“My dear Daniel, I cannot possibly.” My voice rang to the dark corners of the room, and the words whispered back to me under the wavering candlelight. “Apply to Miss Townsend. She has played your lady before.”
“Miss Townsend too would be recognized. In Paris she could bring off the deception, but she never could here. Her father is high in the government, close friends with Gladstone. If the duke is guilty, I do not want to put him on his guard.”
My heart thumped, my throat closing. “Surely you must know other young ladies in your . . . line of work.”
“None that I trust. I trust you, Kat. And you are unknown.”
“I am a cook,” I said firmly. “If you are thinking to dress me as a grand lady, you are mad. Even in a costly frock I could not be mistaken for anything but a domestic.” I removed my gloves in jerks and spread my hands. “You see?”
My fingers, plump and capable, were flecked with burns and nicked here and there, the palms dry and calloused from hard work and strong soap. Though I kept my nails neatly trimmed, they were a far cry from the soft manicured ones of ladies like Cynthia and Miss Townsend.
Daniel took one of my hands and kissed it. “They are beautiful to me. It will be an outdoor event, so you will have your gloves on at all times, in any case. A large hat with a veil will help.”
“Until I open my mouth.” I snatched my hand from his grasp. “I have taught myself to smooth out my speech, but any member of the upper classes will know as soon as I converse with them that I am a fraud. There are nuances I will never be able to mimic.”
“It is only a matter of practice.” Daniel must have had all the nuances correct if he pretended to be the son of a man from a well-known public school like Eton or Harrow. But he’d been practicing a lifetime, and I’d have a few days. “I can claim that you are Dutch or Flemish, which will explain away any slips you make. I won’t have you be French, because too many people know that language, but I’ve never met an Englishman who confessed to speaking Dutch. However, plenty of Dutch are fluent in English.”
“For heaven’s sake, Daniel . . .”
“Hear me, please. It is for a few hours only, though I know it will rob you of your beloved Thursday. I will make certain you are finished in time to spend some of your day out with Grace.” Daniel let out a growl of exasperation. “I tried to put them off the idea, but the duchess then promised to introduce me to several eligible young ladies if I arrived on my own. That would indeed be a disaster.”
I quailed. “You are mad. Mad, mad, mad . . .”
“Believe me, I thought long and hard before I came to you with this, Kat. You would help me immeasurably, and I will be forever in your debt.”
His remorse was true, but I saw something in his dark blue eyes behind the pinprick of reflected candlelight. Fear?
Tamping down on my panic as I pictured myself walking into the garden party and being instantly exposed—which would either expose Daniel as well, or at least subject him to censorious ridicule—I tried to decide what he was not saying.
“If you fail at this task you’ve been set, your guv’nor, as you call him, will be unhappy,” I stated.
Daniel nodded, quiet. “He will be.”
I remembered the ice-cold man with the spectacles I’d seen outside a prison when the prison’s wall had been breached—Monaghan was the name I’d pried from Daniel a few days ago. He had a hold on Daniel I did not understand, and I knew Daniel had little say in what jobs he did for this man.
I turned abruptly and paced the room, uttering a few words that were definitely unladylike.
“If I ever meet Mr. Monaghan,” I said as I returned to Daniel, “I will have things to say to him.”
“Then I will do my best to keep you from him. He is a dangerous man.”
“One on our side of the law?”
“For now.” Daniel set his mouth in a flat line.
“I see.” I paced a few more times, turning over in my head all the possibilities of what could go wrong with Daniel’s scheme. So many things could.
I knew, however, that Daniel would never have come to me if he’d had any other choice. He wanted to bring a lady to the garden party so that his hostess wouldn’t foist an innocent on him. Daniel’s disguise would never stand up to close scrutiny by a young lady determined to catch herself a wealthy and socially acceptable husband.
I could be an outsider, met on his travels, respectable enough to be presented to a duchess, but one who could disappear once Daniel was finished with this case and not be missed.
If Daniel displeased his hostess, and she turned him out, he’d have to go to his guv’nor and tell him he’d not been able to collect more evidence for or against the duke. If Mr. Monaghan grew angry, what would he do? Send Daniel away to some awful and perilous place? Banish him, even jail him?
All because I was too timid to help.
I heaved a sigh that came from the depths of my soul. “I will need a frock,” I said. “The ones I have will hardly do.”
Daniel relaxed. “Thank you, Kat.” He took my hands once again. “Miss Townsend has agreed to provide you clothes and guidance and make certain you know the role you are to play.”
Very practical of him. “We will have to be careful. Most visitors to a house never see the cook, but if one of my former employers appears at the garden party, they will know that your young lady from Amsterdam is a fraud.”
“I have already scrutinized the guest list, and no one you have worked for in any capacity will be there.”
I gave Daniel a level stare. “You know who all my former employers are, do you?”
He flushed. “Yes.”
I was too worried about my upcoming ruse to be unnerved. “Well, I still believe you mad, and I am not one for playacting. But nor do I want you to suffer at the hands of your guv’nor. If he sends you to the ends of the earth, James and I might never see you again.”
Daniel’s brows rose. “If he tried to do that, I’d tell him to go to the devil.”
“And what would be the consequences of that? Much the same result, if I read the situation aright.”
Daniel grimaced. “Possibly. You, of course, will know nothing about the duke and this Dublin business. Nothing to do with you.”
“I do understand. I will be polite but uninterested in anything not on the surface.”
The corner of Daniel’s mouth quirked. “I knew I chose right to ask you. You will be perfect, Kat.”
“Let us hope so,” I said darkly. “And let us hope the duchess’s cook is up to scratch. Or I might be tempted to remark strongly upon it.”
* * *
* * *
James saw me home after I took my leave of Daniel. He slumped along, hands in his pockets, a glower on his young face.
“You do not like it,” I said as we walked. “I do not either, but I see that Daniel doesn’t have much choice.”
“He shouldn’t be putting you into danger,” James growled. “Bad enough he does it for himself.”
“I agree, but I understand his predicament.” I admitted to myself that not only did I wish to save Daniel the embarrassment of his hostess thrusting young ladies at him, I did not want those young ladies hanging on him and becoming enchanted by him. Or he becoming enchanted with them.
“Be careful.” James’s warning broke through my silent tirade. “This bloke dad works for is a hard one. I don’t know much about him, and Dad keeps him well away from me—if he even realizes Dad has a son—but I know he’s bad, even if he does things for the police.”
“Yes, I’ve seen him. Not someone I want to encounter any closer.” I patted James’s arm. “I will take care, love. I will be the polite but not bright stranger and never see the lot of them again. No one looks hard at a servant, so even if I pass them in the street as myself, I doubt they’ll notice.”
James fel
l silent, but his uneasiness and anger simmered. I was touched that he cared so much for my safety—I had come to care greatly for him.
Thus it was that when Thursday came and I left for my day out, Cynthia met me around the corner in South Audley Street. She hailed a hansom, which took us to Miss Townsend’s home, where I was to be transformed.
15
I’d visited Miss Townsend’s Mayfair home before, a tall town house on Upper Brook Street, not far from Lady Covington’s mansion.
Miss Townsend’s quiet butler admitted us, and a maid led us upstairs to a lavish bedchamber and attached sitting room that took up the entire floor. Bobby was there, resting in an armchair near the fireplace with her feet on an ottoman, but she banged down her boots and rose as Cynthia and I entered.
A gown rested on a chaise, a plum-colored creation lined with darker purple braid and lace. Its fabric was sateen, which was cotton with a satin sheen, good for walking about gardens. The gown caught the light as Miss Townsend held it up to me.
“I have a friend about your build,” she said. “A few alterations will be needed, I’m certain, but I actually can wield a needle.”
“As can I,” Cynthia said. “Taught before I had the wits to protest.”
I was positioned in the middle of the room, well away from the windows, while the three ladies remade me. Off came my worn brown frock, petticoats, and stockings, until I stood bare legged in my corset cover and pantalets, my skin prickling with cold and embarrassment.
“This too.” Miss Townsend tugged the sleeve of the corset cover.
“What on earth for?” I asked in alarm. “No one will see it. I certainly hope not anyway.”
“The manner in which a gown lies betrays what’s under it,” Miss Townsend explained. “When I learned to paint human skin, I first studied the muscle and bone beneath. We are many layered.”
“I would like a few layers to remain between myself and the world, thank you.” I rubbed my cold arms. “I refuse to part with the corset itself; I will tell you this at once.”
Miss Townsend sent me a patient smile. “Your corset should be fine. Although I did have my corset maker do one up for you. Yours to keep should you decide to wear it.”
Bobby let out a laugh. “Give in at once, Mrs. H. Judith will have her way, and she’ll kill you with kindness until she gets it.”
Miss Townsend, ignoring her, opened a box on a nearby chair. Inside, nestled in tissue, lay an ivory-colored corset with panels of silk moiré, thin shoulder straps, and silken white lacings.
“I’d dirty that the moment I put it on.” The words came out of my mouth in a whisper, and I reached a finger to the smooth fabric. My own corset was made of practical stiff cotton, the shafts that held the boning much mended.
“You could keep it for special occasions,” Miss Townsend said. “I agree it is not practical for work. I have an old one myself for my outdoor painting sessions.”
“Or you could shuck it entirely, Judith.” Bobby resumed her chair and sent Miss Townsend a pointed look. “The skirts too.”
“I have not yet taken to Bobby’s and Cynthia’s enjoyment of male dress,” Miss Townsend said, her smile in place. “If women’s things are designed correctly, they are not as restricting as they could be.”
“One has to have a pile of cash and a trustworthy dressmaker for that,” Cynthia said. She had worn her coat and trousers for this outing, and she lounged on a chair, legs over its arm, as though to prove the ease of the garments.
“Shall you try this corset, Mrs. Holloway?” Miss Townsend touched the new one with a light fingertip.
I heaved a sigh. “Very well. But I will change behind a screen.”
“Use my bedchamber. The doors roll shut.” She lifted the corset box and carried it into the bedroom beyond, laying everything on the bed. “I have new stockings in the box as well. Emerge when you are finished. If you have trouble with the lacings, I’m certain Cynthia will assist you.”
“Be happy to,” Cynthia said with no signs of moving.
Miss Townsend left me alone, pulling the double pocket doors closed behind her.
I had no idea what I was doing standing in an elegantly simple bedchamber in Mayfair, laying aside my sensible work clothing for the garments of an upper-class lady. I’d been born within hearing of Bow Bells—the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow, in Cheapside. In fact, my mother had been living in Bow Lane, not far from the back of the church. I was Cockney to the bone, and I always would be. Daniel was the same—a boy of the London streets would never be a gentleman, no matter how much he pretended to be.
Setting aside these philosophical musings, I unlaced my corset—I could do this myself from long practice, enough to wriggle out of it—and quickly donned the new one over my chemise. At least Miss Townsend hadn’t insisted I relinquish that.
I would have to have Cynthia’s assistance, I realized. I’d never manage on my own. Before I called her in, I slid on the stockings, gauzy silk that was like rainwater on my flesh. I tied the garters, also provided, and held the corset to me while I peeked out and beckoned Cynthia in.
Cynthia good-naturedly laced and tied the corset—not too tightly. She then helped me with the corset cover, a sweet, light shirt of silk that reached to my waist.
“Bit of a shame to hide these,” I remarked, touching the corset cover. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever worn.”
“Judith has taste,” Cynthia agreed. “Now then, ready for the outer layers?”
“Let me put on my shoes. I would hate to ruin these lovely stockings.” The stockings were so light I barely noticed I had them on.
“Oh yes, Judith found you these.” Cynthia lifted a box from the dressing table. Inside lay a pair of high-heeled boots of soft white leather.
It was a pleasure to don the shoes, which supplely cupped each foot. They fit suspiciously well.
“How did she know what size to obtain?” I asked in amazement.
Cynthia cleared her throat. “I might have slipped into your chamber and stolen your spare pair of shoes. Miss Townsend took them to a cobbler and had this pair made to order. I put your shoes back as soon as he’d taken the measurements.”
I hadn’t noticed them missing, but then I was usually too exhausted when I went to bed to check all my belongings. I kept my extra shoes in a box on a shelf.
“Daniel only asked me to do this on Tuesday evening. How did Miss Townsend have them made so quickly?”
Cynthia hesitated. “Well, truth to tell, I nicked ’em a bit before this. Wanted to surprise you. As a gift.”
I stood up, learning the balance of the new heels. “Cynthia,” I admonished her.
“Do not put your back up. You’re a proud woman, and so am I. Shouldn’t a friend purchase a friend a gift?”
“A book or a small trinket. Not a pair of shoes.”
“Books are devilish expensive, even secondhand ones. Besides, good thing I did, eh? Now you have something to wear for your adventure.”
I shook my head but decided to say no more. Cynthia was kindhearted, and I would not scold her for her generosity.
We returned to the outer room. Miss Townsend helped me into a crinoline with a bustle that would smooth the skirt, then a creamy and rustling petticoat. She proved she could indeed sew as she altered the waistband to fit.
Finally, the skirt went on with a few more tucks to settle it around me. The slick purple fabric caught on my work-worn hands as I stroked it in wonder. The skirt gathered over the bustle in back—a small one, not the enormous things I’d noted ladies wearing lately—decorated with lace tied into bows.
The bodice came last, fitting me closely and buttoning up the front. The side seams had to be let out a bit so I could breathe, but with a snip here and there and a tightening of my laces, the whole thing became neat and even.
Black buttons made a ni
ce contrast to the light and dark purples, and the lace and braid finished the look. The gown’s color brought a pinkness to my face, and my eyes were starry as I beheld myself in a tall looking glass.
“Oh my,” I said.
Even Bobby became interested as Miss Townsend fussed about, taking in a seam or sewing down an errant bit of braid. Cynthia stood back, arms akimbo, and surveyed me.
“Excellent. McAdam’s eyes will pop out.”
“I certainly hope not. He will need them.”
The jest was made absently, because what I saw in the mirror stunned me. My hair was mussed, half out of its braid, but otherwise, I could not believe that the beautiful creature I beheld was me.
The gown fitted me well after Miss Townsend’s alterations, hugging my figure, which I had always thought a bit too plump. The shimmering fabric flattered me, as did the new corset, trimming my body to the correct proportions. The high heels lifted me and straightened my back, giving a regal tilt to my head.
I still thought a cook’s face gazed back at me. Before I could voice my opinion, Miss Townsend was pulling pins from my hair and wielding a hairbrush through my long, dark tresses.
She called in her lady’s maid, who thought nothing of sitting me down and pulling my hair this way and that, braiding some parts, curling others. She complimented me on having such thick and abundant hair that she didn’t have to add switches, then went to work pinning it all in place.
The result was a style that swept my hair from my face to the back of my neck, where it wound in braids and curls up to the crown of my head. The final touch was a hat, a small one the same color as the gown, with a purple dotted lace veil that hung from the hat brim to my upper lip. Kid gloves softer than my own skin went onto my hands.
“Perfect,” Cynthia declared.
Miss Townsend clasped her hands, admiring her work. Bobby, who’d retreated while the maid worked on my hair, gave me a jaunty bow. “I’d be proud to have you on my arm, Mrs. Holloway.”
Death at the Crystal Palace Page 16