Page 95 of A Dress for the Wicked
“It would take more than a fire and an attack by a maid to stop me,” I said, only I was coughing at the same time, and my joke came out choked. I turned my head so my cheek pressed against the muscles of his chest.
There was a loud rattling nearby, and I pulled my face away. A red fire wagon was parked in front of the building, and firemen scurried around, shouting to each other and unwinding a leather hose. Black smoke mingled with black rainclouds in the sky.
Our models milled around, their dresses—our hard work—torn and stained with soot. Nearly all our guests were gone. Tilda was nowhere to be seen. Sophie was on the far end of the street, talking to a man and Ms. Walker. They both scribbled something down in notebooks. I rose unsteadily to my feet.
“Are you all right?” Tristan placed a steadying hand on my elbow.
“Yes. I’ll be right back.”
There was a woman just beyond Sophie. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was wearing a dark blue coat with a beaded capelet. It wasn’t the sort of attire to wear in the rain. Much too fashionable. A mink hat with a full brim was pulled low over her forehead. I made my way over to where she watched the smoke rise into the sky.
“Madame Jolène?” I asked.
She turned, clearly shocked I had recognized her. Her eyes predictably traveled from my shoes to my hair. Even though I’djust escaped the clutches of a furious maid and a fiery building, she still appraised me. For the first time, it didn’t matter to me.
“Emmaline,” she said. “I see you’ve found your color.”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I wanted to see the collection,” she said, shrugging slightly as though I’d asked a daft question.
She didn’t mention the fire or ask if we were all right. Fashion was always her focus, and everything else, even life-and-death peril, were peripheral to it. “What did you think?”
She took in a slow breath, seeming to deliberate over what she wanted to say.
“It was beautiful. I loved it.” She stared at me, unapologetic. “I knew it would be. You girls are talented. It’s too bad it ended in such calamity. Perhaps some things—and some people—are simply ill-fated.” She pulled the brim of her hat down farther, shadowing her face. I could still see her eyes, though, and their gaze intensified, as though a new thought had struck her. “It reminded me of debuting my first collection, over a decade ago. Back then, the Fashion House was run by a man, Lord Harold Spencer. He used the Fashion House for profit and fame and cared little for beauty.” She paused. “You think you are doing something new, but you are merely reprising all the revolutions that have come before you.”
She stuck her hands deep into her pockets. Her entire body was covered: her face by her hat, her body by her coat, and her hands by her pockets. It was impossible to see anything besides her clothing. When she spoke again, it sounded like she was talking to herself, not to me.
“If, despite the scandalous ending to your show, you manage to succeed, you will pave the way for the next generation, who will have some complaint about your style or your ethics or any other ridiculous thing. Fashion isn’t linear. It’s cyclical. Just as trends are, so are movements. Remember that, Emmaline, when you go wherever it is you will go after this.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait!”
Madame Jolène paused for just a moment, but then kept going. It was just as well. I didn’t know why I’d asked her to wait. Standing here, with soot in my throat and ashes in my hair, everything seemed so vivid—how I’d struggled so hard, how she’d always seen me as a pawn and not a person, how I’d done so many things that I’d never thought I’d do to get what I wanted. To get what I needed.
She moved across the street and I watched her go. Life had pushed us up against each other.Shehad pushed us up against each other. But maybe now I could understand. She was just trying to protect what was hers.
I woke up the next day with the scent of fire in my nose. The minute I slipped out of bed and stood up, my head swam, and I put a steadying hand on the headboard.
Yesterday, we’d walked back to our rented room. Even though we didn’t have money to pay for another night, we slept there, crossing our fingers that the landlady wouldn’t come to our door.
Sophie sat at the table, drinking milky tea and reading the morning paper.
“Good morning,” she said as I approached. “How are you?”
“I’m not so sure. Last night was...” I trailed off. Awful? Electrifying?
I saw Tilda’s eyes in my mind, how they’d flashed with hatred. It had been her all along, not Kitty. The revelation filled me with a strange mix of relief and regret. As soon as I could, I would apologize to Kitty for pushing her away when she’d never betrayed me.
“Last night was a success,” Sophie said. “Look at this.”
A SECOND FASHION HOUSE
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AVON-UPON-KYNT?
Rumors have been swirling for the past week that two former Fashion House Interview contestants had created a small collection of gowns outside the Fashion House label.
