CHAPTER 1
Pauline treated herself to a deep, satisfied sigh. It had been a near thing, but they’d finished all the orders an hour ago, in time for the holiday. She’d sent everyone home, giving them an extra day off to be with their families and sweethearts, and each one of her employees also received a packet with a shiny gold guinea in it, a bonus Lady Bridlington—her partner—had provided to celebrate the season.
Now she stood alone in the normally busy shop, framed in the doorway between the showroom and the main sewing room ofMadame Pauline’s,the most popular modiste in London. The establishment occupied elegant and spacious premises on fashionable Bruton Street in Mayfair. Who would have thought it? And even more wonderful,shewas Madame Pauline. A smile twitched at the corners of Pauline’s lips. Why shouldn’t she have such renown? She’d built the business up from almost nothing over the past two years. Of course, without Augusta—Countess of Bridlington—none of this would have been possible.
Still, there was no question in her mind that she and everyone who worked for her deserved this holiday break.
So why, despite her genuine feeling of contentment, did an empty space still occupy the place where her heart should be?Perhaps it was partly the fact that—for the first time she could remember since Madame Pauline’s opened its doors—she was entirely alone in the shop. Or was it that? Not exactly.You’re never really alone in London, she thought, as horses’ hooves clopped by on the cobbles outside, the watch called the hour, and groups of pedestrians rushed past chatting merrily and complaining of the exceptionally cold weather.
No, she wasn’t really alone. Still, she shivered and remained fixed in her place, unable to persuade herself to pick up her feet and move in the direction of the stairs to her cozy rooms. On any normal day, the workshop she now surveyed would be filled with cheerful, mindless chatter accompanied by the the crisp snip of scissors through fabric, the tables littered with disorganized swathes of colorful gown lengths of silks, crepes, muslins, and half-empty reels of ribands, braid, and lace edgings. Now everything was tidied away. She could hardly believe that only the day before, chaos had reigned late into the evening as the last-minute orders for holiday gowns received their final finishing and trimming.
They’d been—quite unexpectedly—busier than ever in the past few weeks. Although Christmas wasn’t part of the little season—with most of thetonoff to their country estates for house parties—and the spring season was more than two months off, Madame Pauline’shad been inundated with orders for fur-lined cloaks, kerseymere gowns and tippets, and other warm garments. The brutally cold weather had caught everyone by surprise. The Thames had even frozen over enough for skating in places. Pauline could just imagine how much business the glove makers and boot makers must have had. She chuckled to think of the great Hoby trying to line smart Hessian boots with fur to make them warmer without adding bulk and ruining the line of a man’s shapely calf.
And of course, she and her seamstresses had their usual task of making the winter clothes for the children in Lord Bridlington’s asylums for the disabled. It was something the younger girls loved doing, perhaps dreaming of when they would have their own children to clothe. Those garments had been completed a whole week earlier.
Everything she surveyed in the establishment where she reigned supreme should have given her unalloyed happiness. So why did the sight of her workshop in better order than she had ever seen it open that gaping hole in her middle?
She sighed again. Only this time it wasn’t in pleasure. The reason for her dejection was no mystery, not if she were honest with herself. The truth was that Pauline was taken by surprise at how much it still affected her at that time. After all, it had been months since Jimmy told her that instead of marrying her as they’d planned these last three years he was going to wed a carpenter’s daughter he’d met only a month earlier.It’s not right,he’d said,you earning more than me. I want to have a wife I can take care of. I earn a good wage and someday I’ll have my own shop. I want a family, and someone to cook and care for the littles.
Those had been his words to her when she had told him she wouldn’t stop working after they were married. How could he have asked her to do it? She thought he understood how much she loved what she did. And that her additional income would afford them a much more comfortable life. But she’d been mistaken. Perhaps a part of him couldn’t accept the fact that she would have the means of supporting herself, that she wouldn’t have to depend on him for her subsistence.
Oh, Jimmy.
She supposed she was better off without him, if that’s how he felt. Still, the result was that she would be alone for Christmas.
A sharp rap on the street door startled her out of her increasingly depressing daydream. Odd for someone to call at that hour, ten o’clock on the night before Christmas Eve. She shook her melancholy thoughts away and took a deep breath. Arranging her face in the slightly haughty, neither cheerful nor glum expression she’d cultivated over the past couple of years, she stepped into the small vestibule that led to the outer door and opened it.
No one was there.
A blast of icy air made her want to snap the door closed as quickly as possible, but just as she was going to do so, out of the corner of her eye she spied a folded and sealed letter on the doorstep. She snatched it up, her fingers already feeling numb, and closed and locked the door behind her.
Sally, the housemaid who lived in a room on the ground floor next to the kitchen, had banked the fires in the workshops and showroom in preparation for retiring for the night. Pauline picked up her candle, walked quickly through the chilly workroom and climbed the stairs to her lodging on the first floor. Sally had lit the fires in her parlor and her bedroom, and their cozy warmth soon thawed her hands.
Pauline flopped her petite self into the overstuffed chair on one side of the small hearth and examined the direction on the letter. It was written in a hand she did not recognize.
Before she could open it, Sally brought in a tray bearing a cup of hot chocolate. “I’ve laid out Madame’s flannel dressing gown and calico night shift. They say it’ll be a hard freeze for the next few days,” she said.
“Ta—I mean, thank you, Sally. I won’t be needing you any more tonight.” Pauline had worked hard to rid her speech of its Cockney flavor and largely succeeded, except on occasions like these when she needn’t act the part for atonclient.
Sally, a round-faced girl with laughing eyes, dipped a little curtsy, then reached into her pocket and brought out a small parcel wrapped in cloth and tied with a bit of red ribbon. “If you please, Ma’am. It’s just a little nothing, for the season.” She blushed and looked down at the floor, the parcel held out to Pauline.
“You shouldn’t’a—have, you silly goose. What do you need to go spending your money on presents for me?” But Pauline couldn’t help feeling touched and pleased. She hadn’t expected any gifts at all. She untied the ribbon and found that the plain cloth wrapping held a very pretty handkerchief, embroidered with an elaboratePin one corner.She rose and embarrassed Sally by embracing her. “Thank you, my dear.”
The flushed maid scurried back downstairs and left her alone to drink her chocolate and open the letter that had been deposited at the door.
Pauline broke the wafer without really considering what might be inside, idly assuming it was a bill from the silk mercer or some such. So when she opened it and discovered two pages of heavy, gilt-edged paper, the first a letter and the second a list, both in the same expansive hand, it took her a moment to comprehend what she had received.
Madam,
I require your urgent services to make the clothing on the enclosed list. It is imperative that the items be finished by Christmas morning. If you complete this commission, I will pay whatever sum you ask. Use only the finest materials, spare no expense in any detail of construction. I shall attend you in two days’ time at ten in the morning for receipt of the garments and to settle with you. If you do not succeed in this commission, I shall ensure that everyone in thetonknows that you are unable to complete orders in a timely manner. And I have connections that you will not want to displease.
The threat in the final sentences made Pauline gasp. The letter was not signed. Who would say such a thing? Then she cast her eye down the list on the other sheet.Two silk evening dresses, velvet evening cloaks to match, two winter day dresses and matching pelisses.Each of the dresses included measurements, although surely whoever was destined to wear them would have to come for a fitting.“Blimey!” Pauline shrieked before she could stop herself. It was folly for someone to think they could order such garments so close to Christmas and have them ready for the holiday. No one could do so much work in so little time. She wondered if whichever lady had commanded this order—for the handwriting could only belong to a lady, and the note was worded more like a command than a request—knew that Madame Pauline’s would be bereft of seamstresses until the dayafterChristmas. Aside from that, even with a fully populated workshop her seamstresses wouldn’t be able to do the tailoring necessary for the outer garments. These, although designed at Madame Pauline’s, were normally constructed at Jonathan Meyer’s, one of theton’smost prestigious tailors. The whole idea of such a request was utterly preposterous.
Pauline read the letter over and over. She couldn’t place where she’d seen the handwriting before. Who among their customers would make such an unreasonable demand? No one she could think of had any cause to be dissatisfied, or would be likely to hold such retribution over her head. Perhaps it was some kind of a joke?
No. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would be so cruel as to toy with an honest tradesperson at Christmas. Whether or not the lady who wrote the note knew it, only Pauline herself was left to do any sewing. Even when she was at her most productive, she would never have been able to manage so much. At best she might accomplish a single day dress. Amomentary image of Augusta—before she was Lady Bridlington—bending over her work at Madame Noelle’s just after she’d fled to London from Devonshire flashed into her mind, and she smiled. For someone brought up fine, Gussie could sew with the best of them. And Lady Mariana—Lord Bridlington’s sister—had certainly put her through her paces. Those were exciting days, even if Madame Noelle treated her seamstresses more like servants than skilled artisans.
Thinking of those times wouldn’t do any good in her present predicament. If she were a different kind of employer, she might summon all the seamstresses back under threat of losing their positions if they did not come. She was not such a one. No, she would have to decide whether to simply ignore the order and trust that its threat was an idle piece of mischief or find some other way to fill it.
