The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (18 page)

The door chimed when Nell went in, a musty smell assaulting her. A young man with jug ears sticking out from a driving hat asked if he could help her.

“Do you have any Agatha Christie novels?” A mystery to read on the ocean liner might take her mind off Quentin. She glanced over her shoulder and made out a wavy image of Harjo still standing across the street.

“Dead cert. Brand-new Hercule Poirot novel just came in.”

She took it and while the shopkeeper rang it up, she checked on the whereabouts of Harjo. He hadn’t moved. Nor had the cat in the window when she went out and reversed directions, going back the way she’d come. She passed a shoe shop and an apothecary with window advertisements for tonics and medicines to cure all ails. If there was one to cure a broken heart, she would buy enough to drown in.

She picked up her pace. If Harjo was following her, he would have to hurry. She crossed to Harjo’s side of the street and clipped along for a block, then made a quick decision to turn a corner and flattened herself in the recess of the door to a tobacconist. The scent reminded her of her grandfather. She kept her eye on the intersection, and when Harjo careened around the building, she turned facing him.

He pulled up short, his eyes darting from side to side. “Nell. What a surprise.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Ah, here it is, the place I was looking for.” Harjo nodded toward the tobacco shop.

“I didn’t know you s-smoked.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Miss Marchwold.” He tipped his hat. “Out for a little shopping?”

“That and a few other things.” She ambled down the block knowing he’d probably only wait a few minutes before following her again. At least he knew she was on to him.

Around another corner, she discovered a row of couture shops. Malone’s Salon. She stopped and peered at its oval awning, the elegant gold lettering on the door. This was where her aunt Vivian bought her hats—the ones made by French designers. A bell dinged when she entered. A salesclerk with a tiny black mustache and feet that pointed inward reminded her of Charlie Chaplin from the silent screen.

“How may I assist Madame today?”

“Just seeing what’s new for summer.”

“Ah, this way then.” He pointed out the section. She noted the styles and colors, tried on one or two, moving from section to section.

“Is there a particular style or color you’re looking for, Madame?”

She shook her head. What she was searching for wouldn’t be found in a millinery shop, but she decided on two headpieces for Jeanette and Greta and a jaunty cloche for herself. The total was enough to make her head spin. Two weeks’ wages. Oscar would be livid to see her with a hatbox with Malone’s insignia, but it gave her another idea.

On the way back, she popped into three other millinery salons. She had no doubt Harjo would report back that Nell was looking for another place of employment.

Nell stood on deck until the last glimmers of land faded, the ache even deeper than the first time she’d left her homeland. Each billow carried them farther out to sea, farther from Quentin, and she knew the next time she saw her grandmother’s sweet face, it would be on the heavenly shores, not in Heathdown.

Her fingers grew numb from gripping the rail. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, but still she stood. An hour. Maybe two. A deck captain touched her forearm and asked if she was all right, but she didn’t answer. There were no words.

Then Oscar was there, loosening her fingers, coaxing her along to her quarters, and asking a female attendant to assist her. When the woman left, Nell retrieved a dressing robe from her trunk and changed, then curled into a ball under her covers. Her teeth chattered, and a groan came from her gut. Cutting. Sorrowful. She fought the urge to cry until she thought her chest would explode and then let out the first sob. Tears for Quentin. Tears for her grandmother. And hot, angry tears that sprang from the depths of her soul. When exhaustion overtook her, she drifted in and out of sleep, jerked awake by dreams each time she relaxed. Hours passed, but she couldn’t bring herself to rise from the haven of her bunk.

Eventually a knock sounded at the door, but she groped for the spare pillow and covered her head.

A voice shouted. “Nell. Wake up.”

Nell pulled the pillow tighter over her head, but strong hands removed it. Through squinted eyes, she made out Hazel’s form.

“Can you hear me?” Hazel’s face was inches away from hers.

“I can hear you and smell the onions on your breath.”

“Mr. Fields sent me to check on you. Says he hasn’t seen you since we passed Ireland.”

“What time is it?”

“You should be asking what day it is. Two days since we set sail. Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t think so. I think I just needed the sleep.” She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “What day did you say it was?”

“Saturday. Do you need help getting dressed?”

“No, I can manage. I must smell like a sailor. I’ll get washed up and be out soon.” Her bones ached, but she felt a surge of energy pulse in her veins, and her stomach rumbled.

“What do you want me to tell Mr. Fields?”

“Tell him I’ll meet him in the dining room in an hour. I’m starved half to death.”

Hazel gave a throaty laugh and said, “Aye, aye.”

“Thank you for coming to check on me.”

Oscar and Harjo rose to meet her when she went into the dining room. Rich smells wafted from the plates of other diners making her even more hungry.

Harjo closed the ledger before him and dropped it into his valise. “Good afternoon. You had us worried. A touch of the sea in your stomach, huh?”

“Something like that.” He could think whatever he wanted. She wouldn’t be discussing her grief over Quentin with Harjo and Oscar. While she wolfed down the lobster bisque, she asked what she’d missed during her confinement.

“Harjo and I have been evaluating our finances and trying to decide where to go from here.”

Harjo gave a sharp look to Oscar.

Nell eyed them each in turn, trying to gauge what passed between them. “London was productive, was it not?”

Oscar ignored her question and told Harjo he would meet him on the deck later. “Nell and I need to discuss the fall line.” Harjo gulped the last of his whiskey and told Nell to enjoy the remainder of her lunch.

When he’d gone, Oscar leaned forward. “I hope your rest was restorative. You had me worried.”

“I didn’t realize how long I’d slept, but I’m feeling quite chipper now, and I have worlds of new ideas.” Diving into work would keep her mind off Quentin and what might have been. She knew that, but the ache in her chest told her nothing would take away her thoughts of him.

“That’s good to hear as I have some news I think you’ll like.”

Her antenna went up.

“We’ve had an inquiry from Soren Michaels. I must say it surprised me after the ordeal with Percy, but he’s requested teaming up with us again for a late summer show.”

“That is good news. Soren’s a genius when it comes to fashion and business.”

“A rising star on the fashion front, it would seem.”

The words had a familiar ring—Oscar had uttered them enough times. Still, Nell was happy to hear that Soren was making a name for himself.

“There are a few clauses in his proposal we need to clarify before we move forward, but I’ve a good feeling about this. With the proper planning, we can make an even bigger impact this time.” He took her hand, his touch as warm and soft as doeskin. “Your three-year anniversary with the salon is coming at the end of July, and I’ve decided to give you an early gift, an advance from apprentice to designer.”

She blinked, not sure she’d heard right, but Oscar’s raised brows and lips curved into a smile seemed authentic. “It’s my turn to be surprised. I’m…uh…speechless. And grateful.”

“I thought you’d be pleased. I’ve always had faith in you and believe this is only the beginning of what we can accomplish together.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it, sir.” A knot formed in her throat. All she’d worked for hadn’t been for naught. Or perhaps her popping into the millinery shops in London with Harjo spying on her had indeed prompted Oscar into action.

The ship’s hairdresser lifted the tresses from Nell’s neck and ran his fingers through them. “Are you sure a bob is what you want?”

“Absolutely. Carefree and fashionable. Just like this.” She pointed to the model in the magazine. She didn’t add that she was also hoping it would make her look more professional. Someone to take seriously with her new position.

She closed her eyes when the first snip of the scissors cut off a sizable chunk. Another snip sent a flurry of doubt through her middle, but when the woman gave her a mirror to look at the results, she gasped. It was glorious! Sleek with just a fringe of bangs. She stared wide-eyed and tipped the hairdresser double the customary amount. She sailed out the door, a new energy in the swing of her hips.

Even Oscar commented that it gave her a more mature look when she showed him her newest designs. And as the shore of North America drew nearer, Nell’s excitement mounted. She was ready for the new challenges ahead. When she stepped from the cab in her neighborhood, the smell of garlic and sausage and the sounds of Italian shouts and laughter and the rush of traffic assaulted her. Funny, but in its own way, it felt like home.

The flat was empty when she entered, but a vase of daisies sat on the tiny kitchen table, a note propped against it.

Signed in Jeanette’s unreadable signature.

Nell looked around, unsure what to do first. She put the kettle on, then went to change. A handful of letters were on the bedside table. She fanned through them, looking instinctively for a London postmark. Her heart sank. There would be no more letters from Quentin. But her mother and Aunt Sarah had written. The remaining mail was a reminder to make an appointment with Dr. Underwood along with two advertising flyers.

When she’d put on a comfortable skirt and low-heeled shoes, she took the letters to the kitchen and made her tea. Her mother wrote at length about the abundant flowering of all the spring trees and her new rose varieties. Nell smiled, remembering the pressed roses from Marchwold she still needed to put on parchment and tie with silk thread to make a keepsake for her mother. Caroline was thriving and taking swimming lessons, and Granville was busy with his summer teaching schedule. She closed by saying, “I trust your trip was lovely. We are anxious to hear about it. With love and prayers, Mother.”

Nothing about looking forward to Nell’s visit to Kentucky. Perhaps her mother had given up on the notion of Nell ever getting away from New York. Her family had their own bustling lives, and Nell would likely be an interruption anyway. Sadly, Nell also realized the likelihood of a visit was slim in the near future. Her talk with Mama and what happened at Greystone Hall would have to wait.

Aunt Sarah’s letter was much the same. News of Iris and Mittie. The sad news that Iris had not received a proposal during her season in spite of many eligible candidates.

Nell placed a call to Dr. Underwood’s office and had just hung up when Jeanette burst through the door and slammed her purse on the table. “You’re home! And your hair. What have you done?”

They both talked at once, laughing and crying and hugging until Jeanette finally said, “Tell me everything. Did you have someone in London do your hair? Oh, I bet Oscar just had a basket of kittens. He’s such a prude about change. So how was everything? Did you have fun?”

“Jeanette, give me a minute. Please, I just got here and there’s so much to tell you. Where shall I start?”

Nell told about the shop in Mayfair, Mrs. Fortner’s party, and the horrible Lady Blythe-Perkins. The excitement of being in London on the day of the royal wedding and her trip to see her grandmother. And at last, she told her about Quentin.

“Oh, you poor thing. So he wasn’t just a friend like you said.”

“He was a friend. And so much more. I just didn’t realize it until…” She widened her eyes to stop the tears, but the mere mention of Quentin was akin to being ripped in half.

“I’m sure Oscar’s keeping you occupied all the time didn’t help. He thinks it’s his mission in life to go around tripping people.”

“Yes, I was busy with Oscar. And he was difficult. I can’t help how he is, but on the ship home, he gave me quite a shock. I’ve gotten an advancement—from apprentice to designer.”

“What? Get out.”

“More responsibilities. A tiny hike in pay. It’s progress, don’t you agree?”

“Sure. Good old Oscar.” Her voice wasn’t convincing, and a silence fell between them. It took a while before Nell figured out what was different, and then it struck her. The Victrola wasn’t playing. No music blaring and no Jeanette turning circles in the room. When Nell mentioned it, Jeanette shrugged.

“It’s on the blink, and I don’t have the money to get it fixed. Besides, I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time.”

“Busy with school?”

“Actually, no. I dropped out.”

“But your note said you had to go to class.”

“Well, sort of. I’m helping out at Miss Beverly’s School of Dance and taking classical ballet and tap practically every evening. Dance class. Isn’t that the niftiest?”

“But what about getting a diploma?”

“It’s just not my cuppa tea, you know. I adore working with the kiddos. It’s really what I’ve wanted to do my whole life—I was just afraid to go after it.”

“You’re joking?”

“No. While you and Greta were off having your own frolics, I was sorting out some stuff here. With my dad and all.”

“I’m so sorry about him. What happened? I thought he was doing better after your holiday.”

“Yeah, but then he got pneumonia and three days later he was gone. Just like that. Just like Aunt Anna when she got the Spanish flu. And now it’s killing my mom.” She took a deep breath and brushed away a tear. “Not literally, but she’s worried about money and how she’s going to make it.”

“Did your dad leave anything?”

Jeanette shook her head. “A stack of doctor bills and a few stocks that Mother had to cash in to pay for the funeral. I’m not sure we would’ve made it without Calvin helping out.”

“Calvin’s helping your mom pay bills?”

“No, not giving her money, but moral support. When Calvin came over after my accident, both my parents sort of took to him, you know. Said he was just a decent chap and all.”

“He is nice.”

“Calvin sat up at night at the hospital with my dad so Mother and I could go home.” Tears glistened in earnest in her dark eyes. “Before he died, Daddy motioned for me to come close, and in a raspy whisper told me that Calvin was a good man and that I should hang on to him. So I’m trying.”

“And you’re in love?”

“Ain’t it the berries?” Jeanette’s face broke out in a grin.

“I’m thrilled for you, and Calvin deserves someone really nice. Someone like you.”

“But he wanted you first.”

“Only because he didn’t know you.”

Jeanette puffed out her cheeks and let out a long, slow breath, obviously relieved to get it off her chest. “So, tell me about the wedding. Did you get a personal introduction to the king and queen?”

Nell laughed. “No, it wasn’t like that at all…” Nell told about the wedding and the people she’d met, the horse guard with riders who carried spears, royal carriages, and the peddlers on the street. When she told it, it sounded like a fairy tale. But the only handsome prince was the one who got away.