Chapter 15
The next morning, Rachel Pearler arrived to pick up Hermy for a shopping trip while Greg and Fave tended to other business. Even at dinner the previous night, Hermy had warmed to Rachel immediately. Still, it had been Hannah who had Hermy’s admiration for running a button factory to lift impoverished local Jews out of their rut and producing some of the finest buttons in the country. Even Lizzie Pearler, who’d married one of the Klonimus Crown Jewelers, had helped to make a crown for the Prince Regent. Hermy felt so inspired by the prowess and courage of Rachel, Hannah, and Lizzie that she wished she could defy her station and do more than she was destined as a high-born daughter. She wanted her return to cause a stir as if she were rising from the ashes of her reputation and achieving something much greater.
And Hermy wanted even more. She’d met all the children at the Pearlers and enjoyed the chaos at bedtime, even the little runaway in his sleep shirt hidden between her legs. All this was worth returning to society for, Hermy decided when she folded her kid-gloved hands in her lap and smiled at Rachel, who sat across from her in the carriage.
Although Rachel was dressed in the finest fashion, her eyes were warm, and her hug heartfelt. It was all too easy to understand why Greg cherished his old friends and their wives.
The carriage ride to Regent Street wasn’t long, but the closer they were to London’s shopping area, the heavier unease descended on Hermy’s heart.
“I’m not at all certain it’s wise for me to shop for a dress on Regent Street.” Hermy hugged herself when a young girl ushered her and Rachel through the elongated store. Mannequins in the latest fashion looked like oversized frilly dolls and lined the sides of the shop as if they were watching Hermy. Watching and judging the fallen girl with the audacity to return. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“We have a private fitting, so don’t worry.” Rachel followed the shop assistant through the store into a corridor hung with elegant drapes even though there were no windows. They turned left into another room.
Hermy acknowledged it was all rather pretty, but she couldn’t shake off her worry. “I fear being seen,” she mumbled.
“You will be seen eventually, Hermy. That’s why we came here. You’ll dazzle them with your beauty when they spot you and sharpen their tongues to lash out.”
“You make it sound like it’s a weapon.”
“It is a weapon of manipulation, you know that, don’t you?”
Hermy rubbed her upper arms. Fave had been such a quiet boy; how was it possible he’d married this brave woman, so full of wisdom and knowledge of where she belonged? Hermy never knew exactly; she’d been prepared for her debut, a beacon of hope for her family, but then she’d fallen from grace. She’d clung to chess as a way to seize control over the pieces. Each had character in her mind, personalities, and stories. Of course, each piece had claimed victory, but rooks had different ways about them compared to bishops. Even pawns had ways to become a queen if they worked together. They advanced into a group, and Hermy couldn’t help but think Rachel was pushing her to become a queen. But for that, Hermy knew all too well she had to reach the final square of her opponent’s side. Well, if being at the most elegant dress shop on Regent Street on a Tuesday morning wasn’t that square, she’d eat her wooden rook.
Rachel had guided her into this realm of luxury and elegance, a world far removed from the simplicity of their daily lives. The back room of the shop without mannequins, a treasure trove of fashion and finery, welcomed them with open arms, drawing them into its lavishly appointed heart. Through Hermy’s eyes, the dressmaker’s backroom on Regent Street unfolded like a scene from a dream, each detail more enchanting than the last. With every added layer of elegance and seclusion, Hermy felt a little more at ease.
Rachel was right; Hermy needed to look her best. The shabby old dresses she’d worn in the country would no longer do if she wanted to convey, “I’m back to stay and conquer.”
But which dress did say that exactly? She couldn’t very well have the words embroidered on the back.
As they were ushered into the secluded back room, a private haven for the elite, the air was fragrant with the subtle smell of opulence—faint scents of the dyes of new fabrics, flowery and pungent perfumes, mingling with the sweet aroma of berries. Before them, a table gleamed under the soft glow of candlelight adorned with flutes of sparkling champagne, bubbles dancing merrily to the surface. Beside the golden liquid, a bowl of strawberries awaited, each a jewel in its own right, crowned with a dollop of whipped cream and a dusting of powdered sugar. They were arranged in two circles around a little bowl with shavings of something dark.
“Oh, how delightful.” Rachel took a strawberry and dipped its little white cream hat into the center bowl. “Try the shavings; it’s rich chocolate from Switzerland.
Hermy tried it. The velvety richness of the chocolate melted on her tongue, and the deep notes of vanilla sugar in the whipped cream enveloped her and transported her to the snow-capped mountains in Switzerland, where she imagined Rachel grew up like a princess, cherished and doted on. As soon as Hermy bit into the strawberry, its fruity tartness burst forth, mingling with the cream, the combined textures thoroughly satisfying—yet she wanted more. As she savored the exquisite combination of flavors, she picked another strawberry.
The refracted light from the crystal glasses flickered across Rachel’s face, casting a warm glow that highlighted the spark of excitement in her eyes, a spark that mirrored Hermy’s burgeoning sense of adventure in this secluded, luxurious world. Rachel was going to show her another side of Regent Street, and Hermy predicted that the experience of the Ton would be different with the Crown Jewelers on her side. No wonder Greg felt so at home with the Pearlers; they were exceptional people.
Around them, the riches of the fabric world sprawled in decadent disarray. Piles of materials in every imaginable hue and texture beckoned to Hermy. Silks that shimmered like moonlight on water, velvet deep and lush as a midnight forest, and laces as intricate as baby’s breath offered a bouquet for the senses.
“Rachel held a light ochre fabric to her cheek and examined her reflection in the gilded framed floor mirror that faced the row of three windows to the street. “I never had a season. Jewish girls don’t usually have one, but I was supposed to be introduced in society.”
“Did you marry Fave before your season started?” Hermy asked. A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked over her shoulder, certain she was being watched.
“Yes. By the time I was introduced, we’d married.” Rachel picked a turquoise fabric that reflected every shade of light from the cream walls, the hues of pinks from the drapes, and even the flickers of the shadows rushing by the window. “Try this; the color is a perfect complement to your hair and eyes.” Rachel held the fabric to Hermy’s face.
“Is this satin?”
“No, it’s lustring, heavier than satin and shinier in this quality.” Rachel’s hands trailed over the rolls of similar-colored fabrics that lined the wall. Each cube coordinated in tones and textures, as if outfits were begging to be sown from complementary fabrics.
“It looks like Liquid Metal,” Hermy marveled.
The dressmaker arrived, a measuring tape hanging from her neck like a stole. “Bonjour mesdames.”
She chatted excitedly to Rachel for a minute in French and then eyed Hermy. “A wedding dress and?—”
“Full wardrobe,” Rachel said.
“Very well, Mesdames. It is my pleasure.” With an air of enterprise, she showed Hermy to a small room where three mirrors hung on the wall. She heard the rustling of fabric behind a curtain and looked in that direction.
“It’s the baroness,” Madame Giselle said. “This is for you.” She showed Hermy to a corner of the room with a white upholstered bench and the same burgundy drapes adorning the walls. “I will fetch you some things to try on, and then we will make the alterations necessary. Please have a refreshment.”
Madame Giselle gestured to a tray of little pralines with glossy, chocolate-coated exteriors, and then she left.
“Try the round ones; they have marinated cherries,” a young woman said with a strong Russian accent. Her rolled r’s jumped out like a dancer out of line. She emerged from behind the curtains, plopped one of the chocolates in her mouth, and chewed with aplomb. “I cannot get enough of them, especially these days.” She stroked her belly. It was round and stuck forward. She wore a black chemise draped over the front and tied with a ribbon.
“I’m Sofia.” She turned her back to the three mirrors and looked over her shoulder. Her movement was astonishingly graceful, and her posture impeccable. Yet, when she eyed Hermy from top to bottom, Hermy shivered as if a curse had washed over her.
“I’m Hermione.” She took a rectangular chocolate and bit a piece. The mellow, honey flavor resisted the embedded hazelnuts, and Hermy should have enjoyed the comforting chewiness of the nougat but felt rather tongue-tied instead.
Madame Giselle had said that this other customer was a baroness, and that could only be bad news for Hermy because word would get out among the Ton that the fallen girl was back. What was worse, she could be caught purchasing lingerie on Regent Street while staying with Greg, a treat for the gossips who’d call her a mistress returned in shame. And yet, Hermy couldn’t get herself to make a retreat yet. She was there to find the right gown for a grand entrance, and an attack was her preferred method of playing when her defenses were weakened.
So, Hermy considered the situation: Sofia, adorned in the trappings of wealth and status, navigated the intricacies of the fitting room with an air of aristocratic disdain. She resembled the enigmatic foxglove, striking in appearance, her elegance unmatched, mirroring the plant’s statuesque beauty and vibrant hues. Her pregnancy, rather than softening her, seemed to underscore her inherent danger, much like the foxglove”s vivid flowers stand out against its poisonous leaves.
“I should go.” Hermy placed the half-eaten chocolate on a folded napkin next to the tray, ready to turn to the hall that connected her to the path back to Rachel, who was also trying something on. Just then, Madame Giselle arrived, arms outstretched, layers of sheer muslin and lace fabrics piled atop them.
“Here’s the latest bridal collection from Paris.”
“Oh, a bride, how lovely!” The baroness in black lace placed another chocolate in her mouth. This Baroness Sofia certainly had an appetite. Despite her friendly words, the air around her was charged with a sweet, almost intoxicating scent reminiscent of foxglove’s deceptive allure. Hermy gave a curt nod and huddled in the corner with the white bench while Madame Giselle hung the frilly whites on the cleats.
“This is Chinese mulberry silk treated with papaya seeds for more softness,” she said in a French singsong. “I added Belgian lace, the exact type Mrs. Pearler prefers. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but this shade of white would suit your complexion perfectly. It’s a cool tone just right for a wedding, yet it is elegant enough to continue its service long after the wedding night.”
“Who are you marrying?” The baroness asked, shamelessly stuffing another chocolate in her mouth. She must be exercising rather vigorously if she could stomach so many sweets and still maintain her slim silhouette despite the baby. She looked a little wrong, not because her navel was stretched into an oval that looked like a screaming mouth and showed through her sheer chemise but because she just didn’t seem capable of a mother’s warmth.
Hermy pretended not to hear, drew the curtain shut, and crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to undress and expose herself next to a stranger. If her impression of this Baroness Sofia was correct, she’d be the first to spread vicious rumors among the Ton. Hermy rustled with the fabrics.
Swish!The curtains moved, and Sofia stuck her head in, holding the fabric to frame her face. Sofia’s scent was nearly undetectable, a deceptive mix of neroli and danger, inviting and yet forewarning. “Need any help with the buttons of your frock?”
Drat! Hermy shrugged off her walking boots and made a great fuss about setting them aside.
“I’m right here!” Madame Giselle pulled the drapes open.
Sofia took a single step back and crossed her arms, standing in her black lingerie like an absurd statute as though used to conversing in such attire.
“You must excuse the baroness. She was a ballerina and thinks a petticoat is like a tutu.”
So that’s why her carriage was effortless, a skill from her past.
“Don’t think you can joke with me because I’m not an English baroness.” Sofia lifted her chin high in the air and tapped her naked foot on the floor. Her toes were covered in flakey white callus as if her feet had worked harder than any other part of her body. “I was a ballerina at the Bolshoi in Moscow. As soon as I produce an heir for my husband, I’ll take on residence in his castle in K?nigsberg.”
“Prussia?” Hermy asked.
“Indeed.” Sofia gave a self-indulgent smile. “I am already learning German. Wer sind Sie?” Who are you?
“This is the future Baroness Stone,” Madame Giselle said with the pride of a mother hen. To Hermy’s dismay, Madame Giselle was rather indiscreet when it came to her distinguished clientele.
Hermy’s heart dropped. She would be introduced in the Ton but didn’t want it to be done via a pregnant Prussian baroness in a lace chemise.
“Stone, as in Gregory Stone?” Sofia arched a brow and tilted her head backward. “He won’t play me, you know.”
“Play?”
“Chess. My husband won a ticket from him to the Pearler’s winter ball, and he owes me a game of revanche.”
“Sofia!” Rachel burst into the room, dropping the parcel she’d held. “Step back!”
“Oh, Mrs. Pearler, of course, you’re here. Too bad the English don’t restrain the Jews to dedicated areas yet. It works so well in Russia.” Sofia said and gave Rachel a superciliary glance. “I had the pleasure of meeting Stone’s fiancée. Did you know he was getting married?”
“Come on, Hermy.” Rachel held out her hand. “Madame Giselle, please have the full wardrobe sent for a fitting.”
“To Baron Stone’s residence?” Madame asked.
Rachel flinched.
“Oh, delicious! The fiancée is already in residence at his house? Pray tell, Mrs. Pearler, is Hermy connected to Lady Hermione Ellsworth, the sister of the late Earl of Ashby, the shamed younger sister who’s been locked away in Kent?”
Rachel deflated and looked at Hermy, pursing her lips as if to sharpen the words that were forming in her mind.
This was exactly how Hermy imagined her reintroduction to the Ton: disastrous, vicious tongues, ugly gossip, and the disapproval of her past in the papers.
Rachel folded her hands and assumed a placid look, her back ramrod. “The fittings for the wedding will be at his residence where I’m chaperone, if you must know, S-o-f-i-a.”
“Baroness, it is for you.” Sofia openly seethed.
“Yes, Sofia, you are as fond of your title as any of us, but this is England, and you’re little more than a political envoy here.”
“I’m a diplomatic relation?—”
“You’re a spy. A gun for hire, dear.”
Sofia pursed her lips. “Then beware of my bullets. You won’t see them coming.”
“That remains to be seen since you’ve been aiming at us for a while.”
“See you at the wedding then,” Sofia called after them as Rachel pulled Hermy, shoeless, into the next room.
“She will be there, invited or not,” Rachel mumbled as she pulled Hermy further.
“Your boots, oh-la-la!” Madame Giselle came after them, breathless. “Have I spoken out of turn?” She looked scared and confused.
“?a ne fait rien, Madame. Merci pour tout et à la prochaine fois.” It doesn’t matter. Thank you for everything, and until next time. Rachel remained polite but rushed. Hermy slipped on her shoes as quickly as she could, and they left.
But it did matter, didn’t it? Rachel was furious in the carriage and called Sofia many nasty things in an impressive array of languages. When they pulled up the carriage, she stormed out of the cabin, and as soon as she entered the Pearler’s elegant foyer, she called, “Fave! Arnold!”
“Why are you so upset?” Hermy suspected it was because she was the fallen girl, and now Rachel’s good name was associated with her return.
“Fave!” Rachel called again as she shrugged off her gloves, and the butler took hers and Hermy’s pelisses. “Arnold!”
Footsteps appeared from the top of the stairs, and two well-built men, one blond and the other dark-haired appeared in cream breeches and white shirts. They held fencing masks in their hands and smiled as they chatted.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Rachel’s fury-red face, their miens fell.
Fave rushed to her side. “What happened?”
“Sofia was at Madame Giselle’s.”
Arnold’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound accompanying the shock that froze his features. “Oh no!” he choked out.
“And Madame Giselle told her that Hermy is marrying Greg.” Rachel wrung her hands, and Fave put his arm around her in support.
“Why is that so bad?” Hermy ventured.
“It’s not bad that you’re marrying Greg, of course. It’s the best thing that ever happened to him,” Fave explained.
“But we need to make sure that it can happen because you gave List fodder for blackmail,” Arnold added.
“I’ll take you home with our carriage, Hermy,” Fave said, and Rachel nodded.
“Perhaps she should stay with us until the wedding?” Rachel spoke to Fave, and when their eye met, it was as if nobody else was in the room.
“Nothing will help with the gossip, Rachel. You know the Ton will make her out to be a mistress if they so wish, whether it’s true or not.” He turned to Hermy. “You are, however, always welcome with us.”
Hermy shook her head in disbelief. “You think that is truly enough to warrant a scandal?”
“We don’t know that List will attack with this news,” Arnold said. “But you have to let Greg know not to let his guard down.”
“I will,” Fave said.
Hermy followed him to the carriage.
The middle game, that critical phase where strategies unfolded and true battles were fought, mirrored her own tangled circumstances. She couldn’t help but feel that her opening moves with Sofia had been less than ideal, setting the stage for a middle game fraught with uncertainty and peril. It was an unsettling realization, acknowledging that initial missteps could lead to a punishing round of maneuvering, where every decision felt weighted with consequence. How much of Sofia’s poison was lethal to Hermy’s hope to become Baroness Stone?