was sure his impressions would be transferred to his notebook as soon as he had the chance.
I performed a few more movements at Worth’s request until finally the designer beckoned me to approach him.
“You cut well, and you understand fabrics. And I hear that you have a good eye for what will suit a woman when you meet her. So Madame Arlette wishes me to spend an hour or two with you and pass on my secrets? They are no secrets at all, really. We will look at my prints and photographs and talk about the paintings you have seen, and you will tell me what details you notice and how you might bring them into a gown. You will show me your sketchbooks, and perhaps I’ll borrow your secrets too. That’s how it works, isn’t it?” A puff of air blew out the thick mustache to indicate amusement. “That’s why I started selling my designs to other houses. They copied them anyway. We must cultivate originality, Mrs. Rutherford, if we are to be leaders, and I will show you the trick of it, for Arlette Belvoix’s sake.”
“I’m grateful—” I began.
“Bah! Don’t be. My price is high; I will dress you as I wish, not as you wish. Having your own dresses made will teach you much, of course, and I will allow you to be privy to the process.”
I turned to Martin in astonishment. Fool as I was, I hadn’t once considered the possibility of purchasing Worth’s dressmaking for myself. For one thing, I was used to dressing myself out of my own resources, and for another—well, I suppose I had been too nervous about meeting the man to actually think.
Martin’s eyes crinkled in amusement at my expression, and then he turned to Worth. “Twenty?” he asked. “To start with anyway. I have to dress the rest of my family as well . . . and purchase some more trunks for the return voyage.” His fair eyebrows rose toward his hairline, mocking me, and it was to me he next spoke. “I wouldn’t be much of a robber baron if I didn’t bring myself and my womenfolk back to America dressed from the skin out in the best Paris has to offer. You especially—I want the whole of Prairie Avenue to see you fresh from Paris.”
I had the sense to hold my tongue but loosened it again when Martin had taken his leave of Worth and I was walking him to the door. Apparently, my measurements had to be taken before Worth and I continued my lessons.
“Twenty dresses?”
Martin cast a quick glance around the vestibule before answering. “Goose, did you really imagine he would instruct you for nothing? You’re being allowed privileges normally reserved for royalty—or famous actresses. What you’ll learn will pay for the dresses and the voyage to Europe and every blessed thing we buy. And raising Madame’s salary beyond its already outrageous height.” He gave me a swift kiss on the lips and stuck his hat on his head. “Don’t forget to include some light and frothy summer gowns. Even this part of the world gets warm sometimes in the summer. There’s your escort—my, one of the young Messieurs Worth again. How dreadfully French his sons are.”
Martin headed rapidly in the direction of the doorway as I turned to smile at the young man advancing toward me. My nervousness had dissipated—true, I was struggling to remember the little French that Grandmama had taught me, and I was no doubt about to be made to feel like a complete novice, but I, Nell Lillington of Victory, Illinois, was in Paris with an unmatchable opportunity to improve my skills. And improve them I would.
“You walk
as if you’re barely touching the ground,” remarked Martin a few days later as he escorted me along the corridors of the Grand Hôtel du Louvre. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that worried, tired expression on your face replaced by interest and enthusiasm.”
“I’m beginning to understand why Mrs. Parnell is always lamenting Chicago’s lack of culture.” I took a firmer grip on Martin’s arm; the carpet was so deep I could have been walking on sand. “Look at what Paris offers compared to us, even without the Exhibition. And that’s the most astonishing spectacle I’ve ever seen.”
“Astonishing is too small a word.” Martin was grinning like a boy; I wasn’t the only one who’d found a new sense of enthusiasm. “The electric light—imagine being Sarah, born to such an era! And the flying machine.”
“Which flew for about a minute,” I remarked drily. “And we only have their assurance for that.”
“And what about the latest sewing machines? American, of course, but we probably wouldn’t have seen them for months. I must write to Singer. And if that statue of Liberty Enlightening the World ever gets to America, we should visit it.”
“Tess and Sarah would insist. Do you realize Tess now has fifteen souvenirs with pictures of it?” I nodded my thanks at the uniformed boy who had just opened a door for us. “We’ll need ten more trunks—none of us seem able to stop buying things.”
A babble of voices met us as we paused at the top of the grand staircase. I could not distinguish words, so I listened to the sounds; the women’s voices created tiny peaks of high notes amid the bass drone of the men, like so many birds chirping in the breeze. The bright colors of dinner dresses clashed and swirled among the black-suited men—like birds again, but in opposition to nature’s habit of making the males brighter than the females.
Martin leaned against the banister, signaling his desire to delay our descent into the crowd, and inspected me with a slow sweep of his gaze. I couldn’t help smiling; a new dress always brought a smile to a woman’s face, and this dress was by Worth.
“You’re glowing like a sunset.” Martin’s expression told me all I needed to hear. “I like you in those bright colors.”
“I’d never have dared put this dress near my hair.” I smoothed down the rich brocade of my dinner gown, deep orange flowers on a magenta background trimmed with antique lace and pale gold ribbon. “I’ve always preferred subtle hues because of my hair color, but studying those paintings—well, I’ve never seen so much red hair in my life, and so often next to pink, red, or orange. The Old Masters must have liked redheaded women.”
“They have good taste. Seeing you alight like this makes me want to take you back to bed, but I suppose we must have dinner.”
“Tess and Sarah must be down there somewhere,” I said, leaning forward to get a better view and trying to ignore the surreptitious caress on my lower limbs, quite discernible through my narrow skirt. “We must have an early night. I want to spend the morning in the Louvre. You can take Tess and Sarah to the Exhibition again. It’s most tiresome trying to observe and sketch when there are people yawning behind me.”
“I only yawned twice.” Martin grinned sheepishly as I turned back to him. “But of course I’ll take them. I want to spend an hour or two in the fabric halls and visit the Japanese and Chinese exhibits. Will you join us after luncheon? Sarah is wild to try the balloon ascent again.”
“I’ll stay with Tess on the ground and wave. You know she won’t go up.”
“I’m not against an early night.” Martin spoke quietly as he moved past me, then touched my arm and waved to indicate that he’d spotted Sarah and Tess.
I waved in my turn, easily locating Sarah by her hair. Which was startlingly like the color of my dress, I mused as we moved forward. But all thought was suspended as I clutched the stair rail with one hand and Martin’s arm with the other; negotiating steps needed great concentration when you had more than a yard of train to your dress, especially if you desired to move with elegance.
“I could stay here forever.” Martin smiled sideways at me. “But we must travel to the coast and meet Madame’s fashionable and intelligent friends, I suppose.”
“They’ll be interesting.” I relaxed my grip as we reached the bottom of the stairs, holding out a hand to Sarah, who had been wriggling her way through the crowd. I spotted Miss Baker’s dark-clad form close behind, attracting little attention from the bright, fashionable guests. Tess, bringing up the rear, looked self-conscious, a little flustered. “I’ve noticed that every introduction Madame has arranged has had some benefit to the store behind it. So many people who seem to know everyone it is necessary to know. I sometimes wonder who Arlette Belvoix really is.”
Absorbing as it was, our stay in Paris seemed to roll by with the speed of an advancing train. And it was in a train that we left the graceful city, doing as the French did in summer and seeking the cool of the seaside. It was not until then that Tess expressed the feeling I had seen growing in her looks, in the way she stood, somehow even in the way she breathed.
“I’m longing to be home again.”
Tess looked up and sideways at me; the movement necessitated bending her neck rather far back because of her fashionable hat. We were promenading by the shore at Deauville and therefore dressed in our utmost best, which for both of us meant Worth.
One thing I had discovered about the French was that clothes truly mattered to them in a way they did not to Americans in general. Even the lowest Parisian midinette, as they called the shopgirls and seamstresses, seemed to spend an inordinate amount of effort on her toilette. The merest outing was an opportunity—not to be missed by any woman—to show herself at her best. We had risen to the occasion for our afternoon of sea air; my walking gown used stripes and lace in a startling combination that I was aching to try out myself, while Tess’s dress was an eye-catching deep red with matching roses on her hat.
“You know why I wish I were home, Nell,” Tess said after a brief hesitation.
“Of course I do. You want to see Donny again.”
“I wish he could write better. Then he could write me back.” We had all, including Sarah, enjoyed sending “letter cards,” an ingenious innovation, from the Universal Exhibition. Tess had sent three to Donny.
“It would take weeks for any letter to reach you, especially since we keep moving from place to place. You’ll just have to be patient, Tess.”
I slowed my steps, realizing I had begun to walk a little too fast for my friend. The sea breeze—which lived up to its reputation for freshness, although I was not fond of the seaweed smell—tugged at my splendid hat, in black velvet to match my dress but feathered and ribboned in bright colors I would not have worn before Paris.
In the distance, I could spot Sarah running along the broad, sandy beach on which large waves were breaking in a monotonous fashion that was somehow quite mesmerizing. At least to me, who had never seen the sea before this summer, they were large waves. Our current hosts had laughed when I had commented on them, explaining that the sea was positively gentle this year and pointing out the huge banks of pebbles that storms had deposited in recent winters. Martin had made some remark about the height of the waves during a storm on the Atlantic but had fallen silent when he’d seen my face. He knew I was already nervous about setting off across the ocean in September. I’d never realized how big it was until our journey over, and America seemed a dreadfully long way off.
To our left rose buildings, set well back from the promenade but so large they formed an inescapable reminder of the delights of a modern resort. Grand hotels, a casino, a gallery of shops, and the huge, fanciful villas of the wealthy gave plenty of scope for the acquisitive and the merely curious. Yet the town was not crowded despite the splendid weather. The day before, our hostess—a delightful Frenchwoman married to an Austrian banker—had echoed the lament I had so often heard, “You should have seen it under the Empire.” She had said it in her excellent English, but her words had been caught by an arti
st trying to capture the children at play on the August beach. He had relayed it in French to the various men standing around him; some of them spat quite disgustingly on the sand to show what they thought of the Empire. I gathered that France was now a republic, which seemed a far better way to proceed.
“It’s mostly Donny,” said Tess after a few moments of silence. “But I’d like to be back in America too, just because it’s home. I can’t understand anything people say here—and I’m sure they’re talking about me.”
I forbore from pointing out that people talked about Tess behind her back in America too and simply gave the hand that held my arm a sympathetic squeeze. I knew what she meant. She was a familiar enough sight in the stores along State Street and in our neighborhood that her arrival would elicit smiles and greetings from those who were acquainted with her. Here she was a stranger, and people were not always kind to strangers.
“The Von Friedensbergs think you’re wonderful, and that’s all that counts.” I smiled down at her. “All the people Madame Belvoix introduced us to have liked you, including Mr. Worth. He was far merrier with you than he was with me.”
“He was funny.” Tess smiled. “But he’s English, and I like English people almost as much as Americans, even if they can’t speak our language properly. I miss Chicago, Nell. Don’t you?”
“I miss . . . the store,” I admitted. “Now, you see, you’re laughing at me, and I suppose I deserve it for pining after work. But you’ve seen all the sketches I’ve done; I have so many new ideas that my head must be twice as large as when we left Chicago. I’ve sent the best to Madame, of course, and I hope she’ll have turned at least some of them into gowns by the time we return.”
“Martin’s right. You’re a hopeless case.” Tess tried to purse her lips into a reproving expression, but it turned into a broad grin. “At least he knows how to enjoy himself without working. I don’t suppose he’ll leave that equestrian club until the evening.” She waved her free hand toward the buildings in the distance; in one of them, presumably, Martin was talking horses. “Or he’ll watch the horses racing or go for a ride or a long, long walk.”