Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [49]
So the opera seemed like a salvation, but preparations were needed. Usually indifferent to clothes, Genia insisted that we have new dresses sewn for the occasion. We found a seamstress she felt suitable, but the woman charged twice as much as others. Eugenia, contrary to her usual level-headedness, decided she would be the one. Her name was Maria Verbova, and she commanded an entire army of girls, all dressed in plain but well-made checkered dresses and white caps. Her atelier had appearance of efficiency and expensive simplicity.
Eugenia was usually thrifty, but the prospects of attending the opera excited her into ordering two very expensive dresses (although she did note they would serve as ball gowns as well). She kept to her usual widow’s black, and I wondered if she wore it on my mother’s behalf. I do not remember my mother wearing anything but pastels; she grieved for my father deeply when he passed away, but did not seem to think that changing the color of one’s clothing made a difference.
For me, we decided to go with a silver-gray taffeta, with just a hint of pearly sheen. I never understood how people could become so enchanted by fabric until that day—looking at that taffeta was like looking into the autumn sky over St. Petersburg, at clouds so low they tore on the cathedral crosses and the Admiralty spire; it was like gray river reflecting that sky. I asked for white lace, to remind me of the frothy water whipped by the rising submarine hulls. They made my skirts wide and flounced, and the bodice clung to my shoulders, while mercifully covering most of my chest with lace and ruffles.
“It’s very nice,” Eugenia said. “A good color for you—it reminds me of a sword blade.”
That week, I went to my usual classes and for fittings afterwards. By Saturday Eugenia and I had new dresses, and tickets had been procured. Despite Eugenia’s humiliation and disgust with everything, she made sure our tickets were for the balcony, to the right of the emperor’s private box.
Getting dressed took longer than usual—the dress required an unreasonable number of starched petticoats, and Anastasia had to spend a few minutes making sure that the lace of the hem lay evenly. I ruffled the lace at the neckline, making it looked even more like foam.
We arrived to a full house, and I was simultaneously dismayed and thrilled to see that Dame Nightingale, Mr. Herbert, and Jack were present as well. They were seated in a balcony across from ours, and I smiled and nodded to them. It was a perfect opportunity to point Jack out to Eugenia and I did so.
She squinted at the trio through her lorgnette, and whispered to me, “Is this the Englishman who always walks you home?”
“Yes,” I said. “What do you think?”
“A bit stringy,” Eugenia said. “Then again, I don’t suppose you’re intent on cooking him, so it shouldn’t matter all that much.”
I laughed and covered my face with my fan—I didn’t want Jack to think I was laughing at him, even though I was. “And that lady in pearls and a blue dress is Dame Nightingale,” I said to Eugenia. “She’s with their Secret Service.”
“She is one of the spies then,” Eugenia said and gave a slow, bitter laugh.
“She is,” I said. “I got the impression that the man next to her is the reason. She is doing it to help him.”
“Surely there are other ways to help loved ones,” Eugenia said, frowning. “Besides, a little selfishness in certain people would be a blessing to the world.”
“I’m sure some are saying the same about you,” I said.
She laughed. “Indeed, I’m sure some people would be quite happy if I left the public sphere. But I am getting better—I have decided to only concern myself with matters that affect my blood relatives.”
“Funny you should mention it,” I said. “But I was going to ask you to interfere on behalf of Wong Jun.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“You haven’t been giving bribes or pulling