by Alma Katsu
But Dai was already slamming the door shut behind him and Les was left with only the scent on the air of his sweat and pomade, and the tiny room, heaped with ragged clothing and stinking of herring: a reminder of how small and trapped their lives were. This was his life in a nutshell, this constant starting over, constantly losing ground, no matter how hard he fought. And he fought so hard it was wearying. So hard he thought maybe he wouldn’t ever be done until he was dead, like that workhorse.
The part that was true was that he did it for them. For both of them. Wouldn’t it be the height of irony if it became the reason he lost Dai Bowen in the end? Because that was his greatest fear. That one day Dai would finally realize the truth: that Leslie Williams had never been good enough for him in the first place.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the deep cream silk of her dress—bedecked with bugle beads and crystals—fell around her swollen body like a soft stream of water, Maddie worried her hands together. They’d become chapped in the night, after . . . the thing she had done—cracked and dry, despite the primrose-scented oil she’d rubbed into them repeatedly. Luckily, she had the perfect pair of evening gloves to match her gown: pale walnut, and a diamond choker to match.
In the mirror, she studied her face, painted to cover the rings beneath her eyes. It had been a very late night. Her nightgown—soaked through and still pungent with the scent of salt from the pool, had had to be disposed of, of course. No one could know what had happened last night. Which meant that, once she’d managed to pull herself back up the servants’ stairwell, dripping wet, she’d returned quietly to her rooms, stripped down, wrapped the soaking nightgown in a pillowcase, donned an overcoat (plain brown wool, it was an effective disguise), then sneaked back out and threw the incriminating bundle over the railing, watching it disappear into the black of night and sea. It had taken a lot of strength, and the wind had been fierce, but it was done. All traces of her momentary madness gone. If only it was as easy to erase it from her mind.
By the time she’d returned to bed at last, the sun was piercing the horizon. She’d drawn her silk eye mask over her face and fallen into a fraught, dream-tormented sleep—dark salt waves choking her, the eerie glow of the lights in the pool swimming around her, glowing orbs that became, when you looked closer, pale faces, crying out help us . . . or had it been, join us? Because she had briefly joined some sort of communal madness, of that she was sure. For this, she blamed the ship: the tight quarters, the inability to escape the collective. It was like living in a hive.
She’d awoken only after the maid had come to clear away her husband’s lunch tray sometime that afternoon. It had left her groggy and disoriented—with very little time to make arrangements for tonight’s ball.
There was no question of abstaining, of pleading a headache and staying in her rooms. The Astors were the pinnacle of the social pyramid; Jack would insist on making an appearance, and he wouldn’t risk the scandal of going without her. She would have to attend if only to show that she wouldn’t be cowed by the matron society in New York, that she was Mrs. J. J. Astor now and she would have her due.
Maddie rubbed cream into her hands furiously. What had possessed her last night? The reasons were clear in her mind, but it would be impossible to make anyone else understand. She had played right into the hands of Ava and her cronies, and if the papers caught wind, could absolutely ruin her. Jack would be furious with her and might be moved to do something—baby or no.
She managed the final buttons on her dress alone. Miss Bidois had found a seamstress in steerage to work on it all night to get it ready for the gala. It was a shame to let it out at the waist and hips, but it could always be put back the way it was after the baby was born. She made a mental note to make an appointment with Lady Duff-Gordon once she’d set up her atelier. Have some dresses made especially for the pregnancy. She was sure the Englishwoman could come up with something chic. So many maternity dresses were so dowdy; she didn’t want to end up looking like a sack of flour. It was important to keep up appearances, no matter what.
“Are you ready?” she called out to her husband, in his dressing area. If there was one thing she could change about her husband, it would be his fussiness over clothing. Jack took longer to dress than she did. He had more clothes than any society woman she’d known; it went back to his theatrical streak. He loved dressing up.
A vague murmur came from his dressing room. She knew what that meant. “I’m going to head down. I promised some friends I would see them there at nine o’clock and I don’t want to be late.” She didn’t wait for an answer.
Maddie found Helen Newsom by the grand staircase, as arranged. They knew each other from the tennis circuit in Bar Harbor. A lovely girl; too bad about the overprotective mother. That was sometimes the way with widows (though Helen’s mother had remarried profitably): they were hell-bent on their daughters marrying for security. The mother had lined up a good catch back in the States, but Helen had fallen in love with an American tennis player while touring Europe. The poor fool, Karl Behr, was even on the ship, trying to ingratiate himself with the old battle-ax. Helen was from comparatively modest means and Maddie could sympathize with her entirely. Who doesn’t wish to marry for love? Sometimes she felt like a broodmare: carefully bred, valuable for one thing and one thing only. And if she did this one thing, if she was compliant, she would have a life of relative ease for the rest of her days. To marry for love seemed incredibly wild and rebellious. She wasn’t entirely sure she approved—She’d made her bed, hadn’t she?—but it was fun watching someone else try.
They kissed each other’s cheeks like Frenchwomen. Maddie admired Helen’s lilac frock. The girl was so statuesque that she could look good in anything, even an old gunny sack. And how she managed to do her hair without the help of a lady’s maid—Maddie would have to ask Helen for her secrets.
They were quickly joined by Mabel Fortune. Maddie didn’t really know the Fortunes, but Mabel had attached herself to Helen like a lost-love cousin and there didn’t seem to be any way of shaking her off. Maddie was pretty sure Mabel made the attachment after she noticed Helen was an acquaintance of hers. She didn’t like to be suspicious, but it was impossible not to notice, really.
“Where’s Mr. Astor?” Helen asked, looking around.
“He’s coming later. Some business thing.” She waved a hand airily. “Let’s go downstairs, shall we?” Though the ship was as claustrophobic as ever, the company of her friends made it bearable. Her nervousness began to lift; being in that swirl of activity—pretty gowns, men in black, bright chatter—she was like an old warhorse responding to the sound of gunfire and the smell of powder. She was made for this, born and trained. The banquet hall was her war table, the ballroom her battlefield.
The reception area had been reasonably transformed into a ballroom. The damask-covered couches and armchairs had been taken away, though the Axminster carpet remained. The chandeliers threw off a beautiful faceted light. Music drifted up from the far end, where the piano normally sat—the ship had a good assortment of musicians, she’d been happy to see. The room was already filled with passengers all turned out in their best. Most of the men wore swallowtail coats with black waistcoat and white tie, though she was charmed to see some of the men in the trendier white waistcoat, and a few daring, fashion-conscious souls in black tie and white waistcoat. A fair number wore dinner jackets instead of swallowtails; it was only a captain’s ball, after all, and not as demanding. She spied Guggenheim decked out in a swallowtail and white waistcoat, a notched collar on his coat, not the shawl collar that was quickly falling out of style.
“Let’s find Lady Duff-Gordon, shall we?” Normally, Maddie wouldn’t have given Lucy of London a second thought, even if she claimed to dress the aristocracy and famous singers and actresses of the day, but now that she’d seen the clothes herself, up close where she could get a sense of the workmanship and quality of the fabrics, she
was intrigued. Besides, it might be a good idea to ingratiate herself with the older woman: she could be a formidable ally if word got out about the episode with the stewardess. What happened at the pool.
What she saw when she found Lady Duff-Gordon took her breath away. The outfit was like nothing Maddie had seen before. It most closely resembled a Japanese kimono in shape and the way it was draped. The Englishwoman’s dress was a long column of the most exquisite purple silk. The fabric for the bodice had a glorious pattern of tiles embroidered in gold, with sleeves the same shade of purple. There was a sash of pale gold and another of ivory doubling the waist and hanging to the hip. It was both effortless looking and highly designed—breathtakingly beautiful.
Maddie was almost breathless addressing Lady Duff-Gordon. “I must say, your dress is exquisite.”
“It’s from my latest collection. Inspired by la Japonaise.” Lady Duff-Gordon’s eyes shone like a mischievous schoolgirl’s. “I would be happy to design one for you, my dear.”
What a clever one she was. This transatlantic crossing was a way to drum up business. She had a wealthy and captive audience.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maddie saw her husband descend from the central staircase. Maddie squeezed Helen’s hand as she turned away. “Let’s go, girls. I’m in the need of a drink.”
They were making their way deeper into the room when there was a bump from behind. A male voice said, “I’m so sorry, ladies—I beg your pardon.” Maddie turned and was happy to see the boxer who had pulled Teddy down from the railing.
“Oh, Mr. Bowen, how nice to see you this evening,” she said.
He held a dripping cup to one side. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going and seemed to have spilled some punch on this young lady’s dress,” he said, gesturing to Mabel Fortune. Mabel looked down at the hem with a frown.
“Oh, it’s nothing Mr. Bowen, and I’m sure she’ll do worse herself before the evening’s out,” Maddie said, ignoring Mabel’s insulted glare.
The boxer was suddenly very solemn. He bowed, still managing to hover over her with his great height. “Mrs. Astor, I wish to extend my sympathies. I heard about the passing of your little boy. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to tell you sooner.”
“Yes, poor little boy. But he was just a servant,” Mabel blurted. “It wasn’t like he was her son.”
“Still, it was very sad nonetheless,” Helen Newsom said.
“Thank you.” Maddie did not want to talk about it. She didn’t want to hear one more word from Mabel Fortune’s mouth. She was beginning to feel very self-conscious. People were staring at her belly, doubtless replaying gossip from the papers in the back of their mind. How pregnant is she? And when was the wedding?
“It’s a shame to see such beautiful women on their own tonight. Lady Duff-Gordon had said there was a shortage of eligible men on board this ship, but I didn’t believe her,” the boxer said, all smiles.
“We’re not in need of eligible men,” Maddie said. “I am married, as you are aware, and Miss Newsom here has a beau. We are merely, for the moment, unescorted.”
“Then we need to find you an escort. Women as lovely as you need someone to protect them from unwanted attention.” He reached out and snagged the sleeve of a passing man. The man was handsome and blond, about David Bowen’s age but not nearly his size. Where Bowen was sweet, however, something about this one was off-putting, she noticed now that they were close. He practically exuded cunning. “Allow me to introduce my friend Leslie Williams,” Bowen said. “I don’t believe you’ve met.”
“We know Mr. Williams!” Mabel put a hand possessively on Les’s arm. “He read my sister’s fortune! He’s a swami.”
Maddie looked at him with fresh interest. Maybe she didn’t have to wait until she was back in New York to engage someone to help her, after all. “Is that true, Mr. Williams?”
He ducked his head in a show of modesty. “I’ve been told I have a talent in this area.”
“Perhaps you can help me,” Helen said. It was her turn to move closer to Leslie Williams. “I’ve lost something of great importance to me.”
The blond man stepped up to her. He conveyed an immediate air of intimacy, reeling her in as though he’d thrown a net over her. “Certainly, if I can be of help.”
“It’s a watch, a man’s watch. Made of silver.” She blushed under Mabel’s stare.
He took her hand without asking permission first. “And had you handled this watch recently? It may retain something of your aura—and that can help me locate it.”
“It was with my jewelry.”
“So, it was in close proximity to your own things.” He spoke with a mesmerizing smoothness. At the same time, he was stroking her hand like a cat. He closed his eyes. “I—I feel something. A presence, but it’s very weak. But now I know what its aura should feel like. I will hold on to this feeling, though, and who knows? Maybe it will lead me to your watch.”
Helen clutched his hand. “Oh, Mr. Williams, if you could find it, I would be so grateful. And, of course, I would give you a handsome reward.”
“No reward is required—that is, any compensation is solely up to your discretion.” He gave her a big smile.
Maddie knew she ought to be wary of this man, and yet the need for answers was stronger than any trepidation. Before she realized it, she had taken his arm and drawn him a few steps away from the others. What she had to tell him, she didn’t want the others to overhear.
“I heard about the reading you gave to Ethel Fortune.” Thinking of Ethel inflamed her momentarily. She’d heard of Ethel’s spending spree in Paris, the gowns she’d bought for her trousseau at the House of Worth. Maddie hadn’t been able to do anything like that for when she’d wed Jack. It’d had to be all hush-hush lest his first wife’s friends make his life miserable with their gossip. A small ceremony at John Jacob’s mother’s house in the country, all done quickly. Which was why they’d run away for a six-month trip abroad, but still she’d had to be so careful to stay out of the papers . . .
“I need your help on a very serious matter,” she said, clasping her hands together.
The blond man blanched. “My dear Mrs. Astor, surely you don’t need my services. I can’t imagine—”
It was bad enough that she was driven to consult him at this event, in front of Helen and Mabel and who knew how many other people—did he have to haggle? And Jack would be here any second—there was no time to argue. He was making her angry. “I do require your services, Mr. Williams. Isn’t that what you do? For money? I can pay you, of course. Money isn’t a problem.” She carried a little spending money on her at all times. She reached into her little beaded evening bag, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and shoved it into his hand. “There? See? You’ve taken my money. I insist you give me a reading.”
He was flustered, looking over his shoulder to see who was watching. He took her elbow and escorted her to an alleyway, a passage for crew that led to a pantry. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, Mrs. Astor. I had no idea you were such a strong believer in . . . the spiritual.”
Was she? “I don’t know that I am, really . . . but I am in desperate need of your help.”
He stroked the corners of his mouth. “Well, what seems to be the matter?”
How much to tell him? Oughtn’t he be able to guess if he were a psychic? She pursed her lips, trying to think of the right way to pose the question. “As silly as this may sound, I believe I might be cursed. I heard . . . from a trusted source . . . that someone has paid to have a curse placed on me. I know how that sounds. I was disinclined to believe it myself—at first. Yet, since I found out, bad things have been happening to me. . . . Terrible things.”
He grew quieter. He was listening. Someone, at last, was listening to her.
“They said whoever I loved would die. That was a few months ago.” Her chin wobbled.
“And now Teddy—”
“Most unfortunate, Mrs. Astor, but—children die. They’re weak and vulnerable. Back where I come from, nearly as many children die as see their twelfth birthday.”
She knew this was true, but she also knew that Teddy had been in good health. He’d been a champ all throughout the great long trip. Sure, he’d developed a few sniffles before they boarded the ship in Southampton, but it was only a tiny cold. Children got colds all the time. “The circumstances surrounding his death are . . . unexplainable. Something very bad is afoot . . . I can tell. In any case, I can’t risk it. I have another child to think of.” Her hand went to her belly.
The man’s expression went dark, very dark. He stroked his chin for a long while before he finally spoke. “I’m inclined to agree with you on that. I’ve had a bad feeling since stepping on board this ship. There’s something evil here. Is it what got your little servant boy? I can’t claim to know. Now, there is something I may be able to do to help you . . . but it’s quite dangerous. I can try to make contact with this malevolent spirit. For me to take on such a risk, I would need to be appropriately compensated, if you see my position.”
“I do.”
“Now, I have a serious question for you.” He dropped his chin, looking at her from under hooded lids. “If you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Astor, does your husband share your attitude? That is, is he spiritual, too?”
My husband is a believer in a jolly good time, and little else. “Not exactly, no.”
“Then—and I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I must ask in order not to waste everyone’s time, yours and mine—Is it likely that he’d agree to the additional compensation I would require for such a risky undertaking? I think not.”
Is this man going to quibble over money when my safety, and the safety of my unborn child, is at stake? She wanted to grab him up the shoulders and shake him. “Don’t worry about money. I have more than enough to pay you at my disposal, right here on this ship. How much would you charge? One thousand? Two? I can lay my hands on that in an instant. My husband never travels with less than twenty-five thousand dollars on him at all times.”