I wanted to protest the expense but knew it wasn’t my place. If she wanted to spend the money, she would. And I was under the impression that money was no worry—unless Mrs. Garfield married her daughter to a duke and people started going to their resort instead.
I struggled to wrap my mind around the sheer waste of it when I knew that Imogen was sitting at my workstation for hours a day, earning pennies for each shirtwaist she sewed, and only owning one hand-me-down dress. I should have given her my entire nine dollars and fifty cents when I left the apartment yesterday. At least then she might have something to give her a bit of hope for the future.
The dressmaker stayed until suppertime. Before she left, she helped me into an evening gown of fine blue silk. It had a large bustle in the back, with layers of fabric, a tight-fitting bodice with gold silk thread, and golden embroidered leaves.
Gallagher styled my hair high atop my head and placed a blue clip in the shape of a butterfly just behind my ear, before handing me my long, black gloves.
As I looked into the mirror again, I was starting to believe that all of this could be real. It was both exciting and terrifying.
“You’ll want to go to the back parlor,” Gallagher said to me. “Mrs. Hill will be waiting there for supper to begin.”
Aunt Maude had told me what to expect. She said that they dressed for supper each night and gathered in the parlor before the butler, Higgins, came in to announce dinner.
From Alec’s tour earlier, I knew right where the back parlor was.
I left my bedroom and walked across the short distance in the gallery to the head of the main stairs.
The dress felt heavy and burdensome with the layers of fabric, the tight corset, and the bustle.
And I felt shaky.
What would I talk about at supper? Several times that day, Mrs. Hill had chastised me for not speaking clearly or loud enough. She criticized my accent and had me practice several words over and over again.
I was exhausted.
But I had agreed to this, and I told myself it had to get easier every day.
So I descended the stairs and walked across the front hall to the parlor.
When I entered, I found Maude sitting on the sofa, sipping from a small glass and staring into the fire.
But Alec wasn’t there.
“Clara,” she said as she pulled her gaze away from the flames. “How lovely you look tonight. Come join me.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show. Where was Alec? Would he not join us? I recalled Aunt Maude’s words to himearlier, asking him to be present. He had told her that he didn’t want to be lectured about his club. Was he at his club now?
The dress felt awkward as I tried to take a seat. There was so much fabric to manage that I felt like I was sitting atop a small mound.
“Here,” Aunt Maude said as she set aside her glass. “Let me show you.”
She stood and demonstrated how to move aside the bustle with a quick flick of her hand before taking a seat.
“Now you try,” she said.
I practiced several times and then finally was able to settle my dress properly.
“See,” she said with an approving smile. “You’re doing quite well.”
“Will Alec be joinin’ us?” I asked her.
“‘Will Alec join us this evening?’ is the proper way to speak and enunciate the words. You try.”
I repeated the phrase, trying my hardest, but it didn’t sound anything like hers.
“We’ll have to hire an elocutionist,” she said with a sigh. “And to answer your question, I don’t believe Alec will join us. He often dines at his club and doesn’t return until late in the evening.”
My heart sank a little more.
