Chapter 4 #3
Nearly sighing in relief, Peter intervened. “Jane, are you certain you wish Miss Cooper to take her first cuts on your silk?”
Mrs. Gainsworth smiled sympathetically at Miss Cooper. “You are right. You may cut the gown while Miss Cooper learns.”
He took the scissors from Miss Cooper and carved uniform lines down bell-shaped panniers, hoping Mrs. Gainsworth recognized his steady, expert hand. He avoided answering his apprentice’s questions, insisting her observance might be the most useful instruction at this stage of her learning.
Then, he made the mistake of glancing up at Miss Cooper, whose attention remained fixed on his hands, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He would not soon forget the sensation of watching her watch him. He performed the next cut more carefully than necessary.
When done, he gave the scissors to Miss Cooper and dismissed himself, so eager to leave behind his absurd self-consciousness that he did not care if he abandoned Mrs. Gainsworth.
Minutes after he watched Mrs. Gainsworth’s carriage disappear, a bulbous-eyed woman stomped toward him. “I waited all yesterday for the delivery of my underthings, but as they never arrived, I am here to fetch them.” Her round figure heaved with each breath.
“How do you do, Mrs. Brewster?” He fixed himself with a cheerful expression.
“Considering your longstanding patronage, I determined to add some tasteful French lace to the hem of your shift. I will deliver everything tomorrow.” He believed it in that moment, though he could not recall whether the pieces for her stays were cut.
As soon as she took her leave, he called out, “Arnold. Have you seen Mrs. Brewster’s stays?”
Miss Cooper appeared. “French lace? On a shift? If she is clever, she will remove it and attach it to her sleeves. You’ll lose money.”
Where were those comfits? “Do you know where Mrs. Brewster’s underthings are?”
“Yes, and I will attach the lace. The stays are ready for boning. I’ll put them on the workbench by Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown.”
The day unraveled in a series of mishaps. He finished a set of stays to realize they were much too small for Mrs. Brewster—someone else’s pattern entirely. Johnathan left an iron-shaped burn on a nearly finished waistcoat. Freddy spilled stew on the wool for Mrs. Gainsworth’s livery.
After the apprentices left for the day, Peter shut himself in his office and lost himself sketching a whimsical pattern for stamping chintz, flowers and birds in repeated succession. The tension of the day began dissolving into his pen, but all too soon he was interrupted by a tap at the door.
He snapped the sketchbook closed and stood as Miss Cooper entered. His limbs grew heavy. No doubt she had come to berate him again.
“My housekeeper, Miss Grace Henton, asked me to give you a message.” She cleared her throat. “This afternoon Mrs. Call left your employ. Miss Henton is sitting with your father.”
“Mrs. Call?”
“Is gone.”
“Who is Miss Henton?”
“As I explained, she is my housekeeper and has been with your father since early afternoon.”
“Why am I learning of this only now?”
“I believe Mrs. Call didn’t want you to run after her. She told Miss Henton she is too old for the job.”
Knowing Mrs. Call, she’d said a great deal more than that. Peter ran his hand through his hair and sat down. Without someone to look after his father, he was finished.
“Miss Henton also wanted you to know she can cook for you and the other apprentices. She is familiar with your father’s ailment and will check on him from time to time until you find another housekeeper.
Would you like supper this evening?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “She’s already making it.
She doesn’t have enough to do. It would be no trouble. ”
Her brow furrowed with what appeared to be genuine concern.
While he had no desire to indebt himself to Miss Cooper, this offer was a godsend he could not afford to refuse.
His father’s infamy among Gloucestershire housekeepers made finding competent help nearly impossible.
He slid his sketchbook into a drawer and banged it closed.
“My father requires more than an occasional visit.” The man wandered the streets and flew into anxious, tearful fits. “Could Miss Henton spend most of the day with him?”
“I will have to discuss that with her, but she appeared pleased to have more work.” Miss Cooper’s hands clasped in front of her brown linen dress, the white fichu at her collarbone bright.
Her mobcap sat perfectly straight. She chewed her lip.
“In exchange for the use of my servant, you will instruct me in dressmaking. Properly. Stop dodging my questions, stop putting me off.”
He should have expected this. His father’s comfort was more important than anything, more than a favor to Miss Cooper—and denying the guild’s wishes. “Tomorrow, you may begin stitching Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown.”
“Not just Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown—I expect full partnership in every gown you create.”
“I must see to my father.” He hadn’t time to negotiate. Why couldn’t she simply accept what he offered?
“We are agreed, then,” she said as he left the room.