The Dressmaker Read Online Free PDF Page A

rescue?”
    Lucile shrugged. “Yes, ridiculous. But I rather like her.”
    “May I ask why?”
    “I don’t know if you would understand.”
    “Try me.”
    “It isn’t important. Maybe there’s something there, maybe nothing.”
    “You haven’t pushed her wearing a cap.”
    “She’s terrible as a maid. I don’t know why I should bother.”
    “So you’re applying that famous costuming eye of yours to a new blank canvas?”
    “My dear Cosmo, she jumps to do my bidding, whatever it is. If the cost of that is forgetting a servant’s cap, that’s fine with me.”
    “Something’s going on in your head. To be continued, I presume.” He yawned, hoisting himself into bed, his silk pajamas making a swooshing sound as he slid between silk sheets. “When you’re ready, of course.”
    Lucile said nothing, leaning closer to the mirror above the vanity, dabbing cold cream onto her lips, removing her crimson lipstick with a steady hand.

    “Tess, find my gold silk in that jumble and press it for dinner, please.” Lucile pointed to one of her larger trunks when Tess reported for duty the next morning. “You can do that without scorching it, I trust?”
    “I would never harm your gowns, Madame,” Tess answered, flushing. She opened the lid of the trunk and gently began pulling out the clothes—the shimmering, beautiful fabrics that filled the massive trunk in Stateroom A-20. She plunged her hands in deeper, shivering at the light silky touch of the fabrics. How could she describe it? They were the consistency of foaming cream. Fabrics she had never seen—delicate as cobwebs, silvery, gold, some as blue as the deepest water, all artfully twisted and looped and draped. This was heaven!
    “You seem a bit overcome,” Lucile said, amused.
    “They look so floaty and simple. But the structure is wonderful.”
    “I make them to mold to a moving body. You can see that, can you?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “So your mother taught you to sew?”
    Tess nodded, and spoke proudly. “We worked hard together, cutting, piecing, sewing.”
    “What did you make?”
    “A shirt for a landowner, a dress for a wedding. A child’s christening gown. All things.”
    “Quite admirable. But it didn’t free her, did it?”
    “There were many babies.”
    “Ah, the universal trap. And how did you avoid it?”
    “We were excited about a seamstress job in Cherbourg; we had friends there. Mother wanted me to escape the village boys.” And her father had known all along it was a servant job; she was sure of it.
    Lucile smiled, and, tentatively, Tess smiled back.
    “A smart woman, your mother.”
    “I promised her when I got my chance I would make the best of it.” She was setting up the iron now, testing it. Not too hot; this was familiar work. The gold gown caressed her fingers, slipping gently onto the board.
    “And that’s what you’re doing now.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Madame.”
    “Yes, Madame.” Remember this, she warned herself silently. Truly, if Lady Duff Gordon wanted to be called Your Highness, she would happily do so.
    Lucile gazed at her thoughtfully. “My dear, here is lesson number one for using opportunity: waste no time on false humility. Tell the world about your achievements; don’t wait for someone else to do it. Did you know I was the first designer to use live models for fashion shows?”
    “No, Madame,” Tess replied. The gown was done. Carefully, she hung it on a silk-covered hanger, a bit dazzled by Lucile’s relaxed, almost confiding tone.
    “Well, now you do,” Lucile said. “You gain confidence by doing what no one else has done. Or what no one else wants to do.”
    Tess couldn’t help it; the words slipped out. “Like dropping teapots?”
    Lucile laughed. “I think you and I will get along fine. Now I’d like you to write a letter for me so I can check out your penmanship.”
    “It’s very good,” Tess said with a cautious smile.
    “Good girl. You’ve absorbed today’s lesson.”

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