Chapter One
The Breakers
Newport, Rhode Island
May 1916
Violet pushed back two layers of curtains to peer out the window. Streaks of sunlight filtered through the air, disappearing into the solemn gray Atlantic Ocean that stretched beyond the mansion’s foundation. She stared at the blurry horizon. England lay that way. Ireland. Miles upon miles of silent, frigid water, unpenetrated by New England’s determined sunshine. With a shiver, she let the curtains drop.
Much more welcoming was the ornate bedroom she stood in. It was three times longer, at least, than the room she and Sadie shared in Cold Lake, with high ceilings and elaborate, egg-and-dart molding. The walls were painted a sweet shade of green that reminded her of their childhood room in the city, a place of late-night whispers and dens under the covers. She pushed the memory away as she reached for her suitcase. The past was a dangerous place to visit. Dresses and shoes were much safer.
Her seventeen-year-old sister sat on the bed, slouching as if the air itself weighed ten pounds. “Did you get a look at the main hall as we came in?” Sadie asked. “Cripes. Gran would have a heart attack. Imagine cleaning all that gold leaf! You’d think we’d landed in Versailles or something.”
Violet tucked her spare corset, corset cover, chemise, and petticoats into a drawer alongside her garters and buttonhook. She handled her composition book with care, aware that the loose sheets of her sister’s application for the next year of school were tucked inside. Getting Sadie to complete it—and, more importantly, agree to go back—was one of Violet’s top priorities for this two-week stay.
At the bottom of her case was a packet of envelopes, tied with brown string. She fingered the string, considering. No, not now, she thought. The case clicked shut.
“Mother always said this place was grand beyond belief, but that doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Violet paused, then dropped her head, pretending to rearrange her stockings. The temperature in the room dropped three degrees at the mention of their mother.
Sadie made a study of removing her shoes. “When you do my case, leave the pink dress out, won’t you?” She pushed off her hat and flopped flat on the bed.
Violet stowed her own case under the bed and hoisted Sadie’s. Inside was a jumble of crushed shoes and crumpled dresses. Stockings wrapped around wash towels.
“Why the pink dress?” Violet asked. “You aren’t going down tonight, are you? They offered to bring us supper up here.” She lifted the pink dress and shook out the wrinkles. That dress was hers by rights. She and her sister were the same size and could share clothes, but—as with many things—Sadie had slyly moved the pink dress into her own wardrobe so many times that now they both accepted that it belonged to her.
“Of course, I’m going down.” Sadie pounced toward Violet like a kitten. “You should, too! Come on, we’ll go together. Put on your favorite, that navy one, and we can brave the grand salon shoulder to shoulder. I could hear the music starting as we came up. There are sure to be loads of people there. Maybe dancing!” She grabbed the pink dress by the waist and sashayed behind a floral painted screen.
Violet’s body clenched, top to toe. The last thing she wanted was a crowd. “No, not tonight. I’m so tired from the trip. Aren’t you tired?”
“I was,” Sadie said airily, tossing dirty clothes onto the floor, “but now I’m not. Not now that we’re here.” She hopped up and down to get the pink skirt to settle over her petticoat, then emerged, effortlessly lovely, waiting for Violet do up the eye hooks on her belt. That done, she began to take down her hair. “Come on, Vi, say you’ll come. I may not be brave enough to go it alone.”
“You? Not brave enough?” Violet forced a laugh. “I’m just not ready. Let’s ease in tomorrow. You know I’m better at breakfast.”
“Oh, please!” Sadie caught her hands. “We’re only here for two weeks. It’ll go in a flash. Let’s live it up before we have to head home!”
Violet felt her resolve slipping. She could never resist Sadie when she pleaded. But it was also true that her skin crawled at the thought of joining a crowd in the grand salon. Empty chatter made her stomach heave. Back when she and Sadie had been in school, she hadn’t minded so much, but the past year had changed her. Pleasure-seeking was a language she no longer spoke.
“Not tonight,” she said more firmly. “Tomorrow, I promise to be part of the action. But tonight, I must have peace. I am here for a work purpose, you know, not just to have fun. Besides, you’ll want your beauty sleep.”
Pink spots flared in Sadie’s cheeks, the way they had when she was three years old and in a temper. Violet held her breath.
“If you think I’m going to miss a single minute of time with other humans, you’re gravely mistaken. You might enjoy moldering away in a closet, but I don’t.” She plunked down on the stool before the round mirror and brushed her hair hard. “I’ve been waiting for this for a full year. I’m going down.”
Violet moved behind her sister. Sadie favored a Gibson-girl hairstyle that required five full minutes of back combing. She also liked to work in two switches of her own hair to make the effect fuller, and this was nearly impossible to manage on her own. So, despite the roiling in her stomach, Violet took the brush out of Sadie’s hand.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Violet felt her heart lurch between memories, responsibilities, and love. “As you like,” she said softly. “If you see Cousin Alva, give her our thanks for the invitation.”
When Sadie’s hair was done, she sprang up and kissed Violet on the cheek. “You know,” she said, “it isn’t too late to change your mind. Even a chicken has to leave its nest once in a while.”
As if to cap that statement, she swung out the door, pulling it closed behind her.