She shivered. No! He doesn’t deserve to be noticed. He still hasn’t explained himself, or even really apologized. And every time he opens his mouth, out pops another something awful!
“Are you cold, Pauline?” Augusta asked.
“No Ma’am! Not cold, just a bit nervous.” Hardly realizing she had done it, she looked up at Mr. Cooper again. After a moment, he lifted his eyes from his work, she made a quick stitch and caught the tip of her finger with the needle. “Ow!” she said and put her finger in her mouth so no blood would drip on her work. Foolish not to wear a thimble! Where was her head? She hoped Mr. Cooper didn’t notice the timing.
Mr. Cooper didn’t, but Augusta did, and she narrowed her eyes at Pauline.
They had no leisure to talk, however. And once Miss Carp and Jem had gone on their errands the workshop quieted again. Pauline stifled a yawn. She didn’t need much sleep. Or at least, she didn’t get much sleep most nights. But doing the close work so late at night after all the rushing and excitement sapped her energy. She blinked hard and rolled her shoulders.
She knew she should focus all her attention on the sewing. However, one other thing about what they were doing bothered Pauline. She’d come in and taken over Mr. Meyer’s workshop without so much as a by your leave. He wasn’t there, of course, and he generally gave Aloysius carte blanche in the shop. But Meyer was a master tailor and had the crotchety personality to match it. Pauline learned that over year ago, when they were first trying to negotiate their arrangement. It had taken more than a month and many meetings to settle it all. She and Aloysius both had had to make concerted efforts to persuade Meyer that, instead of leaving ladies to buy their pelisses without considering the dresses underneath them, they would both benefit by having ladies’ outer garments made to coordinate with their dresses, thus creating a more harmonious ensemble—as well as inspiring them to purchase additional pelisses. Mr. Meyer was skeptical. But the increased business this arrangement brought in soon reconciled him to his decision. What he didn’t know—and Aloysius had recommended Pauline not tell him—was that in addition to what Meyer paid the seamstresses, tailors, and pressers who worked on the garments for her, they each received a little extra bonus directly from Pauline for every piece. She considered it an incentive to do their very best work.
All Pauline could hope was that Meyer had gone home to his house in Cheapside for Christmas festivities with his family, andwould not return until they were finished and his workroom was empty again. He certainly wouldn’t come back to the shop that night. She would find a way to placate him if he showed up in the morning—which by then was only a matter of hours away.
CHAPTER 8
Phyllida and Jem finished delivering their notes to the seamstresses Pauline had identified as likely to welcome the extra work. She had not asked them to come that night, but the next day. They would all be asleep by then anyway and would see the notes in the morning, and the help would be just as welcome then.
Jem scurried back to his cubby and Aloysius brought in a jug of small beer from the inn next door and an assortment of tin cups. Soon the hush of concentrated work fell over everyone in the room. The pace remained quick for about an hour, but after that it was clear exhaustion had begun to set in. Augusta watched as one by one, everyone laid their heads down on their worktables and fell asleep.
Everyone except her. And Mr. Cooper. She didn’t know how he managed to stay awake. But she couldn’t sleep at all. Even in her own comfortable bed sleep was all but impossible. Although she stayed awake that night in the workshop, she felt less than useless. Her inability to remain focused on the simple sewing task Pauline had given her meant that she made slow progress on the delicate seam. She kept having to stop and massage hershoulders and stretch out her arms, trying to find a comfortable position in the straight-backed wooden chair.
About every half hour or so—judging by the watch bell—Augusta would hoist herself to her feet and wander softly around the workroom. The first time she did it, Mr. Cooper leapt up and started toward her. She held up her hand and motioned him to stay seated. After that, every once in a while he looked up from the pelisse that was taking very elegant shape under his hands and nodded at her, and if he seemed tempted to stand out of politeness, she motioned him again to stay where he was. Once he rose to put more wood on the fire and Augusta put her finger to her lips. He made as little noise as possible.
On her wanderings she did not wake anyone else. How could they be expected to work all night and day? It was impossible for normal human beings. When they’d had rush orders before, the seamstresses would take it in turns, so that even if the work continued around the clock, no one worked more than ten hours at a stretch. Trying to start and finish eight garments in so short a time was madness. Perhaps they would not finish this absurd order. Did they really need to? Could a single person in thetonspread enough malicious gossip about Madame Pauline’s to do any real harm to the business? Augusta doubted it, but the urgency and panic in Pauline’s eyes decided her on keeping those thoughts to herself. It was all well and good for her to dismiss the threat. As Lady Bridlington, she had what seemed like limitless funds at her disposal. The demise of the modiste’s establishment would sadden her, but it would have no real effect on the comfort of her life.
On the other hand Pauline needed the money. Not because she was greedy or overly ambitious—although she certainly took pride in what she’d made of the business. If it were just for herself, Pauline would be able to survive in another less remunerative position if it ever came to that. But it wasn’tjust for herself. She sent much of her money to her sister in Plymouth, whose soldier husband had been killed on the peninsula a year ago and left her with four young children.
Those considerations certainly accounted for some of Pauline’s zeal to complete what anyone in her right mind might have recognized as impossible. Yet there was something else at work in that sewing room that had nothing to do with making clothing, or with Pauline’s need to protect the business at all costs. Augusta had felt the tension as soon as they had arrived at Meyer’s, tension that bore little connection to sewing or tailoring.
Augusta couldn’t help observing the way Mr. Cooper stole glances at Pauline when he thought she wasn’t looking—and the way Pauline did the same thing to him. That would explain so much. She didn’t wonder at it. Pauline was a pretty woman, petite but strong, with eyes that could flash in anger or dance with mischief and a provocatively pert nose above rosy lips. Cooper was a handsome fellow, too. Not scrawny and pale as most tailors were, but strong and weathered, as if he had been accustomed to spending time outdoors doing work that required much more physical effort than what was necessary to ply a needle. He was also tall. When Pauline stood next to him, she had to crane her neck to look up into his eyes, and her blush was visible from across the room—Pauline, who prided herself on her own strength and force of will, blushing.
Augusta sighed. That cobbler—what was his name? Jimmy?—he didn’t know what he’d let go. Pauline was a woman in a million. Beneath her sometimes stern exterior beat a heart of pure gold. She would do anything for the people she cared about, and was quietly solicitous of the welfare of all the seamstresses, cutters, and pressers that worked for her. She was smart and dedicated, had a head for figures and could drive a hard bargain. Many times she’d saved a considerable amount of money bypurchasing materials as they came off the boat instead of at the silk warehouse. These were skills that would have made her an exceptional wife. Whoever this carpenter’s daughter was who Jimmy married, she would never be as capable and loving as Pauline. If the fellow wasn’t self-assured enough to want a wife who could hold her own financially, he wasn’t the man for Pauline.
Cold comfort, Augusta thought. Pauline had tried to shrug it off, pretending to be too busy to spend any time regretting the loss of her sweetheart, but it was clear to Augusta that she hadn’t been looking forward to the holidays. To Augusta’s knowledge, Pauline hadn’t stepped out with anyone since Jimmy cried off months ago—which is what he did, even if they never really had an official engagement.
But this Mr. Cooper … he stayed awake. And kept one eye on Pauline. Augusta saw him start as though he would rise and go to her when she flinched in her sleep. Now that was interesting, that kind of attention. As if Pauline was in some way precious to him. His behavior and Pauline’s puzzled her, however. If he was interested in Pauline and she was attracted to him, why were they working so hard to keep apart from each other? Surely a situation like this would provide an excellent opportunity for camaraderie and light flirtation. Except whenever Pauline spoke to Mr. Cooper, it was in a rather forbidding tone of voice. And Mr. Cooper seemed only able to say things to Pauline that annoyed or piqued her. It was most peculiar.
“My Lady.” Augusta turned at the sound of Phyllida’s whisper. She must have awakened a moment ago. “I think we should go back to Lanyon House. You need to rest.”
“No, I promise you I’m not tired. You should go, though. I can see you’re exhausted.”
“If you think I’m setting one foot outside this shop without you, you don’t know Phyllida Carp, My Lady.”
The dresser meant what she said, Augusta knew. “Perhaps, though, I might prevail upon you to deliver a note to the earl, just to let him know that I am safe. He won’t miss me until the morning, but I don’t want him to suffer needless anxiety.”
Phyllida tsked. “Why don’t you let me take you home, My Lady? Surely you’d be more comfortable there.”
Augusta smiled and cocked her head on the side. “That’s as may be, but you know that once I went home, George would never allow me to return here tomorrow—or rather, later today—and I refuse to leave Pauline to manage this all on her own. Please, I’m fine, really. It calms me to be here. Sometimes it’s a relief not to be the countess, but just a woman.”
Phyllida shook her head. “That’d be dandy, except fer yer about to pop, and the earl will likely toss me out on my ear if anything happens to you and that babe that’s giving you so much trouble.”
Of course, Phyllida did as she asked.
Grey light began to filter in through the windows in the workroom. Soon it would be dawn, Augusta thought, and reapplied herself to the seams on the silk gown, enjoying the rhythm of stitch, stitch, stitch.
CHAPTER 9
Pauline sat up slowly. Had she fallen asleep? What time was it? She stretched her arms up over her head and looked around the room. Aloysius appeared as if he, too, had been asleep for a while, and excused himself, saying he needed a breath of air. Miss Carp wasn’t there, but Augusta was pacing slowly around the room, her hands pushing down on her hips. Where had the dresser gone? Pauline wondered.
