But she couldn’t spend time thinking about that now. All that mattered was completing this last-minute order. Or did it? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that it might not matter as much as she thought it would. On further reflection she thought that surely Madame Pauline’s was well established enough to withstand a bit of malicious gossip. She ignored that little voice telling her that she’d latched onto the mysterious project as to a lifeline, something to drag her out of her doldrums and keep her unpleasant memories at bay. Sheignored the other voice that told her she was being unfair to involve Aloysius and Mr. Cooper in it. But she was committed to it now, so what else could she do?
“We need six ells of silk, two of each sort, one a sarsenet perhaps, and a figured silk—the one you told me about, Aloysius, with the tiny floral buds all over it. Or a crepe perhaps, or a shot silk. I think a spider gauze overdress for the sarsenet. For the day dresses, two different colors of the heavy silk twill, or perhaps a jaconet muslin—or even kerseymere—and merino for the pelisses to match. Oh! What about velvet? What colors do you have enough of to make the two evening cloaks? Don’t forget the satin for the lining.”
“I’ll go to the storeroom to see what’s left after the Christmas rush. I’ll fetch Kenton to come with me to help.” Aloysius took a tape measure out of one of the tidy workboxes left on a table and draped it around his neck.
“What about the cutting?” Pauline said, suddenly panicked.
Aloysius turned to her, hands on hips. “Have you forgotten, Ma’am, that I am an expert cutter? I shall see to it.”
Pauline relaxed just a little. Of course. No one knew more about fabric than Aloysius, so he would be sure to find the best if it was to be had. Her own stocks of material were almost completely depleted by their other holiday orders, and she hoped that wasn’t the case here.
With a determined smile and a tug to smooth an invisible wrinkle on his smart coat of Bath suiting, Aloysius swept out in the direction of the stock room.No doubt Meyer will make sure I pay a hefty price for whatever material I use,Pauline thought. Of course she would pass that on to her unknown customer, so there was no point worrying about it right then.
That left her alone in the workroom with Mr. Cooper.
The way he looked at her as if he wanted to say something to her, was beginning to get on her nerves. She had no desire tohear him utter anything else that would turn out to be an insult or in some way rude. So she adopted her most businesslike manner and spoke abruptly. “I shall need that bench cleared away, and the lamps lit in here. Could you find some more candles as well?”
“Mr. Meyer, he’s a bit close with his candles,” Cooper said.
Was he arguing with her? “I don’t much care. If he says anything you can tell him Lady Bridlington requested it.” She hadn’t intended to say anything that might call that infamous moment in October to mind. It simply slipped out. She looked up just in time to see the deep blush in Cooper’s cheeks.
“Miss Dawkins,” Cooper said and strode over to her. “I’m a clod, and sometimes I rattle away when I’m nervous and say things I don’t mean.”
“You better rid yourself of that habit. Not too smart if you hope to move up in the world.” Pauline made an effort to use her most ladylike voice and laced it with glacial chill. She turned away from him, pretending to busy herself gathering some spools of thread from the dozens of small cubbies—although until she knew what color materials Aloysius would find, there was no real point. And that was odd, now that she thought about it. The instructions did not mention colors.
The two of them turned away from each other and busied themselves preparing their work areas—gathering needles, thread, tapes, small scissors, and other essential tools. Pauline could feel the tension hanging in the air between them. It was ridiculous!
Just as the silence became almost unbearable and Pauline was about to confront Cooper about his insolence, Aloysius burst through the door followed by Kenton, both of them struggling to keep hold of bolts of slippery silk and heavier fabrics for the pelisses and cloaks and the day dresses. Cooper ran to help them while Pauline held the door open. She couldn’t help noticingthe spots of heightened color in Aloysius’s cheeks and wondered if he’d been running. There were matching blotches on Mr. Kenton’s cheeks as well, so she supposed they must have been.
“Now,” said Pauline, “We need a plan.”
CHAPTER 4
Her mind shifting into action, Pauline quickly sketched similar designs to one of Lady Bridlington’s very popular modes for the two evening gowns and, after a consultation with Aloysius, transferred them to pattern paper. The day dresses were a bit easier. As for the pelisses, she decided they should make them in the classical Grecian style rather than the more severe style of military uniforms, as the lines would be looser and less exact, being easier to fit. Mr. Kenton measured out the cloth for the gowns, Aloysius started the delicate process of cutting, and soon the workshop hummed with focused activity. Only snipping scissors, creaking stools, and occasional muttered comments disturbed the industrious peace of that room.
At least, it was peaceful on the outside. On the inside, Pauline’s mind was racing. Like it or not, she was keenly aware of Mr. Cooper’s presence on the other side of the table where she sat lining the pieces of dress bodice Aloysius put in front of her as soon as they were cut out. A hum of something barely tangible vibrated between them. Was he looking at her? It felt as if he were. Whenever she stole a quick glance at him, though, hiseyes were bent on the work he was doing on the pelisses. It was infuriating!
By midnight, dismembered garments littered the tables—collars, sleeves, cuffs, skirts, petticoats, and overdresses. Pauline stood up from where she’d been leaning over so she could inspect the slippery silk crepe that Aloysius was struggling to cut for the final evening gown and pushed her fists into the small of her back. She’d grown unaccustomed to the physical labor of making clothes, forgetting just how backbreaking it could be. As Madame Pauline, she no longer haunted the workrooms, instead spending her days in the office or the front of the shop. Her efforts went to advising customers, doing fittings, managing her staff, ordering materials, and bookkeeping. And she was grateful for this change in her circumstances. She had stepped up in the world.
Yet although it was hard work to sit making tiny backstitches and running stitches for hours at a time, a part of Pauline missed feeling a garment take shape under her fingers. It was a sort of magic to transform flat pieces of shapeless cloth into dresses that made women feel beautiful.
“Miss Dawkins,” Mr. Cooper said, interrupting her reverie.
He sounded tentative. Even fearful. Was she so intimidating? Well, perhaps she was. And why should that matter? “Yes Mr. Cooper?” she said, arching her eyebrows at him. Just because they would be forced to keep company with each other for the next thirty-two hours was no reason to feel as if she should be friendly with him, whatever was going on inside her. It was just the being alone for the holiday, she thought, that stirred up these unaccustomed feelings.
“The way I figger it here, we have at least a week’s worth of work spread out on these tables. That’s even with one stitcher for each piece, and that ain’t what we have. There’s just four of us.Maybe even only three. I don’t know if Mr. Kenton will sew, him being a presser and all.”
Mr. Cooper’s words were unpleasantly accurate. That didn’t make them any more palatable to Pauline. She took a deep breath and surveyed the room.
Aloysius came and stood next to Pauline and glared down at Cooper. “Mr. Cooper, no one asked your opinion.”
Pauline shook her head. “No, Aloysius. He’s right, more’s the pity. It’ll take a miracle to get all this done. We need help.”
“That’s as may be, but we have another problem,” Mr. Gordon said.
Pauline raised questioning eyes to him. “What else is there to trouble us besides lack of time?”
Mr. Gordon held up a cut piece of cloth. “We don’t have enough of this to make the second pelisse,” he said.
