The Dressmaker's Secret (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy Book 1) Read online

  Alice huffed. “I don’t like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Being told I’ll understand when I’m older.” Her daughter was glaring at her now.

  Claire didn’t like being the villainess, even if sometimes it was necessary in motherhood, so she sighed. “In this case, it’s true.”

  “I think I’d understand. Try.”

  Again, she repressed the impulse to laugh as she rose. “I love you, Alice. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mummy,” Alice said reluctantly.

  Claire took up her candle and crept out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Alice woke up late. Ivy was already gone, and Alice hurriedly rose and pulled on a simple dress. She took a minute to brush her hair and wash her face; Nettie would throw a fit if she didn’t.

  She tiptoed to the schoolroom door and glanced in. Nettie was leaning over Ivy, helping her form letters. Alice dashed past the door. She didn’t want to begin her lessons; she had some questions to ask first.

  She crept down the back stairway and into the kitchen. There, scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees, was Mrs. Bennett, their elderly maid-of-all-work, a plump, dimpled woman with curly, dark hair.

  “Mrs. Bennett?” Alice knelt next to the servant. “May I have some breakfast, please?”

  Mrs. Bennett smiled and slowly rose, rolling her shoulders as she did so. “Why, it’s about time that you were up! Won’t you take a seat, Miss Alice?”

  Alice sat at the little kitchen table. Though civilities were all very well and good, she was eager to get to the point. “Mrs. Bennett, when did you come to work for us?”

  “Oh, six-some-odd years ago,” said Mrs. Bennett.

  “I was here?”

  “Yes, you were a wee little poppet!” Mrs. Bennett smiled affectionately.

  Alice did not care to be called a poppet and so decided to distract Mrs. Bennett from thoughts of her poppetness by asking another question. “Where was I born? Here in London?”

  Mrs. Bennett paused halfway through pouring Alice some milk and squinted. “I don’t know, Miss Alice. But somewheres other than London, I s’pose.” She shrugged.

  “Why do you think that?”

  She cocked her head as she set the glass in front of Alice. “Because I’ve heard Miss Berck moved here when you were a wee one—you and Miss Ivy. Everyone says so … maybe no one knows aught else.”

  Alice blinked. “Oh. Well. I think we must’ve come from wherever Uncle Charlie came from. Where was that?”

  Mrs. Bennett squinted. “I believe the Chattoways came from Yorkshire. And so did me parents. But they were a grand family, the Chattoways were. I don’t know much, but Mr. Chattoway is your uncle, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, aye, you must be a Yorkshire girl.” Mrs. Bennett nodded her head companionably as she set a bowl of porridge in front of Alice. “Though, I don’t know much. Nettie always says the less I know, the better, and I agree! Not that I would gossip and get such sweet girls as you and Miss Ivy in trouble. Or Miss Berck, for that matter, cold as she seems. She has a right, dear heart in her—strong women often do.”

  “Oh. If you did gossip, we would get … in trouble?” Alice wrinkled her nose. What kind of trouble could Mrs. Bennett mean?

  “Aye, perhaps. Or at least the gentlefolk would stop hiring Miss Berck, and she’d be out of a job. You’d all starve!” Mrs. Bennett said these dismal words cheerfully, but Alice shuddered.

  “Are we … are we so bad, Mrs. Bennett? Ivy and me, I mean.” She twirled her spoon about in her breakfast, unwilling to eat until her questioning finished.

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with you, poppet.” Mrs. Bennett smiled. “Now, eat up your porridge before it gets cold. Don’t you worry about it! Sometimes people can be finicky if they put their minds to it, but that don’t mean you’re not a sweet thing. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re bad!”

  As Mrs. Bennett went back to her scrubbing, Alice took her first bite of breakfast and pondered the servant’s words.

  But even if Mrs. Bennett says we’re not bad, how does she know? After all, if you have to be a secret, there must be something wrong with you. But what’s wrong with us?

  A thought came to her, and she bit the inside of her mouth for a long minute as she thought about it.

  “Can you have a baby and not be married?”

  Mrs. Bennett looked surprised but answered calmly. “That sure is switching subjects! Aye, you can, but it’s not right. Only naughty people would have babies without being married. Hurry along with that. You’re already late enough getting to your lessons.”

  Alice took another big bite of porridge, but she had more questions. “Mrs. Bennett.” She hesitated before plunging in. “Was Mummy married when Ivy and I came?”

  The servant turned to face Alice. “Your mother may be many things, but she’s not like that. I knew it when I first met her and had me interview. No … not Miss Berck. I have me standards, same as anyone. I don’t know who to, but she was married once. Now, no more questions. Run along!”

  With a sigh, Alice dragged her feet out of the kitchen.

  Mummy arrived home a little earlier than usual that evening. Alice had to redo an arithmetic lesson, but she hurried downstairs to the drawing room as quickly as she could.

  When Alice walked into the room, she found Mummy telling Ivy a story.

  “Did the princess stay in the tower forever?” Ivy’s eyes were wide.

  “Why, she might have, but one day, while she was sitting up in the tower—”

  “What was she doing up in the tower?”

  Alice grinned. Only her twin would think to ask that question.

  Mummy cleared her throat. “Princess Rapunzel was sitting up in her tower eating breakfast when she heard horse hooves in the garden. When Rapunzel looked out the window, she saw a handsome prince on a white horse.”

  “I want it to be chestnut.” Ivy pouted. “White horses get dirty too easily.”

  Alice nodded in agreement, though, of course, if she had a horse, it would be a brilliant, shiny black, not a dull old chestnut.

  “Very well.” Mummy nodded. “I had been partial to that coloring. Aren’t you going to ask what the horse’s name was?”

  “What was the horse’s name?” Ivy asked.

  “I believe it was Fred,” Mummy said with an amused smile. Alice had to grin, too. She knew Ivy would never accept that. Unlike Alice, Ivy was good at naming things.

  Ivy shook her head emphatically. “That’s not a horse name.”

  “Morning Star?” Alice suggested.

  “That’s a girl horse’s name. I want it to be Starlight.”

  “The handsome prince rode up to the tower on his chestnut stallion, Starlight. ‘Hello! What’s your name?’ Rapunzel called down to the prince. You see, the evil witch had kept her in the tower so long that she’d never been taught not to speak to strangers.”

  “She was a naughty princess?” Ivy said, looking awed over the fact that princesses could be naughty.

  Alice agreed. Princesses were perfect, after all.

  “Why, no, she’d just never been taught. And the prince said, ‘Fair maiden, my name is Prince …’” Mummy hesitated.

  “Prince Charlemagne,” said Ivy, having overheard parts of Alice’s history lessons earlier in the day.

  “Yes, that was it.” Mummy laughed. “He said, ‘My name is Prince Charlemagne, and I have come to seek out the fairest maiden to be my wife, and you are the fairest of them all. Everyone knows that you are doomed to forever dwell in that tower; nevertheless, I will rescue you, if I can only find a way.’”

  Mummy paused for a moment, her eyes growing troubled. “You should always look for a prince who is willing to rescue you.” She kissed them both and continued on with the story. “The princess said, ‘I will hang my hair out of this window, and you may climb up.’ So she hung her golden locks out
the window as she always had for the evil witch, and Prince Charlemagne began to climb them.”

  “How did he do that?” Ivy inquired.

  “Now, Ivy.” Mummy had a teasing gleam in her blue eyes that Alice didn’t fail to notice. “Everyone knows that, as a boy, Prince Charlemagne climbed trees quite frequently. I don’t believe that some fair maiden’s hair would be a challenge.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” said Ivy.

  Alice almost laughed aloud.

  Ivy’s brow wrinkled again. “Did it hurt Rapunzel for him to climb her hair?”

  “You know, that is an interesting—” Mummy began, but their manservant, Jameson, entered the room.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Berck, but Mr. Steven Parker is at the door.”

  Mummy stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Parker? Did you—has he given a reason for his coming?”

  “No, miss. Only—he told me to give this to you.” Jameson extended a rectangular piece of stiff paper, which Mummy accepted.

  Over Mummy’s shoulder, Alice made out the words “We need to discuss certain matters” scrawled onto the back of the calling card in a careless hand.

  “Hmm.” Mummy’s voice was tired as she dropped the card onto her lap. “You may let him in. I’ll see him here.”

  “Yes, miss.” Jameson stepped backwards. “Shall I call Nettie down to fetch the young ladies?”

  Mummy shook her head. “No. I’ll keep the girls here with me. But I would like you to ask Nettie to wait outside the door, where I can ring for her in an instant if necessary.”

  “Yes, miss.” Jameson turned, looking rather confused, and left the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Mummy turned to Alice and Ivy. “Darlings, I need you both to be quiet and still unless spoken to, and please do not answer a question unless I give you permission to do so. I’ll nod if I believe it’s a safe one for you to answer. This is for your own protection. Understand?”

  Brow wrinkled, Alice nodded. “Yes, Mummy. But—”

  “No buts. Ivy?”

  Eyes solemn, Alice’s twin nodded. “Yes, Mummy. I won’t speak.”

  In a moment, Jameson entered again. “Mr. Steven Parker,” he announced. After him walked Mr. Parker.

  Now that she had a moment to really look at him, no longer as frightened as she’d been the first time, Alice realized he looked a bit like a prince in a fairy tale. Mr. Parker was a tall, painfully handsome man who might have resembled the Greek god Apollo save for his dark hair and carefully-groomed beard.

  He smiled winningly at both the little girls and nodded to Mummy. “Thank you for seeing me, Claire.”

  Mummy arched her eyebrows, and Alice knew she wanted to give this Parker fellow a good tongue-lashing. But all she said was, “Miss Chattoway will do, sir.”

  His smile tightened a bit. “Such good friends as us?”

  “It’s been a long time since we were children.” Mummy inclined her head toward a seat opposite her. “Will you sit down?”

  “Always the picture of propriety, Miss Chattoway.” Mr. Parker carelessly sprawled onto the chair, eyes on Mummy in an uncomfortable way.

  Alice scowled. He ought to be more respectful. After all, Mummy was a perfect lady; he should be a perfect gentleman.

  “I am glad to see you, Mr. Parker, though it was only yesterday evening when you were here last.” Mummy’s tone was cutting.

  Alice wished all the tension would end. It wasn’t any fun.

  “It’s because of yesterday that I’ve come.” He leaned forward. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation in front of your children?”

  Alice wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it, but she was sure Mummy’s eyes grew even harder. “Be civil, and I won’t have to worry about what you say in front of them.”

  Mr. Parker cleared his throat. “It’s not an easy subject, nor a kind one to little ears. I would rather it just be us—Nettie could be present for propriety’s sake, as I’m sure she knows all the details already. But not these girls.”

  “Yet, I presume, based on your hinting, that it is about them.” Mummy inclined her head. “Please. Speak your piece. I’m not able to give all the details at present, perhaps never will be able to, but I will keep the girls with me.”

  Alice wasn’t sure why Mummy wanted them to remain in the room so badly—until she felt Mummy’s fingers digging into her shoulder and saw the way she clutched a lock of Ivy’s hair.

  Comfort. It was for comfort.

  Reassured, and knowing her presence was a help, Alice sat quietly at Mummy’s side and let the scene play out.

  Chapter Four

  Mr. Parker cleared his throat. “I suppose you are not willing to tell me what happened.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me how you came to London and are now a businesswoman.” He raised his eyebrows. “I presume that’s quite a tale.”

  “Not much of one.” Mummy began to relax. Alice supposed because that was an easy question. “I came here almost eight years ago, found I had a talent as a seamstress and, later, a designer. Sometime after, my brother found me and helped finance the dress shop I own now. The styles I designed took off somewhat, as they say, and I’ve always had an eye for it.”

  “But that doesn’t get to the root of why you must now earn your bread.” Mr. Parker forced a chuckle through the stiff smile on his lips. “You were the belle of the season, Claire—”

  “Miss Chattoway.”

  “I can’t see how you managed to get to … to where you are now. Somewhere between June 1861 and now, I lost you. You … you know I looked after you disappeared, didn’t you?” He was unsure now, a different expression on his face. Like a little lost boy. Alice almost felt sorry for him.

  “I’d heard. From Charles.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Parker shifted in his seat. “I worried. I couldn’t think what had happened. Now I know why and who—”

  “Mr. Parker, please.”

  He paused and glanced at Alice and Ivy. “Do they not know?”

  “No, and I think it’s best that way. It will only cause more pain.”

  He swallowed. “Ah. At any rate, I don’t understand why circumstances did not continue as they did from that night on—the certain night in June 1861.” Again, he cocked his head. “I wish I knew what had gone wrong. I can’t believe he would—”

  “Mr. Parker.”

  “Ah.” He sighed. “This is why I wanted to discuss the matter privately.”

  “It is exactly why I didn’t.” Mummy helped Ivy to her feet, then rose. “I don’t think you really have much to say. You ask me for answers I cannot give, and you wish to find solutions for problems that are unsolvable.”

  “I don’t believe they are. I … Dash it all, Claire! You’ll never admit it, but this must be hell for you.”

  “Watch your tongue! And it’s Miss Chattoway.”

  “Legally?”

  She stilled. “Yes. Legally.”

  “So you are not—”

  “I am not.”

  “But were you?”

  She drew herself up, and her eyes flashed. “Do you believe it of me?”

  Mr. Parker shook his head, eyes solemn. “Miss Chattoway, I don’t believe anything of you anymore. I don’t know what to think! I fail to understand what could have happened—surely there were no grounds for annulment, but if you say that, in this matter, you were without blame, I will take your word.”

  Mummy stood still for a moment, her fingers tangled in Ivy’s blonde locks and her eyes distant. “I was without blame. I promise you that.”

  Mr. Parker sighed. “Then that is what I believe.”

  Alice wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about, but Mummy had forbidden her to speak—so she’d have to ask later. She was certain it was about her father. If only they could talk about it in ways that made sense, ways that gave specifics. That would be ideal.

  “Would you leave this life if you could? Would you marry me if I of
fered it?”

  That was unexpected. Based on the expression on Mummy’s face, she was as shocked as Alice.

  Frightened, Alice cowered into Mummy’s skirts. She hardly knew this man—and now he was proposing marriage to Mummy?

  “Don’t think you need to sacrifice yourself,” Mummy said after a long silence. “We’re doing well, and I’m sure I’m beyond preserving my honor.”

  He shifted in his chair. “I’m not the heir of Pearlbelle Park anymore, as the gossip papers probably informed you. I know that was always my best quality.” He attempted a smile. “After my fall from grace in Uncle John’s eyes, I was promptly disinherited. My cousin, Mr. Knight, is the owner now that Uncle John has passed on.”

  Mummy cocked her head. “Where are you going with this, Steven?”

  Alice wondered where the formal Mr. Parker had gone. Mummy almost never dropped formality.

  He smiled wryly. “Despite all that, I have a tidy sum to my name, and we could move somewhere where everyone wouldn’t know the past. Besides, if I were married, my daughter could come live with me. You know things about little girls.” He gestured at Alice and Ivy. “You could care for her as I never had time for. I think it would be the right thing to do.”

  “Ah.” Mummy raised her eyebrows. “So you and Lydia did have a child.”

  “Yes. I thought our marriage would turn the tide in favor of my inheriting, but, unfortunately, it only angered Uncle John further.” He cleared his throat. “He blamed me for her death to the day of his. And he wouldn’t look at his granddaughter.”

  “So where is she? She must be three or four years old now—if I’m remembering when Lydia’s death took place.”

  “Yes, she’s four and is in Liverpool with my father. He has a nurse who helps him take care of her, and he loves children.” Mr. Parker shrugged. “My lifestyle wouldn’t benefit her, and I hear she’s doing well.”

  “So you don’t go see her?”

  He winced. “How can I? It feels as if she took everything from me. A child shouldn’t have to live with a father who views her as such. But … if you were to help me …” He looked up at Mummy, and again Alice had the impression that he was lost.