Page 43 of Save Me

“Like your dad?”

He nods and looks past me to Tristan. A clear sign that he has no desire to pursue this conversation any further.

As we climb the rest of the stairs, Tristan tells me about the special fabrics the Beaufort’s tailors work with and the vast array of cuff studs they can choose from.

Until now, a suit has just been a…suit to me. I could never really tell one from another, let alone have any idea of how many choices have to be made before one can be finished. Or how many ways of making them there are.

“We measure every single check so as to leave nothing to chance,” Tristan says as we leave the stairwell and step into abrightly lit corridor. “Attention to detail and the best quality have always been what makes Beaufort’s stand out. Which is why we even dress the royal family.” He stops near a photograph on the wall. I come closer, and my mouth drops open.

It’s the Prince of Wales.

“No way,” I breathe.

James says nothing, but Tristan beams proudly. “He is not our only royal client.”

We keep walking down the hallway, which is lined the whole way with pictures of celebs, politicians, and aristocrats—all wearing Beaufort’s suits. I see Pierce Brosnan, the Beatles, and even the prime minister. There is also a whole row of men whose faces mean nothing to me but whose very bearing tells me that they’re both powerful and rich.

“Have you met all these people?” I ask James.

He shrugs. “Some of them.”

“That’s so cool,” I murmur, and I’m almost a bit sad as Tristan opens a door at the end of the corridor, finally leading us into the workroom.

I look around curiously. It’s a huge space, almost like a giant warehouse. It’s Saturday, but there must be fifty people at work here, either at tailor’s dummies or tables laden with cloth.

“This way,” says Tristan, leading the way through the room, us in his wake. “The costumes are over here.” As we pass, people greet James politely but awkwardly. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see them putting their heads together and whispering. I wrinkle my brow as I look at James. He’s put on a mask of nonchalant arrogance, the expression I know from school. I wonder what’s going on in his head right now. He doesn’t look as though he enjoys the staff here seeming scared of him.

I want to know more about him, I realize suddenly. More about James, about Beaufort’s, and about what goes on behind the scenes of this wealthy family.

Tristan stops suddenly, dragging me back to reality. “Voilà,” he says, pointing to a dummy beside him, which…

…takes my breath away.

The tailor’s dummy is wearing a Victorian dress. Although it’s actually a two-piece, made in pleated green silk, with short sleeves and layered with black lace ruffles. The top is tightly fitted, with a restrained heart-shaped neckline and adorned with black glass beads. The tiered floor-length skirt is ostentatious, and its petticoats make it seem even bigger and heavier. It is by far the most beautiful dress I have ever seen in my life.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to take it home, or to school. I’m scared even to touch it in case I make it dirty.

Behind it, there’s another dummy dressed in a man’s suit that consists of a frock coat, waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. The coat is slightly nipped in at the waist and looks as though it’s made of soft wool. The black waistcoat has assorted pockets and sharp points at the bottom. The white shirt has a small collar and a black cravat, which is wider and a different shape from the ties I’m used to.

“A gentleman did nothing by halves in the matter of dress in those days. Every detail had to be perfect,” Tristan explains, starting to take the clothes off the mannequin. Once he’s finished, he beckons James to follow him behind a screen. “Come on, Mr. Beaufort. Let’s see if it fits you.”

James follows Tristan behind the screen without looking at me again. He seems more as though he’s been left on standby, not fully present. I haven’t seen a hint of emotion on his face since wegot out of the Rolls. As if his main aim was not to let anyone here have any access to his thoughts or feelings.

I can hear quiet mumbling from Tristan and the rustle of fabric as I venture a step closer to the dress. I wonder what kind of lady might have worn it and what kind of a life she would have led. Did she have dreams, and was she able to fulfill them?

After about five minutes, Tristan comes back around to me. “It fits him perfectly,” he declares in triumph.

“You have my measurements, Tristan,” James remarks dryly. “I’m sure that helped you out.” Then he too emerges from behind the screen.

My mouth goes dry.

James looks as though he’s just stepped out of the nineteenth century. The suit fits to a tee, and Tristan has even given him a side-parting and a walking cane. My eyes wander over his body, from top to toe.

James looksamazing.

It’s not until I look up to his face again that I realize how much I must have been staring, and judging by his filthy grin, James knows exactly what was just going through my head. My cheeks flush hot.

“Your turn, Ruby,” Tristan suddenly commands me.

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