The Dressmaker Read Online Free PDF

noon, Tess was free to seek out the fresh air of the deck. A fine morning all around. She found herself making a mental report to her Mother: I got past yesterday’s disaster, Mother, and Madame and I are actually
talking
. Surely that’s a positive sign. Her reverie was interrupted by shouts from the boys playing tag on the deck and the girls giggling nearby, jumping rope.
    “Miss?”
    Startled, she realized that a sad-faced man in a rumpled black suit was addressing her. Holding each of his hands was a small, wiggling boy.
    “My son, here”—he pushed forward one child—“has something to say to you. Edmond, speak up.”
    The child looked at Tess with imploring eyes.
“Je suis désolé
,
”
he whispered.
    “My sons don’t speak English,” the man said apologetically. “But Edmond knows his ball was what made you stumble yesterday, and he is sorry. His favorite toy, his spinning top, was lost over the side of the ship and he was trying something new. You do speak French, I hope?”
    Tess nodded, touched by his courteous formality. This was Mr. Hoffman, someone had said. A widower with two small boys. He kept to himself but was devoted to his children.
    “Ce n’est pas grave
,
”
she said to the child, and saw the look of relief in his eyes. Edmond smiled at her as his brother wrapped himself around his father’s pants leg, peeking at her. Mr. Hoffman nodded approvingly, and seemed at a loss for what to say next. “Edmond and Michel, they are usually good boys,” he said. “Again, please, we are sorry.” And then he turned on his heel, the children hurrying at his side, vanishing into the ship.

    Teatime, again.
    “The tea isn’t quite hot enough, Tess.” Madame’s voice held a touch of testiness. “And the cake is dry.”
    Tess instantly reached for the cup. “I’ll get that fixed right now,” she said.
    “Also, tell the kitchen crew to send out some fresh cakes.”
    “Yes, Madame.”
    “And if there aren’t any, what will you do?”
    Tess hardly missed a beat. “Bake them myself,” she said.
    Lucile smiled. “That’s the spirit. Forget the tea. Let’s walk the promenade.”

    “I see you watching me, Tess,” she said casually as they strolled. “What do you see?”
    Tess flushed. “You seem regal sometimes.”
    Lucile laughed and started to respond, but abruptly stopped walking. Advancing toward them was a small group of chattering men and women, all focused on a small, slender brunette in their midst, a striking young woman wearing a casually cut shirtwaist of white linen and a bright-red jersey skirt that swung briskly back and forth. On her head was a small cloche hat. People turned and stared, some whispering.
    “What is
she
doing on this ship?” Lucile muttered.
    “Who is she?” Tess asked as they walked by. She did not miss the frozen smiles the two women exchanged.
    “Another one of those milliners who design ridiculous costumes and think they know couture. She’s trying to get attention for something she calls sportswear, which is just slapping together mismatched outfits like the one she was wearing.” Lucile was walking more rapidly now, heading back to her stateroom. Tess rushed to keep up.
    Lucile pushed open the stateroom door, letting it slam against the wall, startling Cosmo, who had been sitting peacefully in a chair, smoking his pipe.
    “That woman upstart from Manchester who steals my ideas is on the ship,” she said.
    “No need to get upset,” Cosmo replied. “She hasn’t even a crown at her disposal to open a shop. She’s no competition—”
    “No competition? She’s working this crowd for all the attention and contacts she can get. Just like that other upstart, the one they call Chanel.” Lucile pulled off her bracelet and threw it onto the dressing table, barely missing the mirror. The diamonds hit with a clatter that made Tess wince.
    Cosmo remained calm. He took a long puff on his pipe. “Lucy, you are top quality,” he said. “You