She glanced down at the small stack of boxes that the shop owner thrust into her hands.Mrs. Willard Wilson,the top one declared, and the address sent a jolt of determined energy through her. She thought of Honor’s promise, silently willing the rigid muscles along her spine to relax.
There was a way out. There had to be.
TWENTY-ONE
The housekeeper recognized Vivian this time and escorted her immediately to the small parlor to wait for Mrs. Wilson. “She’ll be glad to have her new clothes finished, poor thing. A woman needs comfort in such a time, but of course it’s impossible to see anyone if she’s not dressed properly.”
Vivian nodded, murmuring something polite and deferential as she unwrapped the clothes and laid them out. In the bottom of the box were drawings for three more dresses, with notes scribbled by Miss Ethel. “Will you tell Mrs. Wilson I also have the new designs for her to approve?”
“I will,” the housekeeper said. “But it may be a moment before she has time for you. Please refrain from wandering around.”
“Of course,” Vivian agreed, with absolutely no intention of keeping her promise.
She needed to wait until the coast was clear, though, so she gave the housekeeper five minutes, timed by the relentless tick of the crystal desk clock. But at four minutes, a girl burst into the room.
She came through the second door, the one that led away from the main staircase, her hair down and wild around her shoulders, her feet bare and a heavy dressing robe belted around her waist. It trailed behind her as she stalked toward the desk. She was halfway there before she saw Vivian and stuttered to a halt.
They stared at each other. The girl looked her up and down and sighed, her lip curling. “God, of course this would happen, now everything’s in the papers. Unless you can prove it’s his, you won’t get anything.”
“What?”
“So you might as well leave and save us all an embarrassing scene.”
Vivian planted her feet, polite in the face of the girl’s belligerent stare. “If Mrs. Wilson doesn’t like the dresses, that’s no embarrassment to me. I’m just delivering them.”
“What?” The girl stared blankly before it occurred to her to glance around. When she saw the clothes plainly laid out, a flush swept from her collarbone to her cheeks. “You’re the dressmaker.”
“Delivery girl today,” Vivian said. Perfectly willing to take advantage of the girl’s confusion, she added, “Have you had many women showing up with Mr. Wilson’s babies, then?”
“What? No, of course not.” The girl’s blush intensified, and her eyes widened, making her look even more untamed and childish. “I didn’t mean… You mustn’t say anything to…” She gulped. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that. Hattie made it clear we can’t afford to offend anyone right now, and I don’t want to make things worse than they already are.”
There were plenty of questions to ask in response to that, of course, but Vivian didn’t press yet. Instead, she dropped her voice to something gentler, as if she were soothing one of Mrs. Thomas’s many skittish children. It was hard to see the perfectly dressed, sullen girl from the photograph in the disheveled, emotional hellion now in front of her, but she was there.
“You must be the younger sister, then. Miss Myrtle?” When the girl nodded, Vivian smiled, helpful and unthreatening. “Do you need mourning clothes as well? We could rush an order for you.”
“I’ve got no interest inthat.” Myrtle scowled. She was younger than her sister, not more than fifteen at most. With childish bluntness, she tossed back her mane of curls and declared, “I won’t be mourning him, thanks.”
Crossing to the desk as she spoke, she surprised Vivian by lifting the seat of the chair and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter. She opened the window, oblivious to the breeze that swept in and made Vivian shiver, then lit one cigarette and put the rest back in their hiding place. She took a long drag and blew a careful stream of smoke outside. “I don’t know why Hattie’s bothering to pretend she does. It’s a hell of a sham, all of it.”
Myrtle fell silent. Her whole body trembled, and it seemed like it wasn’t just from the cold air. Everything about the girl was brittle. Vivian had seen enough women hold themselves together by sheer force of will—women who stared at the awfulness of their lives before shrugging and going on with the business of surviving—to recognize the vulnerability that Myrtle’s defiance attempted to hide.
Vivian had no idea what a girl like that could know about needing to survive. But she recognized that kind of carelessness and matched it as she said, “It’s good for those of us making the mourning clothes, at least.”
Myrtle snorted. “There’s that, anyway. How appropriate. ‘Gotta keep the wheels of business turning,’ Willard always said.” Taking another long drag, she eyed Vivian. “Should have known better than to assume… well. Should have known.” Vivian thought it was an apology until the girl added, almost too quietly to be heard, “Too old for his taste, anyway.”
Vivian hesitated, wondering if it was meant as an insult and unsure how to respond, while Myrtle turned away to blow another smoky breath out the window. The moment of stillness left her silhouetted against the light. There was something odd about her, something that caught Vivian’s attention. But before she could figure out what it was, the door to the sitting room swung open.
Both of them jumped. Myrtle gasped, a flick of her wrist sendingher cigarette arcing out the window as they turned to see who had entered.
Hattie Wilson eyed the scene with wary stillness, then smiled gently at her sister. “Close the window, please. You’ll catch a chill.” She didn’t mention the lingering smell of smoke.
Myrtle obeyed, then took the hand that Hattie held out to her. “I just wanted some fresh air,” she said, her voice trembling. Neither sister looked at Vivian.
“Of course you did, dear, but we agreed you should stay in your rooms,” Hattie said, pulling her sister close. “It’s really for the best right now.”
“Yeah,” Myrtle agreed, leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder.
They stood that way for a moment before Hattie kissed Myrtle’s forehead and gave her a gentle push toward the door. “I had some new books delivered. Why don’t you go take a look while I finish up here?”
