Free The Dressmaker by Kate Alcott Page A

ship. Tess looked in vain for some sign of Jack Bremerton. Nothing. Just sad, stunned strangers who huddled together or stood apart. There was a stillness to them all, a loss of purpose.
    Suddenly Lucile began clapping her hands, almost as if a particularly dramatic performance had just come to an end. “We’ve made it to safety, and we’re going to celebrate,” she announced to the small band from Lifeboat One. She called to the captain of the
Carpathia
and issued a blithe order. “Captain, I’m sure you will do me this
essential
favor, won’t you? This is something I must have. Will one of your men take a photograph of those of us who were in my lifeboat? You have a camera, don’t you?”
    Taken by surprise, the startled captain nodded, beckoning to another officer. “The ship’s surgeon will help you, Madame,” he said.
    Cosmo, looking gaunt and weary, murmured to Tess. “Lucile wants a little ceremony to celebrate our survival, and she wants you in the picture, too,” he said. “Put your life belt back on, will you?”
    Tess stared at Cosmo and then at the sodden vest she still held in her hand. Put it on again? She looked over his shoulder and saw Madame beckoning, her eyes bright and smiling. But there was also something else. What? A tinge of panic? No, not Madame.
    “I know it’s a shivery old thing, but put it on—it will be a wonderful picture,” she said. “Come, dear, this will be for the history books. Our stalwart little crew deserves remembrance.”
    Lining up next to Lucile were the crewmen who had been in herboat, all of them standing stiffly in their life vests. The tall, wiry one with bad skin, the one named Sullivan, who was in charge of Lifeboat One, was boasting of his own bravery, but none of the others were listening.
    Tess glanced at the seaman named Bonney. He was standing to the side, observing the scene with a stony, unreadable expression. Deliberately, watching Lucile, he undid the ties of his vest and tossed it into a refuse bin.
    “I’ll not be a party to this vain celebration, not when so many died,” he said in a strong voice that carried across the deck.
    Lucile’s smile faded. “Your rudeness is surpassed only by your arrogance,” she snapped.
    “No, that’s your territory.”
    “How dare you say that to me?”
    “You know what I’m talking about.”
    Lucile turned away, her eyes glittering now with hard determination. “Tess?” She beckoned to the girl to join the huddled, wary-faced crew, some of whom were looking uncomfortably sheepish about Lucile’s mandate.
    “Go ahead,” Tess said quickly. “I wasn’t in your boat, after all.”
    “Very well.” Lucile turned away, taking her place at the center of the group. The surgeon of the
Carpathia
, with some diffidence, but out of respect for the famous Lady Duff Gordon, stood now, holding a camera. A silence fell over those on the deck as they watched.
    “Now, everybody—smile,” Lucile ordered.
    The camera clicked—a harsh, loud sound. His job done, the ship’s surgeon quickly hurried away.
    Sir Cosmo spoke then with each crewman in turn, murmuring, walking down the line, a slap on a shoulder here, a handshake there. Gratitude, solidarity, of course. Small murmurings to each man.
    “He thinks it’s his personal rowing team,” muttered a man from the watching crowd. “Gentry, managed to snare a private boat.” Tess turned in the direction of the voice, but it had merged into the crowd’s murmuring sighs.
    Lifeboats were still arriving, and the crowd on the deck wasgrowing, a potpourri of survivors. The shabby and bedraggled, the famous and glamorous, and somehow they all looked alike to Tess right now. Their faces were as pasty and blank as hers, she was sure of that. She looked for Jack Bremerton. A man as confident as he would have found a way to get off that ship. And then again, perhaps not.
    Peering over the side, she saw Mrs. Astor, looking faint and ill, her hair loose and snarled,