She Walks in Beauty (5 page)

“May I ask where we are going?”

“To the dressmaker’s.”

We stepped out into Father’s Victoria. But this time we went quite a bit farther. Along the way, we passed block after block of sidewalks that had been mounded with garbage, carriages parked atop them. Behind the buildings, lacing the streets together, was the elevated train track. Above the din of carriages and the shouts of people, the train’s rumble was constant. At one point, as we passed an intersection, I saw the train itself, shooting sparks and raining soot on those who had the misfortune to be walking beneath it. Like some mythical medieval dragon, it left shadow and darkness in its wake.

Aunt wrapped my knuckles with her parasol. “Don’t lean out so. One would think you’d never seen this city.”

I hadn’t. Not really. Oh, I’d gone with Miss Miller in the other direction, to the zoo and the Museum of Art, but I’d never been this far below Twenty-Fourth Street.

When we reached our destination, we descended from the carriage and entered a shop bedecked in crystal chandeliers and silk tassels. It had been done in peach and gold, all warm and glowing. We were shown to chairs so overstuffed that I was challenged to maintain my balance, teetering first to one side and then to another, correcting my posture by bracing my boots against the floor.

Aunt wasted no time in addressing herself to the dressmaker. “My niece must have everything. She’s to debut this season.”

“
This
season? I hardly think that we will be able to—”

“I hardly think that you will be able to afford not to supply her wardrobe.”

The dressmaker’s face went perfectly still for one long moment and then she closed her eyes. Inclined her head. “I see.” When she opened her eyes, she addressed herself to me. “Please stand.” At the wave of her hand, a half-dozen girls appeared. Two of them unfolded a silk-upholstered screen and closed us off from the rest of the shop. The others helped me from my gown. Then one of them took the measure of my arm, another of my back, a third of my neck, and a fourth started toward my waist.

“She’s to achieve an eighteen-inch waist by December.”

The fourth girl dropped her measure, looking toward the third one. “Eighteen inches at the waist, then.”

“As to colors … ?” The dressmaker stood away from the girls, letting them do their work.

Aunt swayed atop her chair. “White, of course! For her comingout dress. And for all the balls that will follow.”

The dressmaker bowed. “Of course. But for the other events?”

“Something to complement her skin. And something that will make others take notice.”

The first girl whispered to two attendants-in-waiting. They disappeared behind a curtained doorway, reappearing several minutes later laden with a colorful array of bolts of material. In shades like buffalo red, rosewood, copper, empire green, and sapphire blue.

Aunt frowned. “I want her to attract a man, not a circus!”

The girls bowed and backed away, soon returning with a new assortment of fabrics. This time, the colors were much softer, ranging from a pale Nile green to the lightest blue, from rose to gray lavender. And they seemed to meet Aunt’s particular requirements.

Once the colors had been decided upon, Aunt ordered my entire wardrobe for the season. She also ordered several hoop skirts that would hang from my waist. One of the girls brought out the latest model. It consisted of fifteen hoops of various sizes, from smallest to largest, that were suspended on five tapes from a sixth tape buckled about the waist. I would be able to sit, for the first hoop started just above my knee, but I had no idea how I would manage to walk.

Just as I assumed that we were finished, Aunt stayed the dressmaker with a hand to the woman’s arm. “And now I wish to consult with you regarding my own wardrobe.”

Her
wardrobe? It had remained unchanged since I had known her. Black gowns, black hats, black shawls, and black cloaks. If the silhouettes had been altered from time to time, the general aspect of mourning had never been placed into question.

“Yes, madam?”

“I wish to order”—she closed her eyes as if it pained her to speak—“a gown in purple, and one in gray.”

Gray? Purple! My debut had accomplished what a lifetime of widowhood had not: It had persuaded her to emerge from deep mourning. Perhaps she would soon pass into other dark colors as well.

“And some mauve cuffs.” She glared at me as she ordered them, as if I might dare to question her. “Someone must accompany you to all your operas and balls and parties.”

After our business with the dressmaker was concluded, we continued on to Constable’s. I had heard Lizzie speak of this famed, elegant store—a genuine department store—but I had never been there. When we arrived, the coachman parked our carriage right on the street, next to two others. After he had seen us on our way, I saw him turn to speak to the other white-breeched servants waiting beside the store.

Two doormen opened twin doors at our approach, bowing as they did so.

Aunt took me straight to Gloves.

A clerk took charge of us as soon as we presented ourselves. “We have some very fine gloves from England.”

Aunt was already shaking her head. “I want French. From Grenoble. Firsts only.”

The man took a measurement of my hand. “Six and one-half.” He reached down and pulled a pair up from the drawer, passing them to Aunt.

She passed them right back. “If she is a six and one-half, then we’ll want a size five.”

The man frowned but returned the pair to the drawer and took from it a new one.

“We’ll want ten pairs of sixteen button in white. And ten pairs of twelve button. In white. And a dozen pairs of six button as well.”

“In white?”

Aunt nodded.

“As you wish.”

As the clerk put a shopgirl to work packaging up our purchase, Aunt pulled me around the store. She selected a dozen pairs of silk stockings and a season’s worth of muffs and parasols to match the wardrobe she had ordered from the dressmaker.

I returned home worn from the noise of the city and fatigued by all the sights and sounds we had passed on our journey. But it was Thursday—today I would see Lizzie!

As the appointed hour neared for our meeting, I tried to find some reason to wander to the garden. It would not have been difficult in spring or summer, but most of the flowers had fallen to the frosts of October and the birds had already fled for gentler climes. I finally decided to simply slip out. But deciding was one thing and doing it was another matter entirely. As I walked on light feet past Aunt’s room, I saw her sitting in a chair reading a newspaper.

One of the dogs stood watch by her door. It seemed to eye me suspiciously as I passed and breathed a low growl.

“Who’s there?” There came the sound of a teacup finding its saucer.

If I lingered too long, Aunt might lower her newspaper and then she would discover me. And in truth, no one could answer if no one was there. I hurried on down the front stair, the thick carpet masking the sound of my steps.

Once outside, I headed toward the hedge. It had grown since I had last sought its refuge. There had been no reason for meeting in such places once we had given up our dolls and once Miss Miller could provide an escort to and from my friend’s house. But how clever of Lizzie to think such a thought! To remember the way from her gate through the neighbor’s garden and into mine.

“Lizzie?”

“Clara!” A hand reached out, clutching at my elbow and pulling me straight into the shrubbery. “I’ve been sitting here for … for
days
!”

“I’m sorry but . . .” I steeled my courage. “I have something that I must tell you.”

“And I have something to tell you.”

She did? That was good—it would delay me from telling her about the debut. “You first.”

“No, you. You said so first.”

I nibbled at my lip. I supposed the best thing to do was simply to say it. “Aunt has decided, in spite of everything I could think of to convince her otherwise, that I’m to debut. This season.”

I had expected despair from Lizzie, but she gasped and then began to giggle. “But that’s wonderful. I’m to debut as well! That’s what I was going to tell you.”

“You are? But—”

“We’ll be together, then, just as we always planned.”

Just as we always planned. For the first time since Aunt had announced my debut, I felt hope. Lizzie would make sure I didn’t fail. I began to smile. But then I remembered my other secret. I leaned close, not willing to disclose my shame to any ears but her own. “
And
. . . I’m wearing a corset.”

“Me too!”

If I could have laughed in relief, I would have, but I didn’t have the breath to do it. “Do you find it … I mean … eating … ?” The problem wasn’t actually with eating. The trouble began afterward, once the food lay in my stomach. It simply stayed there for what seemed like hours after meals. I’d already given up eating green apples.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “Eating? With the corset?” She shook her head. “It’s a pity one has to at all. But, here! Let me show you.” Lizzie began to unbutton her bodice.

“Lizzie!”

“You have to see it. It’s the most gorgeous thing.”

With a roll of her shoulder, she cast back her garment, revealing the very same corset that I had coveted. The one with all the lace and cascades of ribbons. Then she pulled her bodice back up and buttoned it closed beneath her chin.

“Now show me yours.”

“You don’t want to see it.”

“But I do—show me!” She was looking at me as if she might start to unbutton my bodice herself. “Did you pick satin or silk?”

“I didn’t pick at all. Aunt picked.”

She wrinkled her nose. “So is it … sateen?”

“Worse. Plain cotton.”

She frowned in such a way that I basked in her sympathy. Then her eyes brightened. “But just think: At the end of the season, once you’re engaged, you can pick anything you want for your trousseau!”

Marriage. So soon! “But what if there’s no one . . .” I knew, of course, who was expected for me, but what about Lizzie? What if she went through the entire season, only to have her hopes of true happiness dashed at its end? “What if there’s no one suitable?”

“Suitable? Everyone is suitable. At least everyone at a ball. The thing is to find someone manageable. Someone compatible.”

“Compatible.” I tried out the word for thought. Surely among the hundreds of people in society, there must be one that would be compatible. With Lizzie. And surely the elder De Vries would be compatible with me. “Aunt has told me I must try for only one. She has fastened on the—”

“Don’t say it! Let me guess.” Lizzie closed her eyes, folded her hands upon her heart, and took a great breath. Then she opened her eyes and gazed at me mischievously. “She has fastened on the De Vries heir.”

I felt my mouth tumble open. “But how did you know?”

“He’s the one Mama has picked for me as well. How perfect!”

“Perfect? But if we both . . .”

She linked an arm through mine. “When you tire of him, then you shall give him to me and when I tire of him, I shall give him to you. That way we shall both have the benefit of regular dances with him. And every Thursday, at half past three, we will meet right here and discuss how it’s progressing.”

“How what’s progressing?”

“Why, our courtship, of course!”

“But is that … permitted?” Weren’t we now adversaries? Competing for the same prize? And wasn’t Lizzie sure to win him?

She laughed. “Oh, Clara, you make it sound as if it’s a crime.”

“But … do you really have to be set on him? Maybe one of us could refuse him.” I couldn’t, of course, but perhaps she could.

“I can’t. I wish I could. But Mama, being from the South, with no real connections … she thinks we need them. I wouldn’t tell this to just anyone, but some people haven’t really accepted her here. Still. And she wants more for me. So I can’t refuse him, but … maybe you can?”

I was already shaking my head. “I have to have the heir. No one else will do.”

How had it happened that both of us had been pointed toward the same person? Our debut had been planned for years, but never had I thought that we would be pursuing the same man. We stared at each other for a long moment. The dismay in Lizzie’s eyes seemed to mirror my own.