He sighed and shook his head just as he reached Mr. Gordon’s office. The cutter’s office was at the end of a long hallway near where the pressers worked. It seemed an odd place to choose when Mr. Gordon’s privileged position might have secured him a much more congenial location. The fires that heated the irons and kettles of steam often kept that part of the building uncomfortably warm.
The sound of hushed voices filtered out from behind Mr. Gordon’s door, so he knocked rather than simply entering. The voices stopped, and a moment later Gordon opened the door. “Yes Cooper, what is it?” he said, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of something very important.
“It’s Miss Dawkins, Sir. She’s ‘ere. In the back.”
“Pauline?” Mr. Gordon tugged at his immaculate neck cloth to straighten it a fraction, and Cooper saw that Kenton, one of the younger pressers, stood behind him. “What could she want? We’ve done all her work.”
He shook his head. “I dunno. She’s all thorns, though.”
“What are you planning to do with that vest?” Mr. Gordon said, suddenly noticing the striped satin garment that Cooper had been carrying around with him ever since he went to answer the door.
“I … uh …”
“Never mind! I’ll go to her.”
Cooper followed Mr. Gordon’s slender, elegant form back the way he’d come.
Miss Dawkins was facing away from them, leaning close to examine a coat of Bath superfine that had been draped over a chair. She turned and rushed up to grasp Mr. Gordon’s outstretched hand. “Oh Aloysius! I need your help.”
Figuring he’d run out of reasons to hover, Cooper was about to leave Mr. Gordon alone to speak to Miss Dawkins when she pointed at him. “You—have you finished all your work for the evening?”
He turned to Gordon and lifted his eyebrows questioningly. Gordon pursed his lips and nodded, and Cooper said, “Why, yes, just this minute.”
Miss Dawkins addressed Gordon again. “It’s the most annoying thing. I have an urgent commission which must be completed by Christmas morning, and I’ve sent all my seamstresses home for the holiday. I can sew the gowns with your help as well Aloysius, if Mr….”
“Cooper,” he said. “Benjamin Cooper.”
“If Mr. Cooper can manage the two pelisses—also perhaps with some help from you. Of course, there are the cloaks. We’ll need a presser too. Is anyone still here?” At this, she drew the letter and list out from her reticule and handed them to Gordon.
Gordon perused them each in turn with a frown puckering his forehead. When he looked up, he said, “Who is this for?”
Miss Dawkins pressed her lips together, shooting a quick glance in Cooper’s direction before apparently coming to a decision. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to be involved in this you may as well know all. Can you keep your mummer buttoned?”
The coarse language was so at odds with Miss Dawkins’ ladylike appearance that Cooper had to stifle a laugh. “Yes, I mean, Miss Dawkins?—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish, turning back to Mr. Gordon. “The trick of it is I don’t know who. But I can’t take the risk of ignoring it, not with her ladyship’s reputation on the line.”
Cooper’s curiosity temporarily overcame his awkwardness. “What does Lady Bridlington have to do with it?”
Mr. Gordon handed the letter and list to Cooper. “It seems someone is desperate to have these four gowns, two cloaks and two pelisses made by Christmas morning, and threatens Madame Pauline with damaging gossip if they are not ready.”
Who would do that?he thought, reading quickly through the letter. “It’s a bit rich, i’nnit. And impossible, I reckon. Who’d be fool enough to attempt something like this?” Cooper glanced at Miss Dawkins’s face and immediately regretted his words. Apparently she herself was fool enough to attempt it, and he’d managed to make a mull of it again.
Gordon said, “Your opinion is of no importance. If you do not object to being employed by Miss Dawkins for the next…” He took his pocket watch out and looked down his nose at it, “…thirty-six hours, then I shall ask you to aid us in this endeavor. If you do, well then…”
Object! Cooper couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. I would be an excuse to possibly bask in the company of this extraordinary woman, to have her notice him. At least to gain her good opinion of his work, to redeem himself from his stupid blunders every time he opened his mouth. And he might also be able to do himself a favor in Mr. Gordon’s eyes at the same time. A lady’s pelisse would be as good a place to prove himself capable of more challenging tasks than gentlemen’s waistcoats. “When do we start?”
CHAPTER 3
Pauline had been reasonably certain Aloysius wouldn’t have gone home, not with several tailors, pressers, and embroiderers still hard at work at Meyer’s. What she didn’t expect was that one of those working late that night would be the very young man who had insulted her months before. She recognized him instantly, and almost turned around and went back home. It took very little reflection for her to change her mind about that, however. He may have been insolent, but she needed help. Never mind his bright blue eyes and regular features, and a well-proportioned physique that could be considered attractive—if she cared or had any time just then to think about it. All she could hope was that he’d forgotten the incident and he wouldn’t make a cake of himself again.
But of course, he’d managed that evening to mangle his words just as before in a way that made him sound rude. Did he really think so little of her? Could she stand being around him, if he could be so thoughtless? She couldn’t help noticing how chagrined he’d looked every time he stumbled over his words though. It was so confusing. But she had bigger matters on her mind just then.
Thus it was that the three of them—Aloysius followed by Pauline followed by Cooper—threaded their way through the hallways and workshops that led to the ladies’ tailoring department. Pauline had the uncomfortable feeling that Cooper’s gaze was fixed on her back, although she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning around.
A number of spencer jackets and riding habits in varying stages of completion hung on racks and padded torso forms in the capacious workroom. Some were inside out, the stiffening buckram and discreet padding at the shoulders partially attached, or with military style silver braid pinned along seams. Others still had the chalk lines that indicated where they needed to be altered to fit a particular lady. Hooks and cubbies on the walls held heavy shears, buttons, and threads of all colors.
Thankfully, all the tailors in that department had left, so they had the well-stocked room to themselves and they would be able to spread out and use it as they wished. Meyer worked his craftsmen hard, but most of them still managed to take their days off. It was usually the new ones, the tailors who were not quite journeymen or who were recently hired, that she knew would sometimes stitch by candlelight until late in the night—as this Mr. Cooper had apparently been doing. A little imp inside her hoped he was being tormented by Meyer, made to work all the hours God gave him.
