by Nancy Moser
“Quite the dash in that young thing,” the man said. “Quite the fire. Do you think you could introdu—?”
Lottie stopped dancing. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to sit down.”
The old man led her to a chair, offered polite concern, then was off with the others, watching Dora waltz into everyone’s hearts.
It’s the dress. My dress. That’s what makes her so striking.
Then she remembered her dance partner’s comments about Dora’s gumption and wit… . Not one mention of her dress or jewels or even her dancing ability.
Lottie’s dress, Lottie’s jewels, and the result of Lottie’s dance lessons …
A young woman was deposited in the chair next to Lottie as her partner left for some refreshment. Her face was flushed and she fanned herself furiously.
“Good evening,” she said to Lottie.
“Evening.”
“ ’ Tis a grand ball, is it not?”
It is not.“Grand,” Lottie said.
They were silent a moment as Dora and her partner waltzed by.
“Excuse me for the intrusion, but I saw you with that young woman who’s in such high demand. I’ve heard she is a countess or a princess. Is that true?”
Lottie remembered the first time she’d let—she’d insisted—Dora try on one of her dresses. Dora had said she felt like a princess.
The young woman waited for an answer. “She’s just an ordinary girl,” Lottie said. Masquerading as a lady.
“Oh no,” said the woman, shaking her head. “There’s nothing ordinary about that one. She has the entire ship eating out of her hand. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to—”
For the second time that evening, Lottie interrupted a request for an introduction. She rose. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She’d had enough.
Lottie wove her way through the crowd with nary an eye to notice her passing. She headed back to their cabin.
No one would miss her, not when they had Princess Dora in their midst.
Dora was escorted off the dance floor into a bevy of future partners—of all ages.
“Miss Connors, may I … ?”
“Miss Connors, please allow me to …”
“Miss Connors, you promised me …”
She laughed at their enthusiasm. “Let me breathe, gentlemen. Your eagerness to spend time on the dance floor makes me believe the ship must be low on cigars and brandy.”
Their laughter fed her.
“I’ll get you refreshment,” said an earlier partner.
“Here, Miss Connors. Sit a moment and rest.”
“Recuperate is more like it,” she said, accepting the chair. She untied the fan at her waist and used it gratefully. A thought passed that the last time she’d been so glowing and spent was after she’d moved Lottie’s winter clothes to the attic for spring storage. Traipsing up and down those stairs, weighed down with heavy garments …
Dancing was a far more enjoyable cause of exertion and exhaustion.
A glass of punch arrived, and without thinking, she drank the contents in three gulps. As she lowered the glass, she realized her error. Ladies did not gulp. They sipped.
“Don’t stare at me, gentlemen—you who are the cause of my thirst. If you wish for me to continue, then I must be refreshed.” She held up the glass. “In fact …”
“I’ll get it this time,” said a man she hadn’t danced with as yet.
She wagged her fan at the older gentleman who’d been her last partner. His face was extremely flushed. “It looks as though you could use a bit of the refreshment yourself, Mr. Stoddard.”
He twirled his mustache and grinned. “If you’ll excuse me? Don’t mind if I do.”
The orchestra played the introduction to another dance, and her first partner, Edmund Greenfield, came forward. “I believe this dance was saved for me?”
“I believe it was.” Dora accepted his arm, and they moved to the dance floor.
“If I may ask, what is your business in America, Mr. Greenfield?”
“My cousin lives there. I’m going to join him.”
They danced past another couple, nearly too close. Dora felt her train brush against them.
“Do they have balls like this in America, I wonder?”
“Oh, I’m sure they do. Perhaps we could possibly …”
“Perhaps, Mr. Greenfield. America is full of possiblys.”
Dora scanned the ballroom, looking for Lottie. The ball was over. People were leaving.
She tried to remember the last time she’d seen her but had to admit it had been far earlier in the evening.
“Miss Connors? Are you looking for someone?” It was a Mr. Stoker, who’d danced a quadrille with her.
“I’m looking for my friend. But it appears she’s left already.”
He held out his arm. “Would you care for an escort back to your cabin?”
“Please.”
The witty banter she’d maintained all evening vanished as they walked. Dora was worried about Lottie. She prayed she was all right.
Mr. Stoker executed the key for her, then said his good-nights.
It took Dora’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of a single gas lamp. But in its glow she saw that Lottie was already in her bed, her back to the door, the cover pulled over her shoulder.
Dora tiptoed into the room and set her reticule and fan on a bureau. She began to remove her gloves when Lottie sat up in one swift motion.
“You frightened me!” Dora cried.
“Oh no, Miss Connors, for to frighten you, I would have to exist to you.” Lottie plumped her pillow roughly before tossing it aside.
The evening flashed through Dora’s memories. Unfortunately, tellingly, Lottie held no part in most of her recollections.
She finished removing her gloves and folded them with extra care. “Didn’t you feel well?”
Lottie swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, I felt well enough, abandoned enough.”
Oh. That. But then she remembered. “I saw you dancing.”
Lottie’s laugh was bitter. “Once. Actually it was twice, though compared to you …”
Lottie was jealous! The knowledge nearly made Dora laugh, and it certainly quelled her concern. She began to unhook her necklace and earrings. “I’ll admit I had a marvelous time. The gentlemen were very kind and solicitous.”
“To you. Kind and solicitous to you. But to me and … and others?” Lottie stood and pointed in the direction of the ballroom. “Didn’t you notice the scowls on the faces of the other women present? The women who didn’t get to dance every dance? The ones who had to watch as the eligible men fawned over you?”
Dora held the earrings in her hand. She hadn’t noticed such a thing. “I didn’t do anything improper, did I? I didn’t seek the attention.”
“You did nothing to dispel it either.” Lottie took the folded gloves and thrust them into a hamper of soiled clothing.
Dora felt her ire rise. “I thought you’d be proud of the way the ship’s society accepted me, especially after my blunder last night.”
Lottie didn’t answer but held out her hand, wanting her jewelry back. Dora complied. Then she attempted to undo the back hooks of her dress, yet she knew it would be nearly impossible to undress without help.
Lottie pushed her hands away roughly and undid the hooks. “I admit it was amazing the way the men showed interest in you. I don’t know what you said to make them gather round you so, but …” She sighed. “It was impressive.”
Dora let out the breath she’d been saving. “I meant no harm or offense to anyone, Lottie. Please believe me. When Mr. Greenfield came up to me, teasing me about his shoes again, I—”
“Dr. Greenfield, the queen’s physician,” Lottie said.
Dora’s stomach dropped. “A doctor?”
“A doctor to the royals.”
And I called him “Mister” all night … Dora put a hand to her midsection. “I don’t feel very well.”<
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“Oh, stop it,” Lottie said. “Obviously whatever title you called him— or called the others—they didn’t care.” The bodice was undone and Lottie moved around to Dora’s front to remove it. After she did, she held it in her hands and looked at Dora, eye to eye. “How did you do it? How did you charm them so?”
“I … I made them laugh.”
Lottie’s eyebrows rose. “Laugh. You told them jokes?”
“No, not at all. I don’t know any jokes.”
“Then what?”
What had she done? “I guess … I teased them. I made fun of them. I made fun of myself. They seemed to like that.”
Lottie unhooked Dora’s skirt and train. “I’m not sure I could do such a thing.”
“Then don’t,” Dora said. “Perhaps it wasn’t the humor at all. Perhaps it was that I simply didn’t know any better. I’m not versed at being coy and demure. I didn’t know the proper niceties to say. I was just being myself.”
“No one ever instructed me to be myself,” Lottie said. “I was taught to be the daughter my parents expected, the ingenue society would greet with open arms, and the prospective wife that eligible men would want to marry. Being myself? I wouldn’t know how to start.”
The heavy skirt was lowered so Dora could step out of it. It was like stepping free from a lake where she’d had rocks tied to her waist.
Dora didn’t know how to respond to Lottie’s lack of confidence. How sad that what came naturally to Dora—what should have come naturally to any woman—had been squelched and bound into nonexistence.
“Here, now, let me help you get your hair undone,” Lottie said with a sigh.
Dora sat at the dressing table, and Lottie removed the pins and embellishments. Dora reached back and touched Lottie’s busy hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time tonight, but I can’t say I’m sorry I did. I want to thank you for the entire evening, the entire voyage. Without you I never would have experienced any of it.”
Lottie shrugged. “You’re welcome. And perhaps next time I’ll take your advice and try to let my true self shine through. Whatever that may be.”
Dora wished her friend full success—and wished herself more of the same.
Chapter Seven
Dora opened her eyes, hoping to remove herself from the awful rocking and lurching of her dream.
She saw Lottie at the cabin window, looking out upon the sea. Without warning, Lottie gripped the edge of the window to gain her balance. A bottle of perfume skittered across the top of the vanity nearby, teetered on its edge, then fell to the carpet.
The rolling was not in Dora’s dreams at all. The ship itself was swaying.
Lottie noticed she was awake. “We’re in a storm. A bad one from the looks of it.”
Suddenly it was as though the storm had moved from the outside to within. Dora lurched out of bed, grabbed the chamber pot, and gave up what was left of her dinner.
Lottie ran to her side, putting one hand upon her shoulders while the other gathered her hair away from her face.
When Dora was through, Lottie handed her a handkerchief. “Thank you.” Dora had never felt so embarrassed. “It must have been the rich food.”
“It’s not the food,” Lottie said, draping the chamber pot with a cloth and setting it by the door. “You’re seasick.”
“What’s that?”
“The rocking of the ship makes your insides unbalanced.”
That was exactly the way she felt. Lottie helped her back to the bed. Did it feel better to close her eyes? She wasn’t sure. “What time is it?”
“Nearly time for breakfast.”
Dora tried to get out of bed to get ready, but the dizziness forced her back to her pillows.
“You must stay in bed. When the time comes, I’ll have something brought to you.”
Dora realized the desire for food was not what propelled her to sitting. Before going to sleep last night, she’d thought a good deal about breakfast this morning—having nothing to do with the food but rather, the society. She thrilled at the idea of entering the dining room and being greeted by turned heads, smiles, and the good wishes from those who’d come to know her—and of her—last night at the ball. To miss that moment was nearly as excruciating as the churning in her stomach.
“Will you be all right while I’m gone?” Lottie asked.
Only then did Dora notice that Lottie was already dressed for the day. Lottie must have felt the intensity of her gaze, for she said, “Does my hair look awry? I tried to do the best I could on my own, but—”
“You look splendid,” Dora said. “I didn’t hear you get up, or get dressed, or …”
“You were worn out from the dance, no doubt.”
There was still a hint of jealousy in Lottie’s voice, but Dora was in no condition to counter it.
Lottie had her hand on the doorknob. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”
Did she have a choice? “You might bring the pot closer, just in case.”
“Let me get it emptied first.” Lottie opened the door and Dora heard her flagging down a steward. She popped her head back in the cabin. “I’ve instructed him to knock and enter with the new pot. Be sure to ask him for anything else you need. I won’t be gone long.”
Dora fell back upon the pillows and closed her eyes. The bob and sway of the ship was disturbing, but perhaps if she likened it to the rocking of a cradle, she could find it soothing.
Or not.
A soft knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a steward. “For you, miss?”
Dora pulled the covers to her chin. “Over here, please.”
He averted his eyes and brought the pot close, setting it on the floor beside her bed. “Perhaps some tea, miss? Chamomile?”
“Tea would be nice. Thank you.”
He smiled and left her. The thought that he would return gave her comfort. It was disconcerting to be alone when she felt unwell.
While she waited she thought about Lottie entering the dining room and being seated at their table. Would people miss Dora? Ask after her? Or was she being prideful by imagining such a thing?
The ship road a swell and dove left, then right, and Dora reached for the chamber pot.
Unsuccessfully.
She was appalled by the mess she’d made and crawled from her bed to find a towel. She got on her hands and knees and mopped up as best she could.
Was there water in the pitcher and basin? She tried to stand in order to check, but the heaving of the ship brought her back to the pot.
At least this time she found it. When she was finished, she sat upon the floor and tried to lean against the bed, but the upright position was too much for her.
She fell onto her side and lay there, waiting for help—or death. She didn’t care which.
The dining room had scant attendance. As Lottie made her way across the room, taking hold of the backs of chairs along the way as the tip and sway of the room demanded, she noticed that of the usual diners at their table, four were missing.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Collins. “Miss Gleason, you must be commended for your resilience against the storm.”
“And hungry,” his wife added.
The waiter held her chair as she was seated. “Has the storm affected the others?” she asked, noting that every table had empty chairs.
“Yes, yes. Apparently many have given a reluctant offering to Neptune,” a banker from Philadelphia said. “Has Miss Connors succumbed?”
Lottie found his word choice humorous but did not smile. “She is a little under the weather.”
Mr. Collins laughed. “From the storm or her popularity at the ball last night?”
“I do enjoy seeing a young person truly enjoying herself,” Mrs. Collins said. She looked longingly at her husband. “It makes me remember my own youth.”
He patted her hand. “We were quite the pair in the Virginia reel, weren’t we, my darling?”
The thought of the corpulent couple dancing
was not an easy image.
Lottie felt the touch of a hand upon her shoulder and turned to find Dr. Greenfield at her side.
“Good morning, Miss Gleason.” He nodded to the others at the table. “Ladies. Gentlemen.”
The others murmured their greetings, then turned their attention upon each other, giving Lottie and the doctor the impression of privacy.
“May I?” He indicated the seat beside her.
She gave her affirmation, and he sat down. “How are you this morning, Miss Gleason?”
“I’m well.”
He gazed around the room. “One of but a few, it seems.”
She suddenly realized he had accosted her because he was concerned about Dora. She knew she should make things easy for him and not make him ask, but the seed of envy that had been planted last evening spread roots and she offered no information.
He cleared his throat. “Is Miss Connors attending breakfast this morning?”
Lottie shook her head. “It appears her constitution is weak against the waves.”
He stood immediately. “I’ll go check on her, see if I may be of service.”
Lottie put a hand on his arm. “No, sir, I …” What am I doing? Dora could use the assistance of a doctor. But her lesser side won the battle. “She has been attended to. She’s resting now.”
He seemed appeased—though a bit disappointed. He took a fresh breath and said, “To her credit she created her own waves last night. Truly the belle of the ball.”
She didn’t look so belle-like throwing up in the chamber pot this morning.
Then Lottie got an idea. Perhaps she could usurp Dora’s position in her absence. “Would you care to join us at our table, Doctor? There is obviously room. We would be honored.”
He did not consider it long. “No, thank you. I must return to my dining partners.” He rose. “But perhaps I will see you in the music room later?”
Lottie gave in to the inevitable. “Perhaps Miss Connors will be able to join us.”