An Unlikely Suitor (14 page)

The girl reluctantly returned to her table. Lucy felt the same reluctance, not because she wanted to talk about Bonwitter—because she truly was trying not to think about him—but because she was having trouble concentrating on the dresses she was making. They were pretty enough, and the fabric was luscious enough, but she had no personal stake in them. Once again, she was merely a seamstress. What difference did it make whether she was stitching on a collar, a cuff, or some trim upon a train? She’d been spoiled working on Rowena’s wardrobe. Each item had offered Lucy a challenge, and each solution had rewarded her with a dose of satisfaction. Why, she hadn’t even met the woman who would wear the dress she was working on today. An anonymous wearer would take her work and waltz away into the city.

Waltz. During one of Lucy’s conversations with Rowena, Rowena had talked about how much she wished she could waltz properly. She’d said the one-two-three, one-two-three sashay and swirl made dancers look as if they were flying. But Rowena was unable to dance well in her condition. Lucy had never heard of such a dance, and Rowena had said,
“I would love to teach you, and watch you sweep around the ballroom in the arms of some dashing partner.”

Talking about such things was a lark, yet Rowena had a way of making it seem possible.

But Lucy was not one to daydream. Why waste thoughts on scenarios that were unattainable? She might as well dream about being the Queen of Sheba.

And yet, when Lucy closed her eyes, with a little effort she
could
imagine herself in one of the gowns she’d made, with long gloves up to her elbows and jewels at her neck and ears. She would gaze into the eyes of her dance partner, and he would smile back at her, his blue eyes sparkling at the sheer joy of it.

Blue eyes? Where did that come from? Italians had brown eyes. Blue-eyed men were as inaccessible as . . . as . . .

Waltzes, gowns, gloves, jewels, and dance partners.

Mrs. Flynn was headed toward the foyer to see who’d come in the front door when a young man peeked his head through the curtain.

Mrs. Flynn was sent on her heels, a hand to her chest. “Young man! You frightened my heart into my toes.”

He came fully into the room and removed his cap. “Sorry, ma’am. Telegram?”

Mrs. Flynn took it, but the boy didn’t leave. He seemed to enjoy the bevy of females, and grinned at the lot of them. Sofia grinned right back. He was tall and lanky, and very cute.

Mrs. Flynn physically turned him around. “Go on now. You did your duty. Shoo.”

He tipped his hat, winked at Sofia, and left. Mrs. Flynn waited to hear the door’s bell tinkle before she addressed the issue of the telegram.

“I can’t remember the last time we got a telegram,” Dorothy said.

Sofia didn’t want to sound stupid but had to ask. “What’s a telegram?”

Dorothy thought about it a moment. “I don’t rightly know but for the fact one person can send a message to another without going through the mail.”

Dolly raised a hand. “My family got one once to tell us Uncle Harry died. All the way from Virginia.”

Leona shushed them. “What’s it say, Madame?”

But Mrs. Flynn wasn’t opening it. She was staring at the envelope.

“Madame?”

The woman collected herself, then walked over to Lucy. “It’s for you.”

A series of gasps stirred the room.

“Me?”

“Who died?” Dolly asked.

Sofia mentally listed faraway family members and glanced at Mamma—who looked worried. Had something happened to her aunt and uncle or her cousin Vittorio?

Lucy dispelled her worry with logic. “If it was a death in the family, it would be addressed to Mamma, not me.”

“Then it must be good news,” Tessie said.

Sofia’s relief was replaced with envy. Of course it was good news. It was addressed to Lucy, wasn’t it?

Mrs. Flynn slapped the telegram onto Lucy’s table. “Here it is. Good or bad.”

Lucy removed a folded note as Mamma and Sofia moved close to see.

“What’s it say?” Dolly asked.

The three of them read it silently and Mamma quickly put a hand on Lucy’s arm. Sofia could only shake her head in disbelief.

“What?” Dorothy asked. “You must share.”

Lucy read the note aloud: “ ‘Wardrobe ruined. Come to Newport immediately. Ticket at train station. Leave tomorrow 10
a.m.
I need you. Rowena Langdon.’ ”

Mrs. Flynn took the telegram away to see for herself. “What does she mean her wardrobe is ruined?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “That’s all it says.”

Sofia felt as though the rest of the room had pulled away and she were standing alone, witnessing the moment from afar. Lucy was going to Newport? She’d been invited there by Rowena, a wealthy patron? How could this be? Why did Lucy constantly get the breaks?

Tessie ran to Lucy and took her hands. “That’s not all she said. She wants you to go to Newport on the train. Immediately! Newport!”

“I’ve never been to Newport,” Ruth said.

“You’ve never been out of New York,” Leona said.

“Neither have you.”

Neither have I.

“Have you been on a train before, Lucy?” Dorothy asked.

“Never.”

“It will be an adventure—though I have no idea how long the trip will be.” She looked around the room. “How far is Newport from here?”

No one knew.

“I’m sure it’s hundreds and hundreds of miles away,” Tessie said. “So that means hours and hours on a train.”

“I’ve heard they’re very loud and bumpy,” Dolly said.

Sofia hoped so.

“I’ve heard they go up to thirty-five miles an hour,” Ruth said. “I would be afraid of going so fast.”

Sofia wouldn’t be afraid. It would be exhilarating.

“Do they have food on a train?” Mamma asked.

“And they must have . . . you know.” Tessie nodded toward the necessary.

Lucy laughed. “I don’t care about the answers to any of your questions. I’m going to Newport. I’d go by donkey cart if need be.”

“You can’t go.”

Mrs. Flynn’s pronouncement halted the room.

“Why not?” Lucy asked.

The bell on the door caused Mrs. Flynn to lower her voice as she turned toward the lobby. “You have work to do here, Lucy. The Langdons’ wardrobes are complete. It is not our responsibility to repair them after the fact. We’ve done our—”

Mr. Standish came through the curtains. “What’s not our responsibility?”

Lucy hurried toward him, and Sofia hated that her sister had every right to do so. She was a special friend of Mr. Standish,
and
Rowena Langdon.

Sofia was special friends with no one.

Mrs. Flynn began her explanation. “We were just talking—”

Lucy held the telegram toward him. “Pardon me, but I just received this urgent telegram from Rowena Langdon.”

Mrs. Flynn flashed Lucy a look, but Lucy was oblivious, giving all her attention to Mr. Standish. He read the note, then looked up. “Her wardrobe is ruined?”

Mrs. Flynn stepped between them. “I assure you, the clothing we delivered to the Langdons was in perfect condition. We would never give a customer something that was in need of repair.”

“I’m not accusing you,” Mr. Standish said. “But apparently, in the process of moving the garments from here to Newport some damage was done.”

“A lot of damage,” Lucy said, pointing to the note. “She says
ruined
.”

“I am not disparaging Miss Langdon’s assessment, but I would imagine they are not ruined as much as damaged in some way. Otherwise, she would be ordering a complete new wardrobe.”

“Ruined or merely damaged, Lucy cannot be spared,” Mrs. Flynn said.

“Are you indicating someone else should go in her place?” Mr. Standish asked.

Mrs. Flynn faltered.

He continued. “The telegram
was
addressed directly to Miss Scarpelli, and didn’t the Langdons previously request that Lucy be in charge of Miss Langdon’s fashion?”

“Yes, but—”

“But?”

“Lucy is new here. Her experience is limited and—”

“In the short time Lucy has been with us, she’s managed to impress the Langdons so much that they specifically asked for her, plus she took it upon herself to catch a thief and a cad, thus saving me money and saving the rest of you ladies from . . .” He blushed. “From further humiliation.”

Mrs. Flynn would not be deterred. “But Bonwitter hasn’t been caught. He’s—”

“Which is another reason for Lucy to leave town for a while.” He looked at Lucy. “There haven’t been any more threats or incidents since the greased stairs, have there?”

“No.”

“Then hopefully he has either left the city or gotten himself arrested for some other crime. But if not—until we can be sure the man is accounted for and brought to justice—I think it only prudent Lucy goes to Newport. It will serve a dual purpose: helping a client and keeping her safe.”

“But I want to go too,” Sofia said.

Mamma shushed her.

Mr. Standish smiled. “I think we’d all like to go. Newport is a magical place during the season.”

“You’ve been there?” Lucy asked.

“Once. I was never privy to the society fêtes, but I always enjoyed standing on Bellevue Avenue to watch the daily parade of carriages.”

“Parade?”

He leaned toward them, as if sharing a secret. “Surely you ladies have guessed by now that the rich live to be seen.”

Lucy held her hands to her chest as if pleading for mercy. “So, Mr. Standish? May I go?”

He nodded once. “You may.”

“But what about the work here?” Mrs. Flynn asked.

Mr. Standish surveyed the room. “I’m sure all the ladies are quite willing to work extra hard so Lucy can gain this opportunity.”

Sofia was appalled to see everyone nod. She wanted to raise a hand and say she was
not
willing to work extra hard so Lucy could get
any
special privilege. And wasn’t Bonwitter a threat to Sofia and Mamma too? He wouldn’t know she was out of town. There was no reason to think he wouldn’t continue his mischief.

Mr. Standish handed the telegram back to Lucy. “Then it’s settled. You make hard work of it today, young lady, to ease Mrs. Flynn’s worries. And before you leave tonight, gather together a valise of threads and materials you may need. If more is required, have the Langdons send another cable.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Mrs. Flynn . . . if you will. I have some other business to discuss.”

The two of them went into the lobby, enabling the women to crush Lucy with their exuberant attention.

It was sickening.

Seam tape!

Lucy stopped her sewing to add seam tape to her list.

So the day had gone. As she worked diligently on her assigned work, she made a list of what to take along to repair Rowena’s clothing.

The two words
wardrobe ruined
haunted her. If the clothes were truly ruined, she would need to make replacement pieces, and would need yards of fabric. Lucy took solace in Mr. Standish’s suggestion that if she needed additional supplies, she could send for them.

As for her personal packing . . . there was little need for her to make a list. She only owned one dress, and two skirts and blouses—and one of those was far past its prime. It was not as though she needed gowns. She was going to Newport as . . . as . . .

As what?

An employee? A servant? A friend?

This last would have been her preference, but Lucy knew it was wishful thinking. Although she and Rowena had gotten along famously, her practical nature had to acknowledge that amiable chitchat did not a friendship make. Rowena had been beholden to Lucy and, therefore, had gone out of her way to be polite and attentive. That was all.

But she said “I need you.”

“To repair her clothes. That’s it.”

“What did you say?” Dorothy asked.

“Nothing.” Lucy took a moment to rub the tiredness from her eyes.

“You don’t have to push yourself,” Dorothy said. “Madame told you we’d pick up the slack.”

Lucy looked around the room for Mrs. Flynn, then remembered she was in the fitting rooms with a customer. “Actually, Mr. Standish
told
Madame you would pick up the slack.”