The sun had warmed the cobbles enough for the thin coating of ice to melt, and it didn’t take long for the barouche to arrive at the shop. Pauline gave herself a shake as the footman helped herdown from the carriage. “Thank you,” she said, and he bowed slightly before getting back on his perch at the back.
Home, Pauline thought with a smile as she gazed at the elegant sign that saidMadame Pauline’s. As she stood back and examined this shop that had been her world for nearly two years, she could have burst with pride. It was quality. Just like Augusta. Ladies who came in to purchase gowns and be fitted could feel confident that they’d be treated well and that whatever they chose would be made to suit them exactly. They would look their best, even if doing so meant they were told that the latest fashion frippery wasn’t for them.
The clothing that Madame Pauline’s produced was elegant and simple. Like that blue merino pelisse over an apricot cambric day dress in the window?—
Pauline froze. That wasn’t what was in the window when she left. No pelisse, at any rate. She rubbed her eyes. Surely she was seeing what she wished to see, not what was actually there.
She stepped slowly up to the door and opened it, setting the bells tinkling inside. It was a sound that always thrilled her because it meant someone would be coming in to give her the honor of making them look beautiful.
After passing through the small vestibule, Pauline entered the main showroom. Although it was daytime, several candles had been lit, shedding a warm light over everything. In addition to the garment she saw in the window, two other dress forms had been brought in from the workroom.
One displayed a stunning shot silk blue evening gown with a gold spider gauze three-quarter overdress. Draped luxuriantly over a chair next to it was a magnificent midnight blue velvet evening cloak lined with gold satin. The other form wore a long-sleeved kerseymere day dress in a pale green with ruching in the bodice for warmth. A pelisse in the same light blue merino as theone in the window had been draped as if by chance next to it on another chair.
How could this be? And where was everyone? “Sally?” she called.
There was no response. Perhaps she was so fatigued that she had begun to see things. She glanced at the clock on the mantel above the small fire in the grate. It wanted fifteen minutes to ten.
Perhaps someone was still in the workroom. She strode over to the door and flung it open.
Cooper’s stomachclenched at the sound of the door bells. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mr. Gordon put his finger to his lips and whispered, “It’s Miss Dawkins. I know her tread.”
He, Mr. Gordon, and Mr. Kenton had just finished arranging the completed garments in the showroom. They weren’tperfectlyfinished but they were as complete as anything that would have to be fitted need be. Mrs. Higgins had proved herself very capable of the tailoring needed for the pelisses—they’d finished those quickly and sent them up to Kenton to press. Agatha sewed with impressive speed, managing the delicate silk with consummate skill. And Molly proved herself more than capable of whipping the necessary tiny, invisible stitches into the seams of the day dresses and even suggested the ruching in the bodices if they were to be worn during the cold weather.
Mr. Gordon had released the three ladies very early in the morning to go home and sleep for a couple of hours before they would have to wake up for Christmas. The three men finished the pressing and a few other tasks, and then arranged the garments as they now were, awaiting the arrival of the mysterious person who had put them all to so much trouble.
They hadn’t known if Pauline would return before then, but Mr. Gordon said he would deal with the customer if she didn’t.
And now, here she was. Cooper’s stomach twisted into an even tighter knot, and not just because he hadn’t had a real meal for two days. His palms sweated despite the chill in the workroom and he was in desperate need of a shave—something he ardently wished he could have remedied before facing Miss Dawkins again.
Nonetheless Miss Dawkins—Pauline—was here. He would see her once more before he left.
She threw the door open and strode in, turning around in a circle to see the now-tidy workshop. “Is it real? How … How did you do it?”
Mr. Gordon strode forward to greet her. “First, what news of Lady Bridlington?”
“She had a baby girl just an hour ago, and they are both well. But tell me! I can’t believe you did it!”
“Agatha, Molly, and Mrs. Higgins came and helped. Don’t look too closely at some of the seams. We didn’t have time to hem them all.”Cooper thought he detected a hint of tears in Mr. Gordon’s voice. Perhaps the haberdasher was just tired too.
Pauline shook her head and pressed her hand to her heart. Cooper looked down at his feet. He almost couldn’t bear to watch her. He would have to find time to have a private word with her, if he could. Being able to do that would make it all worthwhile. He could go away back to the farm knowing he had at least spoken to her about his feelings, even if she could never return them. He must be brave. He cleared his throat.
At that moment the bells in the outer room jangled again. Pauline and Mr. Gordon froze for a few seconds, then Pauline smoothed down her skirt and lifted her chin before turning and making her dignified way to the door.
Pauline hardly hadtime to register what the three tailors and three seamstresses had managed to accomplish in her absence—let alone the fact that Mr. Cooper was still in her workshop and looking at her with a soft, tentative smile in his eyes that made her want to nestle her head against his broad shoulder. She must forget all that for now. Because what was right in front of her demanded her full attention in the showroom.
The sight that greeted her almost knocked her over, it surprised her so much—even more than the shock of seeing all the garments on display.
“Hello, Pauline. Or should I call youMadamePauline.”
There, standing before her looking as severe and sour as she remembered, was Madame Noelle. Or rather, Eunice Norton—her real name, which no one used. Pauline had not seen her except from a distance since she and Augusta left her employ before Augusta’s marriage. “Come in, Madame,” she said. “I am expecting a client, but you are welcome here.” Pauline gestured toward the one chair that remained undraped by clothing.
“I know you are,” Miss Norton said, not moving to take the chair. “Expecting a customer, that is.” She eased her gloves off one finger at a time, her eyes not on Pauline, but looking down past her hands at the floor. “Was a time you weren’t so high and mighty, Miss Dawkins. You may be interested to know that I am that customer. Or rather, I represent that customer.”
What? Madame Noelle? The modiste? How could that be? Miss Norton’s business still operated—at a much-reduced level—but operate it did. With a sinking feeling Pauline realized that many of the lady’s customers and her best seamstresses had transferred their loyalty to Madame Pauline’s almost since the moment of the new shop’s opening. This must have left Madame Noelle with many fewer orders and without the the superbly skilled seamstresses she needed in order to be successful. Atthe time, Pauline had thought she only got what she deserved. Looking at her now, though, she wondered. Madame—whose appearance and voice could strike fear into the hearts of any of her employees—appeared diminished. Thinner. Paler.
Quickly gathering her wits, Pauline said, “As you can see, we have accomplished the work, although the conditions we were given made it nearly impossible.” She gestured toward the different items on display. “Please examine them if you will. Of course, they’ll need to be fitted before they can be fully finished.”
Madame Noelle wandered around the room, stepping carefully as if to avoid breaking something fragile under her feet. She peered at each garment as she reached it, picking at one or two seams and lifting skirts to see how they were lined. She let her gaze wander over the rest of the room, examining the decor as well—all in complete silence. Pauline was completely mystified. It was the oddest thing to have done, to give away one’s order to a different modiste, and in such a manner! Who were the gowns and pelisses and cloaks really for?
