Chapter 30
When the first issue of the fashion magazine Blanche came out, it was all the ladies in the streets below my room could talk about.
Wrapped in a threadbare blanket, I shuffled to my small window and peered down. A group of girls were gathered beneath pastel parasols frosted with white lace, resembling a collection of pastries.
“Have you seen this issue? They say this will be the design of Lady Narcissa’s wedding dress!”
“Oh, it is lovely!” another exclaimed.
“Do you think it’s true? I thought the royal seamstress was Jeraldine, not this Giselle Phula,” their companion said.
“It’s Blanche de Clare’s magazine. Surely it’s true!”
“Then I must have a gown made in this style immediately. It’ll be all the rage next Season, I’m sure of it!”
“Oh look! Here’s the announcement for Mr. Edmund de Clare and the heiress Miss Elizabeth Summer’s wedding. It’s set to be in April. A spring wedding! Must be the new fashion.”
“Good riddance, their engagement has lasted obscenely long! I’m surprised Miss Summers tolerated it.”
“As am I. A prolonged engagement is practically the equivalent of snubbing!”
“I’d tolerate a great deal if my fiancé were as handsome as Mr. Edmund de Clare.”
The ladies burst into an explosion of giggles.
I stuck my head out the window. “Hey!”
One of the ladies lowered her parasol and gaped up at me, the copy of Blanche in her gloved hand. “Good heavens, what is that?” she shrieked.
I scowled at her. I was well aware of the horrendously dark bags beneath my eyes, but still, there was no need to be rude. “Toss me up a copy, will you?”
She and her companions squealed and ran off in a flurry of lacey petticoats, dropping the magazine onto the sidewalk.
Rolling my eyes, I reached a hand out, levitating the abandoned magazine with my magic.
It sailed into my second story window. I grasped the papers, my heart sinking when I set my eyes on the illustration on the second spread.
It was my exact design for Narcissa’s wedding dress, from the silhouette down to the pattern on the crocheted lace.
Beside it was an illustration of a jewelry set—the same set Crown Prince Bennett had ordered from Blanche de Clare specifically for the wedding!
All of it, exposed before the bride could even wear it herself!
Did Edmund mean to get back at me even if it meant humiliating the future crown princess?
Clenching my jaw, I turned the page. My interview was on it. He hadn’t tampered with that, at the very least, but I still cringed at my own words looking back at me, so cheery and optimistic. He didn’t need to change anything to humiliate me.
Beside it, in a little ornate box, was the wedding announcement. Mr. Edmund de Clare was to wed Miss Elizabeth Summers in five months after a year-long engagement.
He had been engaged all this time, yet he had stared at me with those eyes, had held my hands and asked me to dance, and even had the gall to offer a kiss! At this thought, all sorts of epithets came to mind, and I had the sudden urge to strangle something.
Instead, I hurled the magazine back out the window where it landed with a muted thump, ducking back inside to pace the cracked wooden floorboards of my cramped room, fuming.
Edmund had leaked my design in retaliation, no doubt.
The spiteful man. I was very, very glad that Maddox had come with me the other night—and that I had the satisfaction of hearing Edmund’s perfect nose crunch and seeing him doubled over in agony just before Maddox and I fled down the stairs before he called for security.
I reveled in this fiercely, then sank into my creaky bed as the righteous indignation drained from my limbs.
Even though Edmund had no association with The Crown, he had helped the rotten organization win in a significant way—by completely demoralizing a witch with aboveground business ventures and thoroughly humiliating her.
My story would become a warning paranoid witches like Ma and Beatrice would use to discourage their children from leaving Witch Village, which was exactly what The Crown wanted.
Look! This is what becomes of witches who dare to dream in this kingdom. This is what becomes of witches who dare to reclaim their space aboveground. All that trouble! You had better stay in the village.
Moaning into my hands, I sprawled over my satchel. Narcissa would be expecting another wedding dress fitting, but now I had nothing to show her. My design was unusable. I had to start from scratch...again.
It was like I was never meant to sew this dress to begin with.
***
JERALDINE’S DRESS EMPORIUM was a modestly-sized shop not unlike mine, though it was located in a more populous part of the city with cleaner windows and a custom made sign embellished with pastel decals hanging above the door. A bell tinkled gently when I entered.
Inside was a neat display of fabrics and mannequins with empire waist gowns in duochrome silk taffeta, dresses in the latest fashion made with witch-made fabrics.
A few girls roamed about, browsing the fabric selection and cooing over the ribbons and trim.
I noted that it was considerably less crowded compared to the last time I visited.
Instead of feeling triumph, which I would have a week earlier, I felt something akin to indignation.
If it weren’t for The Crown and their rotten article, Jeraldine’s shop would be crowded around this time.
I wandered around, wondering if my shop would’ve looked like this if things had gone more favorably. Would I have succeeded like Jeraldine if bad luck and prejudice hadn’t been in my way?
I wanted to say yes, but my innermost thoughts were more realistic. I had never been equipped with the skills necessary to successfully start a business like this. Save for the basic concepts of exchanging service and goods for money, I had no knowledge of what it took to run a shop.
“Can I help you?”
I turned at the voice, startled to see a middle-aged woman standing behind me. A smattering of golden freckles dotted her apple-red cheeks.
“Jeraldine?” I asked hesitantly. I had spent so much time being envious of her that I never realized I hadn’t met her face to face before.
The charmwitch nodded with a smile.
“I don’t know if you know me,” I said awkwardly, sticking out a hand. “I’m Giselle. Giselle Phula.”
Jeraldine shook my hand firmly. “Of course I know you. You’re the accomplished young charmwitch who became the royal seamstress last winter. What can I help you with?”
I blushed at the praise, not expecting to be recognized. “Thank you. I was just browsing. For inspiration.”
“Ah, is that so? Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Bridal things,” I said.
Jeraldine raised her eyebrows. “For Lady Narcissa’s wedding gown, I presume.”
I nodded glumly.
“Forgive me for saying so, but I believe your design was leaked just this morning.”
My face heated. My anger at Edmund surged, then fizzled away again. I could blame him all I wanted, but there was no undoing what had already been done. “That was shared without my permission,” I mumbled. “I’m starting over.”
Jeraldine clucked and shook her head. “You were taken advantage of?”
I supposed it could be called that, though admitting it was humbling; I always thought I was too smart to be taken advantage of.
Jeraldine took my silence as confirmation. “I’m very sorry about that, child. It’s difficult enough for us witches to do business up here as is.”
“You seem to be doing well,” I blurted out. I hoped I sounded more curious than jealous. “What’s your secret?”
Jeraldine blinked, as if I had surprised her.
“Why, there’s no secret. It’s knowledge and observation.
A few books from the bookshop did the trick for me, and reading Olderean laws on business and commerce.
You’ve heard the common complaints about witch businesses, have you not?
That we work too quickly and don’t charge enough for things that are near impossible to create without magic? ”
I frowned. “They’re all—”
“True,” Jeraldine finished with a nod.
This stopped me in my tracks. “But...but...”
“Humans and witches have been separated for so long that we no longer know how to exist around each other. For peace to reign between magical and non-magical parties, each group must yield to the other to some degree. Mutual accommodation. I try not to use too much magic in my operations. I hand sew my dresses, no charms involved. I have a few human seamstresses hired too. The only time when magic comes in handy is when a dress needs a fast turnaround time, or if one of my girls is having a particularly difficult time getting satin to lay flat while cutting pattern pieces.” She smiled.
“Magic in moderation, at least when it comes to business. Otherwise, it just wouldn’t be fair to Gertrude across the street, who has been making dresses for the same clientele for far longer than I have. ”
I let this sink in. A part of me still resisted. Why did witches have to hold back just to make the humans comfortable? “It’s their fault for driving us out of the kingdom in the first place,” I grumbled.
Jeraldine nodded. “So they did. It is important we never forget that. Awareness precedes change, after all, and knowing our history can prevent it from being repeated. I have little sympathy for the humans who are mindlessly hateful toward us no matter what we do. But for everyone else who is reasonable, there is room to be kind and work toward a better future together.”
Jeraldine was a better witch than I was. She was more talented, more successful, more compassionate. I stepped back and lowered my head, all at once shamed and humbled.
“Jeraldine. If your schedule allows...can you take the wedding dress assignment?” I asked quietly.
There was a beat of silence. “Now why would I do that?”