Masquerade

by Nancy Moser

She leaned her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and tried to burn this moment into her memories. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life?

  Unfortunately, by the time she knew, it would be too late.

  Chapter Five

  Lottie gazed at her bedroom—the room she’d never see again.

  The carriage waited outside. Her parents waited. Dora waited.

  “What am I doing?” she whispered.

  The room which had been privy to every private moment of her life offered no answers.

  Everything was falling into place in a way that made Lottie think this trip to America was meant to be. Yet she resisted the notion. Although she was ecstatic about having Dora accompany her to New York, the events that were supposed to transpire once they arrived made her enthusiasm wane. But that was a worry for another day. Today she was leaving home—a home she loved. Lottie had never lived in a city, and her family’s yearly treks to London for the social season always left her longing for the serenity of the Wiltshire countryside, where she could find solitude and escape into a good novel. She would miss this place horribly.

  She wouldn’t miss the people beyond her family. It surprised her how little regret she had in leaving Rodney Barrister, Gilbert Collins, Suzanna Weaver, and the rest of their crowd. And yes, even the thought of never seeing Ralph Smythe and his evil Edith elicited no sorrow. Let them all rot in their cruel snobbery. If she had her way, their names would never cross her thoughts again.

  Lottie looked out the window at the carriage below. Dora was overseeing the trunks being tied to the back.

  Dora had proven to be an apt pupil. The fact that she’d lived with a family of society for so long had been of great benefit. There was no lower-class accent to overcome, and Dora had witnessed and absorbed most of the peculiarities of etiquette. She was also knowledgeable about a lady’s attire and the proper time and place to wear each gown, each glove, each bonnet.

  Dora had embraced her new ladyhood with aplomb. Lottie had been less successful in accepting the notion of her own situation and upcoming marriage to Conrad. Despite her desire to appease her mother—which had oddly lessened as her mother’s health improved— she still wished to marry for love, not convenience. But was she judging Conrad Tremaine too harshly? Many men weren’t eloquent in their letters. She had judged him solely by the pen.

  I want to be free and independent.

  She’d read a poem that offered the boast that America was the land of the free, the home of the brave. Lottie hoped some of its intrinsic courage would become hers once she landed.

  Until then … she pulled a leather box to her chest. Her mother— away from her father’s ears—had instructed Lottie to take along all her jewels as insurance against the unknown. If the worst imaginable happened and Conrad was a cad, Lottie could sell the jewels and buy a passage home.

  She knew the notion was simpler than the act. In the past weeks of preparation Lottie had come to recognize her own naïveté. Her lack of knowledge about the world and even day-to-day living left her very glad for Dora’s companionship. As far as selling the jewels? Lottie knew nothing about dollars and cents. If she did find an American jeweler willing to buy her offerings, she’d have no idea if they were cheating her. And how much did things cost in New York? A hotel room? Or a meal? Or transportation? Father had never given her more than a few shillings to carry in her purse. When she went shopping it wasn’t proper to ask the price, and her father had accounts at all the dressmakers and sundry shops in the local village and in London. Life in America would be far different in that respect. Was an American penny worth the same as an English penny?

  She’d asked Father to explain it to her, but had been assured there was no reason for her to know such a thing. “Conrad will take care of you.”

  The notion was a relief—and a burden. To be beholden to this stranger, to arrive totally dependent upon this family she didn’t know, added another layer to her fear. And what about the Tremaines’ morals? If her own father’s character could be held in question, what of these Americans? She had always held the image of an American as being bold and brash. She was just a country girl. Would she be totally overwhelmed?

  Fear had led Lottie to ask her father if they had any other acquaintances in New York City. They did not. At that point Dora had mentioned a third cousin who’d emigrated there five years previous. The connection was tenuous, yet any contact was better than none. At Lottie’s urging Dora had sent the cousin a letter announcing their arrival.

  They’d received a brief letter in return, with an open invitation toward contact if the need arose.

  In spite of this, they had no idea whether the cousin was well-off or destitute, upright or dishonorable. Yet they received comfort knowing they had an alternative place to go.

  With that thought Lottie opened her reticule to make sure the paper with the cousin’s address was present. It was.

  There was a rap on the door, and Dora stuck her head into the room. “Lottie?”

  “I know,” Lottie said. “I’m coming.”

  Perhaps she might best handle her good-byes by ignoring any hint of finality. Perhaps if she pretended …

  Without another look around her room Lottie moved into the hall. “Come. It’s time.”

  To take a leap of faith.

  Dora sat in the carriage and watched as Lottie told her parents good-bye. Mr. Gleason’s chin was stiff as though he was restraining his emotion, and Mrs. Gleason gripped her daughter’s hand as if she might never see— There was that possibility.

  Dora adjusted the buttons on her gloves, then rested them on the black leather of the jewelry box Lottie had given her to hold. She had so many unanswered questions about the future. There was movement outside, and Dora watched as Lottie offered her mother a final embrace before walking to the carriage. Surprisingly, there were no tears.

  Dora pulled her skirt aside so Lottie could sit, and the driver pulled away.

  She waited for Lottie to speak first, but when nothing was said …

  “Are you all right?”

  Lottie averted her gaze and looked out the window. She shook her head, once.

  Dora respected her silence and entered into some of her own.

  As the roads of Wiltshire sped by, Dora knew she might never see them again, never see Barney. She was relieved to realize she felt little regret. Fear, yes, but no regret.

  Yet.

  Lottie handed the attendant their tickets. He looked them over and nodded. “Welcome aboard, Miss Gleason. Miss Connors. If there is anything the crew can do to make your journey more comfortable, please let us know.”

  Speaking of comfort … Dora’s traveling suit felt stiff and confining. But her brimmed hat, complemented with some feathers dyed aubergine to match her costume, made her feel regal. To a girl used to the simple lines of a maid’s uniform, the detail of her new clothes was both fascinating and daunting. The pleated skirt had drapery drawn across the front and into a bustle, and the jacket had long, tight sleeves and a high collar that was far more restrictive than anything she’d ever worn. But she’d get used to it—for the sake of fashion.

  The two women ascended the gangway and were helped on board by more attendants. While the boarding continued they strolled arm in arm along the outer deck that ran around two huge smokestacks beneath three masts set with sails. It was a little confusing. Was the Etruria a steamship or a sailing vessel? Dora decided it really didn’t matter as long as the ship got them to America.

  As they walked around the promenade deck, gentlemen tipped their brims and smiled appreciatively—to the consternation of many a woman companion on their arm. Dora had never received such attention. Traversing the streets of Lacock or London in her maid’s uniform or a simple dress had rendered her invisible to any man of means. “They’re flirting with us,“ Dora whispered.

  “They’re appreciating us,” Lottie said as she acknowledged another gentleman. “Get used to it, Dora. This is one of the best per
ks of society.”

  Dora couldn’t argue with her. She’d never walked past a man and had him gaze at her with utter admiration. She’d received the occasional lustful scrutiny of a workingman on the street, but never this … never adulation. Never … awe.

  When a gentleman with a dashing mustache tipped his hat and smiled directly at her, she felt herself blush. Then she did as Lottie had done and nodded back at him with just a hint of a smile upon her lips.

  How luscious.

  Lottie handed the stateroom key to Dora. “You may do the honors.”

  With a little wiggling, Dora turned the key in the lock and opened the door to what would be their home for the next eight days.

  She gasped at the sight of it.

  Lottie strode around the room, nodding. “My, my, this is more luxurious than I expected.”

  Dora didn’t want to say so, but the stateroom was grander than the best room in the Gleasons’ home. It was filled with ornately carved furniture, and the small windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. Fancy bric-a-brac made the room feel more like a home than a ship’s cabin.

  “Ah,” Lottie said, opening the door to one of the two armoires. “Our trunks have been delivered and unpacked.”

  “They do that for us?”

  “They do if we ask them to, which I did.”

  Dora noticed Lottie still held the leather box of jewels. “What are you going to do with those while we’re on board?” she asked.

  “Mother instructed me that once we are under way, I should ring for the purser to put them in the ship’s safe.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to keep them here, with us?”

  Lottie shook her head. “I may trust my gowns to unknown servants coming and going, but never my jewels. Remember that, Dora.” She opened a drawer beside a bed and placed the box inside, stuffing a shawl around it. “We aren’t trying to impress anyone here, not to the extent of risking my jewels. I’ve brought along lesser pieces that will be sufficient adornment. No one will dare ask if they’re real; they’ll assume as much.” She gave the shawl an extra tuck.

  A long blast sounded. Then another.

  “What’s that?” Dora asked.

  “I believe it’s an all-ashore. The guests must leave now.”

  “Guests?”

  “You didn’t think the ship would be as crowded as it is now for the entire trip, did you? Father told me guests are allowed on board for the two hours before sailing.”

  “So your mother and father could have come to see us off?”

  “They have enough to deal with at home. Besides, they wouldn’t want to spend the train fare to Liverpool and back. And lodging.”

  “So what do we do now?” Dora asked.

  “I suppose we go to the railing and wave our good-byes.”

  “To whom?”

  Lottie thought a moment. “To England.” She extended a hand toward the door. “Shall we, Miss Connors?”

  As the ship began to pull away, the dock swarmed with well-wishers, waving hats and handkerchiefs to the passengers lining the rails of the ship. Lottie marveled at how high she and Dora were from the ground, as if God had lifted them up to carry them across the sea.

  “Arrivederci, Paolo!” came a voice from a lower deck.

  Holding on to the railing, Lottie leaned forward to look at the decks below. There were at least two levels beneath the one for firstclass passengers. The people waving from these decks were dressed in simple dark-colored clothing, the women with kerchiefs covering their hair and babies swaddled in shawls tied across their chests. They looked poor.

  Dora must have seen the direction of her gaze. “There are ever so many, aren’t there?”

  “Who are they? And why are they going to America?”

  Dora offered her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you heard about the thousands of people emigrating to the United States from all over Europe?”

  Why would she know such things? “Why do they go?”

  “For different reasons. They flee poverty or persecution or politics. Or maybe they simply seek adventure.”

  The decks below were crowded compared to the spaciousness of the first-class deck. “I’m very glad they are down there and not up here with us.”

  Her statement brought another look from Dora, this one less gracious. “They’ll not bite, you know.”

  Lottie felt herself redden. “I’m sorry if they make me uncomfortable. I can’t help it if I’ve never been around such people. Mother and Father protected me from the baser elements.”

  “Perhaps they protected you too much.”

  It was a concession she might have to make. The world Lottie had known was tightly guarded, with high walls that prevented the entry of disparate persons. And yet they had also prevented Lottie from any knowledge of their existence. The village of Lacock, nearest her family’s home, had provided her knowledge of people of lesser means, but not the mean issues of their existence.

  Dora nodded at the crowd below. “I admire them.”

  “Admire?”

  “It takes courage to flee the known and step toward the unknown.” She looked at Lottie. “Sometimes I wonder what we are fleeing.”

  Fleeing? It was a strange word to contemplate. Unlike the emigrants, Lottie was not fleeing poverty, persecution, or politics. Her life in Wiltshire had been rife with advantage.

  Had been rife.

  The full consequences of her family’s downfall were still unknown. Even if she’d stayed behind, her life would have changed. Her parents had mentioned they would be moving elsewhere to start again. Lottie shuddered at the notion. It was as if they were retreating in shame.

  Shame. Was that what Lottie was fleeing? She’d experienced enough of that already. The memories of her party still smarted and elicited sadness and anger. From that day until this one, not a single friend had come calling to say their good-byes or express their regret. How odd it was to realize that a lifetime of friends had turned out to be nothing more than acquaintances. What a waste.

  Her own inability to recognize the shallow nature of these friends disturbed her. Did Lottie own the ability to identify true friendship? And if she didn’t know how to have a true friend, did she know how to be one?

  She glanced at Dora, waving at the crowd on the docks below. They were traveling as friends. Although Lottie had always considered them as such, the truth was she’d always embraced an element of distance. Friends or no, Lottie had been the mistress and Dora the maid. But here on board the ship she was to treat Dora as an equal. Could she do that?

  Dora interrupted her thoughts and looked at Lottie with a full smile upon her lips. “Seeing all these people … we must get it in our heads we are not fleeing from something but flying to something. Something better.”

  Lottie nodded and turned her gaze skyward. The sight of the clouds moving to the east as the ship moved west accentuated their departure.

  God help me.

  God help us.

  Dora’s stomach danced in a most uncomfortable manner as they neared the dining room for the evening meal. This was her first real test of being a lady.

  “Don’t hold on so tightly,” Lottie whispered.

  Dora eased her grip on Lottie’s arm.

  “Remember: polite, prompt, pretty, and proper.”

  Dora was more concerned about not tripping over her train, or spilling soup down her front, or saying something inane.

  There was a parade of couples heading to the dining room, the men in tailcoats and bow ties and the women in elegant off-the-shoulder gowns, layered with drapery, lace, beading, and fringe.

  The decorative layers fascinated Dora, but the layers beneath thegowns fascinated her even more. As a maid she’d worn a corset and a petticoat, but to wear the layers and weight of the undergarments that fine ladies endured was beyond cumbersome. It was ironic how women cinched in their waists to portray a thin silhouette when they could appear even slimmer if only they would remove some of the layers between
skin and gown.

  And the dresses themselves … Dora’s was made of sky-blue satin and brocade, with an overlay of ecru lace ruffled at the bodice and floor. She had no idea how many yards of fabric were used to make the bustle, train, and drapery, or how many different beads or measures of trim decorated her dress, but the result was stunning.

  And heavy. Dora felt as if she were dragging several sacks of flour or grain behind her, or perhaps a good-sized child had become a stowaway on board her train, taking a ride.

  By her own right, Lottie looked stunning in her gown of sage green, and their chokers made of rhinestones still managed to glisten under the gaslights.

  There it was. The dining room.

  Two liveried footmen stood stoic beside the double doors as the wealthy and important passed by. Were any of these grand people a pretender like Dora?

  If so, she wouldn’t guess it. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing and what they should be saying, and they seemed to be confident in the effect they created by merely being.

  The dining room itself made her gasp. It was two stories in height, with a balcony rimming the room. Columns edged in gold filigree held up a coffered ceiling that was crowned by a stained-glass dome.

  “Where is our table?” she asked Lottie. She’d feel more at ease seated. She eyed the place settings, checking to make sure she knew the specified use of each fork and knife as Lottie had taught her.

  “Table seven. We’ll find it—eventually.” Lottie offered soft greetings to those they passed. “The rich never hurry, Dora, nor let on that they are hungry, thirsty, or need to sit. Now is the time to see and be seen.”

  Upon further observation that was exactly what was happening. Diners stood about the room in small groups of four or six, making introductions and chatting with the ease of like acknowledging like. No one appeared out of place or nervous. All portrayed a confidence that was both reassuring and presumptuous. Absent was all hint of fear. Apparently that sentiment was Dora’s alone.

  A middle-aged gentleman with a woman on his arm approached, and Dora tried to restrain her urge to flee. Lottie took a step toward them, her face open and inviting.