Obediently, we knelt and started assembling the pattern. The thin paper shapes all looked the same to me. As we fitted shapes together, my breath grew shorter until it was almost audible. There it was, our whole plan, slowly assembling beneath Madame Jolène’s eyes, a blueprint of our guilt.
“It looks more like an evening gown than a wedding gown, no?” Madame Jolène asked.
“I wanted to try something different,” I said weakly.
“Emmaline was telling me that she wants to experiment with the idea of formal gowns versus informal gowns,” Sophie said.
“I see. Well, it’s quite something.” Madame Jolène expertly assessed the pattern. She nodded, as though seeing it come together and understanding its nuances. “I’m impressed at your ingenuity and willingness to make something so difficult, Emmaline. But you’ve made an error.”
She pointed down at the pattern pieces. Two black, chunky bracelets slid out from under her sleeve and down her wrist. Of course she wore jewelry during her retiring hours.
“The dimensions are slightly off. Lady Harrison is only five feet and three inches tall, if I recall.”
“It was on purpose. Emmaline intended the gown to be quite full with lots of crinoline,” Sophie said smoothly. I had rarely seen the two interact for any long length of time. They were both, in their own ways, fascinating to watch, equals in their cunning and confidence.
“Yes, but even with lots of crinoline, this won’t work. Listen well, both of you. You should always know your client’s measurements,” Madame Jolène said. “It’s your responsibility as a designer. If you don’t know your client’s measurements—her proportions—you will hardly know how to dress her.” She raised one finger to her lips, contemplating. “This will be much too long for Lady Harrison. Hand me that bottom piece. The hemline.”
I shook inside and was certain my fingers were shaking as well. I snatched up the piece and handed it to her, rising to my feet.
“Yes, this is all wrong.” She pulled a pair of heavy sewing shears out of her robe. “Here.”
With one swift motion, she sliced the pattern piece in two. I barely contained a gasp of horror as the paper split apart, my hard work severed in one crisp tear.
“There.” Madame Jolène held out the now-halved pattern segment. I took the pieces from her hands, hardly believing what had happened.
“And those shoulder sections, Emmaline, hand them here.” She motioned to the pattern’s bodice. Numbly, I picked up the two pieces and handed them to her. My hands lingered longer than necessary, trying somehow to stop her.
“Lady Harrison will look broad in these sleeves.” Madame Jolène cut the piece apart, and her eyes flashed with enjoyment. Bile rose on my tongue. I’d spent hours measuring and cutting the pattern. The sound of crinkling paper filled the fitting room as she crushed the sections. “Choose a different necklineand then remake the sleeves around that. It’s hardly fair for me to advise you, but since Lady Harrison is our actual client, it’s essential that you represent the Fashion House well.”
I nodded, staring at the hard work that had just been snipped and severed into oblivion. Maybe I could try to press out the wrinkles and reassemble the pattern... but it was so intricate that the slightest variations would ruin the dress and we couldn’t risk it. I would have to remeasure and recut the severed pieces.
“Don’t stay down here too late.” Madame Jolène picked up the lamp by its handle. “I expect fresh faces for my clients tomorrow. No circles under the eyes, understood?”
“Yes,” Sophie and I chorused.
But she wasn’t done, not quite yet. Holding the lamp aloft, she looked around the fitting room once more, as though its light would reveal our secrets. The lamp threw bizarre shadows on her face, darkening the spots just below her cheekbones and under her chin.
“Remember, girls,” she said, her voice raw and strong. “I know everything that goes on in this house.”
With that, she left us with our severed pattern piece and torn-apart sleeves. We listened as her footsteps retreated and the door closed at the end of the hallway. I stared down at the crumpled balls of paper that had once been our pattern pieces.
“Do you think she knows?” I asked. I took a long, shaky breath, trying to get my heart back down into my chest.
“I don’t think so. But she’s obviously suspicious.” Sophie ran her hand through her hair again, twisting the ends of thestrands around her fingers. “At least she only ruined three pieces. It’ll be all right.”
I breathed in. “You’re right.” It was odd to see Sophie trying to reassure me. Nice, but odd.
“Maybe we shouldn’t work down here.”
“We don’t have much of a choice,” I said. “But you should bring in some dresses from your customers in case Madame Jolène stops in again. We can pretend to be working on them.”
“All right.”
I wiped cold sweat from my forehead. “We just have to be really careful.”
Sophie nodded, for once looking appropriately grave. “We will be. Try not to think about the risks. It only makes it worse.”
“That’s for sure,” I agreed. I walked over to her bench and slid down on it. “Starting a secret business is very... stressful.”
