“They let you do that?”
“I choose to do that, to get the thing done so I can move on to something else. I put the dress in a garment bag to take it home.”
Annie nodded, understanding. “We could slip the dinner dress behind the other one?”
“It would work.”
“But then you’d have to work. At home. On your days off.”
Maude grinned. “So it is. My only payment will be hearing about everything—in detail—on the Monday morning after.”
Consider it done.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I am not meant to be a thief.
Annie hated that word. She preferred “borrower.” Yet in all honesty, that term indicated an open arrangement, an ask-and-be-told-yes arrangement.
To just take the dress without asking …
She had to trust Maude. Maude had worked at Butterick for years. She knew the ropes. She knew the people. She knew the ins and outs of every department.
Maude knew how to steal a dress, but more importantly, Annie hoped she knew how to wangle not getting caught.
Maude’s plan to slip the dinner dress behind a work-in-progress dress in a garment bag seemed possible. As long as something didn’t muck it up.
When it was nearly quitting time. Annie’s stomach flipped and grabbed. She put a hand to it and took a deep breath.
“Gracious goose, Annie,” Maude said as she came close. “It’s not good form to look guilty before the crime.”
Crime?
Maude held up a garment bag where she’d placed the dress she was going to finish at home. “I’m ready for the other one, and have even slipped a second bag in this one, so you won’t be carrying a bare dress around when you go to your home, and I to mine.”
Annie made sure no one else was looking. “Did your man, your contact …?”
“Bertie, and he’s just a boy. And yes, the item should be in a box in the storeroom on fifth, just where we arranged.”
Annie needed this over and needed to be safely away. “I haven’t been this nervous since I ran away from—” Once again, she’d nearly said too much.
“Ran away from what?”
She quickly put it to rest. “You don’t need to know everything about me, Maude Nascato.”
“Of course I do.” Maude retrieved their jackets and hats. “But that will wait for another time.”
Annie and Maude left with the other girls of the department, many chatting about their plans for their days off. No one mentioned the garment bag.
“Good night, Mrs. Downs,” Maude said as they passed their boss.
“Good night, ladies.” Mrs. Downs glanced at the garment bag but said nothing more.
As they entered the stairwell and made their way down two floors, Annie was impressed by Maude’s confidence. She had a way about her that implied she knew exactly what she was doing and had full authority with what she was doing, which meant there was no reason to question her.
The girls detoured from the stairs into the fifth-floor offices, going against the tide of workers exiting toward the stairs.
“ ’Night, Maude,” a few of them said.
“ ’Night, ladies.” Maude strode toward the far side of the large room, and with a glance around, stepped inside a storage area, tugging Annie in with her.
And there it was. A box.
Maude lifted the lid to reveal the lovely peach gown Annie had chosen from the company’s closet. But before she could admire it longer, Maude put the dress in a garment bag.
“I’m certainly glad it’s not one of those old-fashioned dresses with huge leg-o’-mutton sleeves. I’d never get it to fit. Hand me the other dress.”
Annie did as she was told, and within seconds the garment bag within a garment bag was completed.
“By the way, you owe Bertie a bag o’ sweets.”
“Who?”
“The boy who brought this down here for you.”
“Certainly.” But then she had a question. “Why didn’t we just get it directly from the closet upstairs?”
“Because it was upstairs.” Maude nodded in the direction of the stairwell. “It would be a mite hard to explain the two of us going up, against the tide going down. I had to get it to a floor below ours.”
Annie was impressed. “You think of everything.”
“I try.” She draped the bag over her arm. “The hard part is done. Are you ready to go?”
“More than ready.”
When they exited the storeroom they found the entire floor empty. They rushed to the stairwell and joined the sea of workers going home.
Maude was smooth. Maude was unflappable.
When Annie met Sean outside the building—as per their routine—Maude walked with them for a while, giving no indication that anything was awry. As the corner approached where Maude would go north when they continued south, Annie felt a wave of panic.
For she had not told Sean anything about the dress. Although she felt she knew him well, to ask him to ignore their scheme was asking a lot.
“Down here,” Maude said, stepping into an alley.
“What are you doing?” Sean asked.
“Close your eyes, Seanie,” Maude said. “That way you won’t be held as an accomplice.”
“Accomplice to what?”
Maude already had the garment bag open and removed the second bag. She handed it to Annie. “There you go. Wear it in good health.”
Sean’s forehead was furrowed. “What just happened here?”
Maude offered a dramatic sigh. “You’re accompanying Annie to the Sampsons’ for dinner tonight, yes?”
“I am.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I suppose I’ll wear my Sunday suit. I haven’t thought about it much.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Maude said. “But Annie has given great thought to her attire. She wants to wear something pretty and appropriate for such a grand dinner.”
“I expect she would.”
Annie couldn’t take their vague banter any longer. “I had nothing to wear so I borrowed a dress from the Butterick closet and will bring it back on Monday.”
Sean’s gaze moved from Annie to the bag she was holding. “That belongs to the company?”
“It does.”
“It does now, and always will,” Maude said. “She’s not keeping it, she’s just borrowing it.”
His eyebrows rose skeptically. “That’s a fine line.”
“Not fine at all,” Maude said. “She wants to make a good impression. You can’t fault her for that.”
“Did you get permission?”
“Well … no.”
He shook his head. “Breaking the rules, Annie. Really?”
Annie shoved the garment bag back into Maude’s arms. “He’s right. I can’t do it. If the Sampsons don’t like what I’m wearing, that’s too bad. They know I’m a working girl and only have ordinary, functional clothes. They can’t expect me to wear a dress that’s so … totally lovely.” She gazed at the bag, remembering the fine detail of the dress inside.
“There,” Maude said, presenting Annie’s words as a cause to be championed. “Do you wish for our dear Annie to feel ordinary and functional, or totally lovely?”
Sean gave Maude the look she deserved. “There is no harmony between what’s right and the answer you wish to hear.”
“Of course there is. Choose the woman over the rule.”
It was time for Annie to make her final petition. “I would love to wear it. Just this once. I promise I’ll be exceedingly careful with it.”
Sean looked from Annie to Maude then back again. “I am surrounded.”
“And won over?” Maude asked.
“Stampeded is a better word.”
Maude slapped him on the back. “Good for you, Seanie. Now take our Annie home, and have a marvelous time at dinner.” She walked out of the alley to the street and then turned back to Annie. “Please don’t spill anything on it.”
&nbs
p; Her departure showcased the silence. “Thank you,” Annie said to Sean.
He took possession of the garment bag and offered her his arm—along with his reluctant consent to look the other way.
Annie stood before the mirror on the bureau. The dress made her feel lovely and sophisticated. She almost didn’t recognize herself.
It was created from a peach-colored dupioni silk with a high waist and a daring scooped bodice that gained modesty with a dark brown chiffon covering the upper chest. The neckline was adorned with a wide flat collar of brown satin, with matching cuffs on the three-quarter sleeves. The shorter overskirt was edged in the brown satin that curved from the center front to the back, ending in a short train. Annie had never worn anything so beautiful. To go from wearing the uniform of a housemaid to this?
But then she remembered the source of the dress, and her elation waned. “Oh, Edna. I hope it’s worth the risk.”
“You’re testing the bounds, that’s for sure.”
Annie wished Maude were here. Maude could convince Edna just like she’d convinced Sean. Even Annie could use an extra dose of convincing, because every time she thought about borrowing the dress, she felt a stitch in her stomach. Yet the anticipation of the evening always put a salve on the stitch, calming it.
For the moment.
Edna gave a little gasp. “Wait! I think I have the perfect accessory.” She opened a bureau drawer and pulled out a worn velvet box. Inside was a necklace of golden-brown stones. “Wear this.”
Annie let Edna hook the clasp at her neck. “It’s beautiful. What are these stones?”
“Amber. It was my mother’s.”
“It’s precious to you. I don’t think I should.”
“You should, because you are precious to me. I insist.”
Annie pulled Edna into an embrace. “You are so good to me. You are the mother I always wished for.”
Edna whispered in her ear, “And you are good to me. Good for me, the daughter I never had. I thank God for you.”
Annie held back happy tears and whispered back, “As I thank Him for you.”
There was a knock on the door.
Edna pulled back, flicking a tear away. “There’s your escort.”
Annie took a deep breath, wanting to hold on to the moment a little longer. For the first time in her life she felt fully complete and whole. She didn’t need a fancy dinner or gorgeous dress to feel special, she only needed the presence and love of this dear, beloved friend. She had a fleeting but profound impression: of all the people who would move in and out of her life to come, the one she would treasure the most was Edna.
“Are you ready?” Edna asked.
Annie smoothed her skirt. “I am.”
Edna answered the door, and Sean stepped in. As soon as he saw Annie his jaw dropped.
“Say something, man,” Edna said.
“You’re lovely. Breathtaking.”
Annie felt her face flush. “Thank you. You look quite smart yourself.”
Edna handed Annie a brown wool shawl. “There you go now. I don’t want you to catch your death.”
As they were leaving, Sean said, “Go to the window, Edna. I want you to see something.”
Together Sean and Annie walked downstairs. “What do you want to show her?”
“You’ll see.”
Outside there was a motorcar with a driver. “What’s this?” Annie asked.
“I hired him for the evening. I decided we needed to go to dinner in style.”
Annie looked upward and saw Edna fling open the window sash. “Well done, Sean!”
He tipped his hat then helped Annie into the car, and the driver closed the door behind them.
“I’ve never been in a motorcar.”
“Me neither,” he said. “I hope this is the first of many new experiences we share.”
Annie could think of nothing better—or no one better to do it with.
“Oh my.”
It was all Annie could say when their car motored in front of 451 Madison Avenue. It was not just one building, but three built in a horseshoe configuration with a courtyard between.
“This is one family’s home?” Sean asked.
“I don’t know. I assume so, but I know very little about Mrs. Sampson.”
“You know her enough for her to invite you to dinner.”
Suddenly the absurdity of the entire evening fell about her. “We shouldn’t go. I met the woman once—in passing. We’ve only exchanged a dozen words. Why would she invite me here?”
Sean looked out the window at the immensity of the home. “Perhaps she’s lonely. I think a person could get lonely in such a place.”
The driver opened the door for them. “So?” Sean asked. “Are we going in?”
“We are.” Annie would forever regret it if she didn’t.
When they exited the car, Annie saw that they were directly across the street from an enormous cathedral. “What church is that?”
“St. Patrick’s,” Sean said. “How would you like such a monument for a neighbor?”
The next issue was finding the entrance. Sean asked the driver, “Where do we go in?”
“I believe you enter through that gate, sir. Then to the right.”
Annie saw the ornate metal gate with a lantern hanging at the top of it.
“What time should I come to retrieve you, sir?”
He looked to Annie. “Ten … thirty?”
She nodded. If the dinner was done sooner, they’d go sit on the cathedral steps to wait.
The driver tipped his hat. “Enjoy your evening, sir. Miss.”
As the driver drove away, Sean offered Annie his arm. “Shall we, mademoiselle?”
She gathered her courage. “We shall, monsieur.“
They walked through the gate into a courtyard with manicured hedges. Electric lanterns lit the entrance on the right-hand building.
Annie was not encouraged when she heard Sean say under his breath, “Lord, help us.” But his entreaty spurred her to add her own.
They didn’t need to knock on the stained-glass door as it was opened as they approached. A butler nodded to them. “Good evening, Miss Wood, sir.”
They entered a room where every surface was decorated, from the mosaic tile floors, to the marble walls, to intricately carved wood moldings, to columns that looked to be inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The furniture was secondary and consisted of a few chairs that were upholstered in a silky fabric with designs of orange and yellow.
“Blimey,” Annie said, finding no other word adequate.
“This is just the foyer.” Sean’s eyes were wide, taking it all in.
“May I take your coats?”
As soon as Annie removed her shawl she was glad she’d borrowed the dinner dress, for her surroundings demanded posh attire.
“Right this way,” the butler said and led them through a reception area into a drawing room. Annie couldn’t help but compare it to the drawing room at Crompton Hall. The present room won the comparison with an intricate coffered ceiling, more columns clad with mother-of-pearl, and an inlaid wood floor.
“Miss Wood.” Mrs. Sampson rose from a chair of golden velvet and came to greet them, her arms outstretched. She took Annie’s arms and kissed her cheek.
This was completely different from how Lady Newley would greet an acquaintance. There was little touching among the titled in England. But in America—where no titles existed—such boundaries were obviously crossed.
“You look lovely, my dear.”
“Thank you.” Annie left it at that.
A mustachioed man joined them and shook Sean’s hand. “And you are?”
“Sean Culver, sir.”
“Glad you could join us.”
Mrs. Sampson led Annie to a settee and shared the seat with her. “I am so glad you accepted our invitation. And that you brought a … friend?”
Annie hastened to explain. “Sean is a friend, but he also works at Butterick. He was instrumental in gett
ing me the job.”
“He obviously recognized your talent.”
“I did,” Sean said, standing by the fireplace with Mr. Sampson. “Annie has an innate design and artistic ability. She didn’t even know she had the talent.”
Mr. Sampson looked confused. “How could you not know?”
Annie glanced at Sean, not sure how much she should say. She knew so little about their hostess.
Mrs. Sampson touched her arm. “This is America, Annie. Humble beginnings are a badge of honor. It’s not where you begin, but where you end up.”
“Hear, hear,” her husband said.
The butler returned with a footman, and hors d’oeuvres were offered. And wine. Annie took a glass to be polite, took a sip, and tried not to make a face when she disliked the taste.
“Now then,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Back to humble beginnings?”
There was something about the woman that spurred Annie to share. “I was a housemaid in an English country estate. I started when I was fourteen.”
“My, my,” Mrs. Sampson said. “You have come a long way.”
“Very commendable,” Mr. Sampson said, “but I do believe I have you beat, Miss Wood. I started out shining shoes on the street. The horse dung I had to wipe away …”
“Yes, dear. That’s enough of that.”
Annie was impressed with his candor. “I’ve had my share of such unpleasantries in the form of chamber pots.”
“Oh, the things we have dung,” he said with a chuckle.
“Stop it, Harold. Really.”
Annie could tell that their banter was something they enjoyed about each other.
She had her own question. “If I may ask, what do you do now? How did you get from there to …” Her eyes scanned the room. “To here?”
“Shoes, Miss Wood. Shoes. As a boy I saw thousands of men’s shoes and learned which ones were well made and which ones were going to fall apart. I decided to make quality shoes, and—”
“Sampson Fine Shoes!” Sean said. “I know of them.”
With a glance to Sean’s shoes, Mr. Sampson said, “I’ll see you get a pair. Size ten?”
“How did you guess?”
He spread his arms. “It’s my business.”
“Now then,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Back to Miss Wood’s accomplishments.”
The Pattern Artist Page 20