Chapter 17
Seventeen
Kate
Kate was still biting back a grin the next morning when she filled the washtub to do laundry.
She didn’t go to the manor on Saturdays and Sundays when the children were home.
This was her time for cleaning, gardening, cooking, and preparing for the long week ahead.
It was drudgery, particularly without Brydie here to laugh and liven up things.
But here she was, grinning like a silly gudgeon at the memory of the big man in his nightshirt, ready to shoot the wind.
And her, shivering like a ninny, ready to do the same.
She’d managed to cover her mouth to keep from laughing, if only in relief.
Fletch had glowered, but when he hastily escaped to the dining room, she’d heard his rumbling chuckles.
A man who laughed at himself was a rarity, she knew. She liked him better for it.
He'd kept his distance this morning, though, toasting his own bread and ducking into the dining room to work. She was glad of that. She was evidently too starved for companionship if she accepted his surly offers of aid as anything except his ungracious means of repaying any debt he felt he owed.
She’d even found an old shirt of George’s and torn it into a fresh sling she’d tied more tightly so his arm would rest easier.
She added his old one to the wash with his filthy clothes.
Really, he was only more work. She didn’t need a man around the house.
Surely, by now, Hugh had departed the area and was harassing some other unfortunate down the road.
She was just hanging the linens out to dry when Damien rode up. “Do you need your carriage back?” she called. “Rob has curried and fed the team.”
Her brother-in-law swung down. “The horses have more room out here. Brydie wants to know you’re still alive and haven’t killed Fletch, and Lavender says she needs you to set up the shop.”
“We’re all quite alive and I can’t work today or tomorrow.
This is when I do all my washing and cooking.
And I can’t ask Verity and Brydie to look after the children any more than they do!
Lavender doesn’t need me for more than approval.
Have her ask one of the manor ladies.” Kate briskly snapped another sheet and threw it over the line.
Despite the clouds, the chilly spring breeze would dry them quickly, if she hung them in time.
“She says she’ll pay you twice your rate if you’ll come in. She’s wearing Rafe to pieces choosing shelves and tables and things he knows nothing about. Brydie can put Lyn and Rob to work. They’re not a burden.”
Kate hated saying no to Lavender, who had been good to her for so long. But she just didn’t see how she could manage everything. “I really can’t leave the laundry soaking wet and. . .”
Fletch stepped out, wearing his coat thrown over his injured shoulder. “Leave Rob and we’ll hang the clothes. It’s not as if I’ve never done it before.”
“With one arm!” She resisted. She didn’t want to depend on him.
Rob looked up from his woodchopping. “I can help. Aunt Brydie will make me mush dough and hoe weeds. I’d rather stay here.”
The argument didn’t last long after that.
She needed the extra coins for birthday presents and maybe a new coat for Rob.
And Easter was only a week away. Lynly needed a new frock.
If Lavender was generous, and she usually was, the children could have both birthday gifts and Easter clothes.
The house wouldn’t be clean, but they’d not die of a little dust, she supposed.
How did she thank the major for hanging clothes? Before she left with Damien, Kate hastily pulled her underwear from the basket and hung it upstairs in her room, leaving her window open to hasten the process so she’d have clean to wear to services tomorrow.
She was still wearing her oldest clothes when they drove into the village.
It wasn’t as if she wore her Sunday best for housecleaning, and she didn’t have anything else until the laundry dried.
Once upon a time, she’d had a dozen frocks to choose from.
These days, she settled for two interchangeable black bombazines for working in.
The worn muslin she wore now required several shawls and a cloak if she meant not to freeze in the unheated shop.
Rafe had left his ex-convict minding the inn desk. As both bailiff and innkeeper, Rafe had twice the work of any man in Gravesyde. For Rafe’s sake, she hoped Mr. Parsons truly had turned over a new leaf and wasn’t robbing him blind.
Dressed in what apparently passed for her oldest clothes—a sprigged cotton with green ribbons instead of lace on the bodice—Lavender greeted Kate’s arrival with relief.
“If we can set up this window with some fashion books, we might attract customers wanting a bit of new for Easter. I’ve asked Rafe if we might hold a tea for our opening. ”
“That will help people to understand the pub, as well as the shop, is open to all. Rafe should be delighted.” Kate knew the men wanted Monk’s Tavern for themselves. Rafe’s pub was more suitable for women and families.
Sorting through the various fashion sketches that might interest local women was far more interesting than dusting furniture. When they had those chosen, they began choosing trinkets and ribbons to catch the eye.
“What on earth is that rolling into town?” Lavender exclaimed some time later, leaning over the table to stare out the bay window overlooking the inn yard and the main road into the village.
Standing to one side, Kate peered out. Two unwieldy carts, one of them covered like Henri’s peddler’s wagon, the other piled high with luggage, and both straining their teams with an assortment of colorfully garbed people, hesitated in front of the inn, before turning with some difficulty down the road toward Kate’s home. . . and Sutter Hall.
On the back of the open cart sat two. . . men. . . in garish pink and green coats with striped scarves and insanely tall hats bearing gay ribbons. They waved at the inn as the cart rumbled away, as if they knew they were being watched.
Of course they were being watched. Who wouldn’t notice a circus coming to town? Kate sighed. “Damien must have told Jacques his thespian friends can rent the Hall for rehearsals. I suspect Damien imagined stiff-necked Shakespearian actors.”
Lavender laughed and waved back, as if the pair could see her. “Jolly fun! I’ve never seen a circus. Or a play. Perhaps they will invite us to watch.”
She turned back to designing her window. Ideas poured out of the child faster than Kate could keep up. Working with her brain instead of her hands was so refreshing, that she almost matched Lavender’s enthusiasm.
“I need hat stands!” Lavender cried as they decided to arrange linen over the table in front of the mullioned window. “How can I show off our bonnets if they just lay there limp?”
Kate studied the plaster overhead. “Do you think one of the men might have small hooks they can install in the ceiling? Then we could tie ribbon around the hooks and pin it to the bonnets and let them dangle?”
“Oh, yes! That will leave room for more ribbons on the table. Brilliant. Let me find Rafe.” Lavender raced off to annoy her new landlord.
Kate stuffed old papers into the bonnets to fill them out.
On his trips to Birmingham, Henri purchased old hats and bonnets others had discarded.
Vivien and Odila reshaped them, lined them with muslin, and then everyone adorned the brims with ribbons and lace and any ornaments they’d rescued from other bonnets.
If Lavender meant to display hats, she probably ought to bring in Odila or Vivien as shop clerk rather than Mrs. Young, who only covered buttons. But Odila and Vivien were young and quick on their feet and didn’t mind climbing the hill.
Except Vivien was currently limping. Hmmm. . .
Preferring not to consider the manipulative goosecap, Kate returned to stuffing hats and studying the tables.
Running a shop required exhaustive preparation.
Having spent the better part of her life organizing all the details of a busy household, and then managing the sewing room, Kate had practice in planning ahead.
She made notes in the notebook she’d learned to carry to keep all Lavender’s ideas from bouncing away.
Glancing out the window again, she grimaced at the sight of Vivien’s limping approach on the arm of the new hardware clerk.
Poor boy, if she set her snares for him.
He had to walk in the mud while helping Vivien’s daintily-shod feet and walking stick balance on the boards Rafe had laid out to mark the new walkway he meant to install.
Kate sighed and wondered if she might vanish when it became apparent from the direction of their voices in the lobby that the pair weren’t going into the pub.
“I was looking for Miss Marlowe.” Entering and glancing around with a moue of disapproval, the chit sniffed at finding Kate alone. “I gather your lunatic didn’t cripple you yesterday.”
“I am quite well, thank you for your concern,” Kate said with only a hint of irony. “Miss Marlowe is busy. May I tell her you wished to speak with her?” Kate hoped the girl meant to quit to get married, but her luck never ran that way.
“I’ll wait here. I’m sure she will appreciate my ideas for the shop. I worked at a modiste’s and know all the latest notions. She’ll need a wall of French fashion dolls and books on those shelves.” Vivien indicated the bookshelves Damien had left behind.
Kate continued working with the bonnets. The manor ladies visited Lavender and the sewing room when they wanted new. The shop was meant for the village women, none of whom could afford or even use French fashions. But the girl could dream, if she liked.
“Her clerks ought to be modeling the latest styles,” Viv continued, while the gangling hardware clerk stood against a wall, looking out of place.
Kate practically choked on a snort. Vivien was obviously picturing herself as that fashion plate in an expensive gown even Lavender wouldn’t wear. “Perhaps you ought to apply at a modiste’s in London,” she suggested instead. “You are obviously underappreciated in this backwater.”
“When I have sufficient funds, I shall certainly do so,” the girl said stiffly. “I will need a wardrobe and travel funds first. Feeding my sister’s children obviously comes first.”
Mr. Jasper appeared a little startled at that revelation. Good. He should know Vivien’s intentions.
“Glad to hear that,” Kate said sincerely. “Children cannot easily fend for themselves. How are they liking school?”
Swinging her walking stick, Viven shrugged. “They’re dull louts and don’t like starting in a class with babies.” She brightened at the sound of Lavender’s excited voice in the hall.
So, her niece and nephew could not read or write. Kate supposed an abusive husband might not have been willing to pay for schooling. Education wasn’t easy to be had elsewhere. Gravesyde was unusually fortunate to have a free school.
Lavender arrived with Mrs. Young, who carried her basket of button bits. The gray-haired widow was tiny, frail, and limped, although she managed without a walking stick.
“Mrs. Young has suggested we lay out lace on the table and adorn it not just with the bobbles our customers might add to their own hats but matching buttons.” Lavender enthusiastically took the basket and began laying out the contents, arranging buttons, flowers, and ribbons in order of color.
“We only have the one length of lace,” Vivien complained in dismay. “You do not want to have it turning yellow in the sun from the window.”
“As if the sun shines anymore,” Kate muttered under her breath.
Producing more ribbons from her basket, Mrs. Young chuckled. “It has been particularly dreary, hasn’t it? But it’s good for my mushrooms.”
“We will have more lace once we start earning coin.” Lavender glanced around, studying the remaining space.
“I’d like bolts of cloth stacked on those shelves.
We need to think of what colors will catch the eye best, brighter than drab brown and gray.
Although it will be a while before we can stock everything. ”
“Samples, for now,” Kate agreed. “It will take time before the village women will dare order an entire dress. The manor ladies know what they like, so you need only order the fabrics they request.”
“French fashion dolls.” Vivien limped over to rearrange the window display. “They will need to see how the style looks on them.”
“French fashions are too costly and not practical when we have no fancy balls or soirees to attend,” Lavender corrected in amusement. “Mrs. Young, will you need a low table and chair to sit at? Would one of those we’ve been using in the shop work for you?”
“You can’t expect ladies to attend a shop with an old woman putting buttons together as if it were a workhouse!
” Vivien’s heart-shaped face wrinkled into an expression of horror, and her carefully coiffed dark side curls bounced with a shake of her head.
“They need a fashionable modiste to display the latest designs.”
Lavender turned in puzzlement to the young seamstress. “Did you need something, Miss Vivien? Have you come to tell me you can’t walk up the hill on Monday? It will put us dreadfully behind, but we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The girl looked bewildered and angry at the same time. “Dr. Walker does not know if my foot will ever heal properly. I thought I might work here.”
Dr. Walker hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with her foot and thought it a mild sprain, Kate knew. Vivien was a manipulative liar.
“With the makeovers of the dowager’s silks, we really need you in the workshop,” Kate said evenly, not calling the girl on her tall tale.
“If you will wait at the bottom of the drive, I will have Mr. Sutter stop his carriage to pick you up when he takes Lyn and Rob to school. There is room for all of us.”
“But. . .” Unable to say she couldn’t walk the length of town to wait at the manor drive, since she’d already walked here, Vivien took Jasper’s arm and flounced out.
“The girl needs to be married,” Mrs. Young said with an understanding smile. “Then she can boss her young man around.”