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catered exclusively to the society set. The tinkling sound of a piano added a sophisticated note to its air, and champagne sold for ten dollars a bottle. The girls were clean, refined, and trained in the art of conversation. On Friday and Saturday nights, only clients in evening dress with bouquets of flowers were admitted. And, above all, Miss Jennie’s was honestly run. In some of New York’s brothels, called panel houses, a man would emerge from behind a detachable panel in the wainscoting and steal a man’s wallet from his pants pocket while he was busy with a girl. Such a thing would never happen at Miss Jennie’s. Nor did her girls use knockout drops to rob clients.
    George was drawn to Kitty immediately. He didn’t mind that other men coveted her too. In a short time, she paid George the highest compliment a whore can pay—she had sex with him without compensation in her off hours. The two soon fell in love with each other.
    â€œGeorgie, Kent sent me. I have wonderful news. He said to tell you he’s calling off the debt. You’re free, my love.”

10
    â€œTake a deep breath and hold it.”
    Mrs. Johnston yanked hard on the laces of the corset, and Julia Cross groaned as the air was pushed out of her body. The English housekeeper, a stout old woman with beefy forearms, tied the corset as expertly as if she were wrapping a parcel.
    â€œThere,” chirped Helen Cross. “You have the perfect figure for a princess gown. Long and narrow.”
    â€œPerfect,” Mrs. Johnston agreed. “Next, you’ll need the camisole trimmed in lace and ribbons, and the petticoat with the ruffle along the bottom edge.”
    Helen beamed with pride as the housekeeper continued to dress her daughter. She had waited for this moment for a long time. No longer would Julia wear her hair long and unpinned; it would be piled stylishly atop her head. In place of loose-fitting skirts hemmed six inches above her ankles, her dresses would be long and tapered, sweeping the floor. Above all, she could wear jewelry—as long as it had not been given to her by an unmarried man. Julia would finally be leaving her gawky, girlish days behind.
    The housekeeper fastened a wire bustle atop Julia’s buttocks. “Now for the dress,” Mrs. Johnston said. Julia stepped into a beautiful, cornflower-blue gown, which the housekeeper rapidly fastened up at the back. Her mother stood behind her and looked at her in the mirror.
    â€œYou’re a real beauty, Julia,” she said, hugging her from behind. She lifted Julia’s flowing hair and coiled it on top of her head. “I’ll get some pins.”
    Fifteen minutes later, with the aid of eighteen hairpins, Helen had transformed Julia’s hair. “Next week, you’ll attend your first private teas. So many people to see. You know, the Beekmans’ son just finished West Point,” Helen said, smiling at Mrs. Johnston. The housekeeper also knew the social cachet of a West Point man from a Knickerbocker family.
    â€œMay I keep this on? Just for a bit, to get used to it?” Julia asked.
    Helen nodded.
    â€œI have to finish some writing. But I’ll be down for tea,” Julia said.
    Helen watched as her daughter skipped out of the room, her playful gait at odds with her newly grown-up look. By the ironclad rules of society, she was supposed to be raising her daughter as her mother had raised her. But Helen refused to practice the benign parental neglect expected of her class. Her mother had told her that she must see her children only on occasion and be “reasonably” acquainted with them. Helen defied her and fostered a close relationship with George, Julia, and Charlie. She’d made sure her husband did the same.
    Julia’s coming-out did not mean Helen was losing a daughter, of course. There was no rush to the altar; her daughter was only seventeen. Still, the whole journey was to be undertaken