The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (7 page)

“Uh…wh-what? I d-didn’t hear you.”

“I was telling Jeanette about the runway show and how the crowd loved your creations. It’s just a matter of time until Nellie March becomes a reality.”

Nell winced. “It’s really too early to tell.”

Jeanette twirled her rope of pearls and winked at Nell. “Uncle Oscar’s not known for keeping his promises.”

Calvin stopped a waiter going past with a tray of soft drinks. “Any chance you’d bring us a round of those?”

The waiter said they were welcome to the ones on the tray as long as it was only ginger ale they were after. Calvin fished some wadded bills from his pocket and tossed them on the tray. When the drinks had been passed around, Calvin lifted his glass. “To new friends and old. And Nellie March.”

A general hubbub went around the table as Calvin explained how he’d come up with the name and that Mrs. Benchley jumped on it like a loose five-dollar bill on the sidewalk. He tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter that Nell was getting the attention and not him, but Nell knew it did. It mattered to her, too. Calvin was as good at basic design as she was; he just hadn’t found his groove yet. Sort of like Jeanette. But at the same time, it irritated her that Calvin assumed she’d get the nod for the label. The fizz in her stomach wasn’t from the ginger ale.

Nell looked around again for Mittie and was relieved to see her jostling through the crowd toward the table.

When she arrived, Iris hissed, “Where have you been?”

Mittie scowled. “Where do you think I’ve been? Right here. Dancing. And having a swell time, I might add. Matter of fact, I thought that was the point of coming here.” She gave a little wave to everyone around the table. “Iris and I can tell all our friends in Kentucky we’ve been to a speakeasy. Now if we could just figure out how to get a hold of some of that bathtub gin the newspapers crow about, our evening would be complete.”

Iris gave her sister a disapproving look and said, “This was fun, but the truth is, we’ve had a long day. If you don’t mind, Nell, maybe you can help us get a taxi back to the hotel. I don’t want Mother to worry.”

Mittie gave her sister a pouty look and Jeanette protested, “The night is still young. Just starting, actually. Stay a while longer.” Nell understood her real meaning.
If you all leave, Calvin might go with you.
Which is exactly what he did, saying he wanted to be a reliable escort. He pecked Jeanette and Greta on their cheeks and said he’d had a grand time.

As they made their way to the exit, the band resumed playing. The lilting melody from a muted saxophone drifted through the haze. Nell nudged Calvin and leaned in so he could hear her. “Maybe you should stay and dance with Jeanette.”

He shook his head. “She’s swell, but it’s not her I’m interested in.” He meshed his fingers with hers, the heat from dancing still pulsing in his touch.

Nell squeezed his hand, wishing they could be more than friends, but somehow her heart wasn’t in it.

Mittie glared at Iris when her sister held the door for them to exit. “You don’t have to be such a killjoy. Things were just getting fun.”

Outdoors, a cool evening breeze brushed their faces. Nell said, “It is getting late, but I’m glad you got to come.”

Mittie laughed and draped her arms around a street lamp and leaned back, her hair floating in the breeze. “Me, too, sweet cousin. Me, too.”

Nell shuddered while Calvin called, “Taxi!”

When Nell arrived on Monday morning, a ceramic vase with a bouquet of red roses was at her place, and a cup of coffee, still steaming, sat on Calvin’s empty desk. She sniffed the roses, no doubt from Soren. Mr. Fields didn’t seem like the gift and flowers type. As she reached for the card tied to one of the stems, Calvin came in the door carrying a tea service.

“For you, my lady. Just the way you like it.”

A small cream pitcher, a china cup, and a pot already steeping the tea.

“How did you know I missed my tea this morning?”

“Just a lucky guess.”

“Mr. Fields wanted me here by eight sharp, and I couldn’t dare be late.” She bit her lip, the unopened card still in her hands and Calvin flashing her a curious, crooked grin.

“You gotta keep the boss happy. So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The flowers?”

“They’re b-beautiful.” Slowly it came to her. The look on his face. The tea. They weren’t from Soren or Mr. Fields at all. She pulled the card from the tiny envelope and read:

Tears sprang to her eyes, and when she dared to look at Calvin, he still had the same shy grin and looked as if he were holding his breath.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. How did you know they’re my favorite?”

“I didn’t. Not for sure. But you’re always talking about your mother and her roses…well, I thought maybe you would like them.”

“I love them. But you didn’t have to.”

“I’d have brought you flowers a lot sooner if I’d known that’s what it took to get a kiss.”

Nell’s face grew hot. If ever she needed the right words, now was the time. Her tongue felt as leaden as the knot in her stomach.

“Thank you for the flowers, but please, could we just stop this talk about Nellie March? If I keep expecting it, Mr. Fields might balk and never give me a label. You know I want it in the worst way, but I want to be deserving and ready for it.” It was the best she could come up with.

Calvin, bless him, stepped aside. “Better drink your tea before it gets cold.” He went to his desk, pulled out a fresh sketch pad, and picked up his coffee mug. He had a nice profile, a muscular jaw that was clean-shaven. His Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed his coffee.

“You’re very nice, you know.”

He made a soft snort. “That’s what my mother says.”

“Well, she’s right.” Nell poured cream into her cup and filled it with tea. When she took a sip, warmth like a soft throw washed over her. She liked Calvin, but it was wrong to lead him on, and she wished within her depths that she could at least feel a spark of something. If only he and Jeanette had hit it off.

An hour later, Mr. Fields called her into his office, pointed to a chair for her to sit, and asked about her weekend. But his tone implied he wasn’t interested in the answer.

“My aunt and cousins from Kentucky made a surprise visit, so it was nice. And you?”

“I’ve had better. Seems we have a little problem. No, make that a big problem.” He measured his words, the dark look lingering on his face.

Nell twirled a strand of hair that had escaped the chignon at her nape, wary of his tone. “Oh?”

“I just talked to Michaels on the phone. He’s livid, says his phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Apparently Daphne Benchley was shopping on Saturday and saw several gowns from the show in the House of Price display window. Phillip Price, his biggest rival. Daphne called him immediately, of course, but now he’s blaming me
and
you for letting the designs come into unscrupulous hands.”

Nell’s breath caught, the gravity of his words hitting her like a brick. “Me? Why?”

“Michaels works solo, only has two dressmakers who he trusts implicitly. I’ve assured him you used the standard precautions for safekeeping of the designs, but it gives me pause. Did you show the drawings to anyone? Take them from the office?”

Nell’s throat closed off, a sick feeling washing over her. “I…uh…well…”

“Speak up. Think. Who saw the designs?”

“I took them into the w-workroom so Hazel and Marcella c-could see them. They wouldn’t do anything. You gave me p-permission to include them for the work. The beads and such. Otherwise, I would never have f-finished in time.”

“What about Gold? Did Calvin see them?”

“Of course. We share a s-studio.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Calvin didn’t steal them.” Could he have? He did make a number of comments about the designs, but Nell tried to remember if he’d seemed partial to any of them. And he kept going on about the Nellie March label. Was it some kind of a cruel joke since none of his designs captured their boss’s eye? No. Calvin wouldn’t do something like that.

“I did sh-show them to Calvin, and Percy was there…uh, I think he was. I don’t r-remember.”

“Here I thought my biggest problem was to keep you from making a fool of yourself with your blamed speech defect, and now you’ve gone and breached our reputation. Ruined it.”

“I d-didn’t. I would n-never.”

Harjo Pritchard stuck his head in the door. “Excuse me, could I have a word, please?”

Mr. Fields’s jaw twitched. “You’re excused, Miss Marchwold.”

Nell hurried out as fear coiled in her stomach. She stopped in the stairwell to collect herself. She was finished at Oscar Fields Millinery. Mama would no doubt let her return home to Kentucky and mop up her tears, which now streamed down her cheeks, but she was a failure. Pure and simple. And embarrassed. But careless? How? Confusion churned with worry in the pit of her stomach. How had the designs been compromised?

She sat on the last step and put her head between her hands, going over the past two weeks. Taking the tube of designs to the workroom each day, showing them to Hazel and Marcella. Discussing them. The gnawing in her belly grew worse. She’d tacked them up on the cork the way she often did. Had she left them unattended?

She knew the answer. More than once, she’d gone to the notions room for supplies. At least a couple of times, she’d gone to appointments in the consultation room. Someone…anyone could have slipped a design or two from the tube and
borrowed
them.

On legs of lead, she went to the studio, but just outside the door, she took a breath and plastered a smile on her face. She wouldn’t breathe a word to Calvin. Not yet, but in her heart, she knew she’d committed the unforgivable crime of the fashion world.

Thankfully, the studio was empty. She slumped into her chair.
Think. Do something.
Her mind was blank. She picked up her appointment diary to see if she had anything scheduled. Missing a meeting with a client would only add to her list of transgressions. Her morning was free. She pulled out a sketch pad and drew a few lines, but all she saw was Soren’s face, the way his eyes flashed when he ripped her designs. He was capable of ruining her, but was it her fault?

She paced around the studio, Nora’s empty table next to Percy’s taunting her. Where was Percy? Calvin? Was Mr. Fields interrogating them? Calvin, she could imagine. Not Percy. He and Mr. Fields were chummy. She glanced at Percy’s desk, the shelves above it tidy with his pencils, his supplies, a grainy picture of his grandchildren. A solid citizen.

Moving on, she went to the window and stared at the traffic below. Cars, like minnows, streamed in both directions.
House of Price.
That’s where Daphne saw the alleged replicas. She’d seen it from the trolley on her way to Dr. Underwood’s.

She grabbed her handbag and headed out the door, and after zigzagging between cars, she made it to the trolley stop. A woman with a shopping bag elbowed her. “Watch it!”

“Beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t see you.” No sign of the trolley. Just as Nell thought of hailing a cab, the familiar clang rang in the distance. Once aboard, she wished she had called a cab. It would have been faster than the trolley, which crept along at its usual lazy pace. Uncertainty skittered through her mind. Was this a waste of time?

Her steps slowed as she approached the House of Price, but one look at the window display, and Nell’s heart plummeted. Two of Soren’s designs hung on mannequin forms, and worse, one was his favorite—the black beaded dress with the swingy strips for a skirt. She braced herself and entered the store.

A plumpish clerk with a space between her two front teeth greeted her and asked how she could be of service.

Nell willed herself to be confident and not stammer. “The black dress in the window caught my eye. May I see it, please?”

The clerk lumbered over to a rack and pulled out a dress of the same style. Nell held it up and tilted her head as if to get a better look, but all the while inspecting it. The seams were sloppy, and whoever made it skimped on the bugle beads, which didn’t have the exact pattern as Soren’s design. A fair replica that looked good from a distance, but was decidedly poor quality up close.

“It’s lovely. And so unique, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind. Could I possibly make an appointment with Mr. Price and see if he can design something for me?”

The woman pinched her lips and drew up her shoulders. “Mr. Price only does custom orders for preferred customers. Have you been in before?”

Nell shook her head.

“Perhaps you’d find something else that would be more to your liking. We specialize in the latest couture and offer a range of styles.”

“I’ll just have a stroll around then.”
Latest couture.
Right. Stolen from under the noses of other designers.

Nell feigned interest and ambled over to the hat display and nearly gasped before she caught herself. The velvet cloche she’d been working on the day Nora was fired graced the center of the display. Same magenta color, but again, not the best imitation, the rosette cheap, the lining a low grade of satin. Someone in the workroom had to be responsible.

Her neck prickled. She clearly remembered stowing her things when Harjo came in. She’d dashed off, then later remembered, she’d left the sketch on the worktable. Right in front of Calvin.

Nell pivoted suddenly and came face-to-face with the shop clerk. An odd feeling shrouded her—like she should be able to place the woman. “Beg your pardon. Say, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mrs. Morris. Nadine Morris.”

“Nadine, it was lovely to meet you. I’d relish trying on a couple of dresses, but I’m meeting someone for lunch. Perhaps later.”

“And your name, miss?”

But Nell was already halfway to the door and more than ready to be gone. Not only Soren’s designs, but hers as well. Someone was very cheeky. She just didn’t know who.

By Wednesday, when she met Aunt Sarah and the girls for a farewell dinner, nothing had changed. Nell had been busy with new requests, all friends of Mrs. Benchley from the Stottlemeir Club. The dreaded moment when Mr. Fields would call her back into his office and fire her hadn’t come. When she ventured into the workroom, she saw
traitor
written on every face. And mostly, her heart ached for fear that Calvin was, in fact, the guilty party. Avoiding him was impossible, but she invented excuses to run off and not exchange their normal banter. During her lunch breaks, she wandered amid the shops in the garment district, looking for other imitation dresses in shop windows, scrutinizing hat displays to see if one of hers was there. A feeling in her bones told her the cloche with serpentine braid she’d seen at Lily’s Place had been lifted from her portfolio as well. But her noontime searches turned up nothing new.

Aunt Sarah looked up from the menu in the dining room at the Algonquin Hotel. “I’ve heard that some of the
Vanity Fair
writers frequent here at lunch. Not that I would know them in person, mind you, but it does have quite a literary feel, doesn’t it? I suppose now that you’re moving up in the fashion business, Nell, you’ll be moving in the finer circles and might happen upon them.”

Nell shook her head. “I d-doubt it. The show wasn’t as successful as I first thought.” It was vague without going into the details.

“You look weary. Is everything all right?”

“Fine. And I’m happy to see you all again. Tell me, have you had a good trip?”

After they ordered, her aunt and cousins chattered about the shops they’d visited, the clothes they’d ordered, and going to the New Amsterdam Theatre to see the Ziegfeld Follies.

The waiter served their meal and asked if there was anything else. Aunt Sarah waved him away and leaned in. “Enough about us. Tell me, I’ve had such hopes that things would materialize with you and the young man in your office. What was his name?”

“Calvin Gold.” Mittie drummed her fingers on the table and gave her mother an impatient look. “He’s not Nell’s type. We told you that.”

Aunt Sarah nodded. “Yes, sweetie. But that wasn’t who I was referring to. It wouldn’t be all that unusual for an apprentice to catch the eye of her boss. And if I remember correctly, he’s quite dashing.”

Nell nearly choked on her sip of water. “Mr. Fields? Oh, goodness, I’m not in the least bit interested. He’s much older for one thing, and my career is first.” Aunt Sarah’s idea was preposterous, although her mother had made similar remarks, had asked if Mr. Fields had taken her out socially, letting her hopes dangle over the telephone wires.

“But, darling, surely you’ve thought of your prospects.” She patted Nell’s hand. “Perhaps when you come to Louisville for Iris’s Christmas ball, you’ll catch the eye of some nice young man.”

“Mmmm.” It was easier to go along than be the pebble in Aunt Sarah’s shoe, and it was difficult to explain how working with Soren had ignited such passion in her. And it wasn’t romance.

“It’s going to be simply marvelous. Two days after Christmas during that lull before New Year’s. We’ve hired a band and…”

Everyone had their obsessions—even Aunt Sarah. Nell just hoped she still had a job by Christmas.

While her aunt stopped for a breath, Iris clapped her hands together. “I bet that Nellie March thing catches on, and you’ll be swamped with orders. Isn’t that the cutest name?”

Nell shrugged. “No label. It was silly to get my hopes up.”