“I say, Miss Cadwalader, are you quite all right? I could have sworn I just heard a bit of a ruckus, but...” She waved a hand Gertrude’s way. “There you are, completely at your leisure, although now that I think about it, you being at your leisure is somewhat odd. When I took note of you leaving the upper deck, I thought for certain you must be searching out a retiring room to fix your hair, since it is, as I’m certain you’re aware, looking downright frightful at the moment.”
For the briefest of seconds, Gertrude could only stare at the young lady known as Miss Clementine Flowerdew—a member of the fashionable set and a lady Gertrude rarely conversed with, and certainly wasn’t looking forward to conversing with at this inopportune time.
That Miss Flowerdew was looking very well indeed, there could be no question. Strands of jewels were woven into the young lady’s perfectly styled flaxen hair, the style of that hair drawing attention to the graceful curve of her white neck. Encircled around that neck were additional jewels, set in numerous strands that ended in a glitter of diamonds nestled directly in the very center of Miss Flowerdew’s charms.
A flicker of what felt exactly like envy took Gertrude by surprise, brought on, no doubt, by the thought that any charmsshemight possess were tucked away beneath a gown that was made of yards and yards of hideous green fabric.
Even though she wasn’t a lady who held an overt interest in fashion, which made her the ideal companion for a woman who considered herself a designer but had no true talent for design, she did occasionally wish Mrs. Davenport would refrain from using her as a subject to try out her more outlandish creations. Refraining from that behavior would have allowed Gertrude to attend the engagement event that very evening without wearing a curiously designed bustle, one that was now responsible for keeping her a prisoner on the fainting couch.
The idea for that bustle had come about when Mrs. Davenport had overheard a conversation between Gertrude and her very good friend Miss Permilia Griswold. Permilia was the guest of honor this evening and a woman with a keen eye for fashion. As such, she was always up to date on the trends fashions were expected to take. Those trends were now suggesting that bustles were to expand in size by numerous inches. Evidently wanting to embrace the idea that bustles were to become larger than ever, Mrs. Davenport had set about creating the largest bustle anyone had probably ever seen, resorting to using a real birdcage to obtain the size she’d decided she needed.
That size was directly responsible for the yards and yards of fabric Gertrude was wearing, since Mrs. Davenport had longed to create what she called a waterfall effect that would cascade gracefully from Gertrude’s backside. While Mrs. Davenport claimed the green color was her inspiration for creating that waterfall, something to do with rushing water, Gertrude had the sneaking suspicion her employer had used the green because it was the only color available that came with so many yards of fabric to the bolt, the availability of that bolt a direct result of no one with any sense of style wanting to be garbed in such an awful color.
Sadly, there was no disputing the idea that the gown Gertrude was wearing did not show to advantage next to Miss Flowerdew’s frothy creation of yellow tulle, which left...
“Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t hurt your feelings with the frightful hair remark, Miss Cadwalader. I did so want to get off on the right foot with you. Clearly, though, since you’ve yet to respond to my statement, you weren’t aware that there’s something gravely amiss with whatever that is you currently have fashioned on your head.”
Raising a hand, Gertrude patted the right side of her head and then patted the left. “Everything seems to be in order” was all she could think to say.
Miss Flowerdew walked closer, shaking her perfectly coiffed head in a rather sad sort of way. “You look as if you’ve attached two golden baker buns to either side of your head—a look that is neither fashionable nor appealing.”
“Mrs. Davenport told meshewas told by a society matron who just returned from Europe thatthisparticular style was all the rage this season.”
Miss Flowerdew bit her lip. “Perhaps that style may be well-regarded in some obscure European country, one that’s far, far away, but I didn’t witness a single lady wearing that look when I was over in Paris a few weeks back.”
Taking a second to rub at a kink in her neck that was becoming more knotted by the minute, Gertrude released a sigh. “And that right there, Miss Flowerdew, is why one should never trust a lady of a certain age who is looking far too innocently back at you, while she’s styling your hair in what you believe is a questionable manner, but she insists is not.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gertrude stopped rubbing her neck and waved Miss Flowerdew’s comment aside. “It’s of little consequence, simply a touch of pondering about finding myself in somewhat peculiar circumstances at times. However, now is hardly the time for me to descend into a state of self-reflection. May I assume you’re searching for a retiring room and that is why you were following me? As you can see, there’s not a retiring room here in the library. I do know that you can find a well-appointed one on the aft deck, right behind the sitting salon, where people are currently taking their leisure to get out of the stiff ocean breeze.”
To Gertrude’s surprise, Miss Flowerdew gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders before she smiled, walked across the room, then made quite the production of lowering herself into a chair, smoothing out the folds of her skirt before she lifted her head. “I didn’t follow you because I was searching out a retiring room, Miss Cadwalader. I followed you because I’d like to speak with you privately.” She nodded to the chair adjacent to her. “It would be easier to enjoy our conversation, though, if you’d join me over here.”
Gertrude took the briefest of seconds to contemplate her current dilemma.
Miss Flowerdew, being of the fashionable set, was a woman who would probably not understand how it had come to be that Gertrude was currently wearing a birdcage on her bottom. But if she didn’t explain her unusual situation to Miss Flowerdew, she’d continue being stuck. That could lead to someone stumbling upon Mrs. Davenport and whatever it was Mrs. Davenport was up to, which could very well turn disastrous for her employer.
The sense of loyalty she held for Mrs. Davenport, a woman who was undoubtedly odd, yet provided Gertrude with a more than generous wage, had her lifting her chin.
“As curious as this is going to sound, Miss Flowerdew,” she began, “I’m afraid that it’s impossible for me to join you since I’ve gotten myself into a tricky situation, one that I can’t seem to correct by myself.”
Miss Flowerdew leaned forward, pursed her lips, then, curiously enough, smiled. “You need a favor from me?”
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it a favor, more on the lines of a smidgen of assistance.”
If anything, Miss Flowerdew’s smile brightened. “Assistance that would leave you in my debt?”
A trace of unease began tickling the back of Gertrude’s neck, mixing with the knot that was still there. Summoning up a smile of her own, she nodded toward the door. “Upon further reflection, I truly don’t want to put you out, nor do I want you to miss any of the festivities currently taking place topside. If you’d simply be so kind as to tell Miss Permilia Griswold that I could useherassistance when you return to the top deck, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Appreciate it enough to where you’d be willing to agree to domea little favor?”
“You’re very tenacious with this idea about me owing you a favor, aren’t you?”
Instead of replying, Miss Flowerdew rose to her feet and moved closer, her gaze traveling over Gertrude with eyes that were far too sharp for Gertrude’s liking.
“You’ve landed yourself in a pickle, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to claim I’m in a pickle.”