Chapter 5
With the Saint Valentine’s festival three weeks away, Meg adjusted Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown. She treasured the privilege, for Mr. Sloan continued guarding his craft.
She pinned a quarter inch on either side of Mrs. Gainsworth’s shoulder blades. “Is that better?”
“Yes. Quite supportive.”
Meg examined every seam, searching for puckers or looseness.
“Are you pleased with the silhouette? Is it as you imagined?” Meg asked.
“It is better than I’d hoped. I cannot wait to wear it with all the finishings. Will you attend the festival?”
“Perhaps.” If the sleeves on her own gown stopped crumpling. Mr. Sloan proved a thorough and competent teacher, but Meg did not have nearly enough practice to perfect her own sacque.
“You must! I organized everything. There will be fires and food and dancing. Everyone will be there. And it’s so romantic, you know, though I am sure with your looks you have no shortage of suitors.”
“Indeed, I have no time to think of admirers,” Meg said, as Mr. Sloan’s face flashed in her mind. A startling, bothersome vision.
Mrs. Gainsworth looked at her with a critical eye. “You are a self-contained gentlewoman, but you need friends. Attending is the best way to become known to your neighbors. Everyone will be there.”
After Mrs. Gainsworth departed, Meg glanced at the clock.
Approximately fifty-three minutes until Mr. Sloan reappeared.
Meg had learned the hours Grace spent with the elder Mr. Sloan and when his son would leave the workroom to sit with his father.
She used the information to her advantage, inserting herself into the workings of his shop in his absence.
Atop the sewing table, the apprentices drooped over their work.
Each practically worshipped the master tailor, but their loyalty did not translate into strong work ethic.
The night before, while sewing her festival gown, Meg had rehearsed what she would say to them.
She cleared her throat. Their eyes remained on their work.
“Gentlemen.” She had determined that calling them boys might ruffle feathers. They swiveled toward her and all but clutched their work to their chests. She, a woman and an outsider, encroached on their domain, but she could not allow their prejudice to interfere with what must be done.
“In a private conversation, Mrs. Gainsworth confided her concern that her livery will not be finished in time.” If this wasn’t true, it should be.
“She asked that I do everything possible to ensure the garments are completed punctually. Me? Can you imagine?” She laughed and pressed a hand to her chest. A positive lie told with requisite astonished humility.
She appealed to the senior apprentice. “Giles, you must help where I am lacking. What can be done? I hate to disappoint Mrs. Gainsworth, and we all know the import of this commission.” Her voice pitched small and pleading, a tone that made her want to crawl from her skin, but the apprentices had not turned from her apparent distress.
Giles dropped his work onto his lap. “What do you mean, Miss? Aren’t we doing our best and following Master Sloan’s instruction?” He sounded bitter.
“Of course, I don’t mean to imply… Master Sloan is distracted and cannot properly advise.
But you are quite capable, Giles.” He puffed his chest ever so slightly.
Meg lowered her voice. “I wonder, is there a possibility of completing a garment in a day?” From her work as a needlewoman in London, she had learned that two men often divided a project, one sewing the left, the other the right.
In this establishment, Mr. Sloan had them trace, cut, and sew an entire garment apiece—good practice for tailors who toiled alone, but not expeditious when orders piled up.
“Impossible.” Giles resumed stitching.
At least he was speaking with her.
“I wonder… Could you split each project? No. That likely won’t do.” She drew her brows together in the manner her mother had taught her.
Johnathan sighed. “At least tell us your idea.” The others nodded.
“Such a silly notion, but you might labor in pairs, each taking half the garment. If you divide the work, it will go faster, and you could focus on the tasks at which you excel. Giles cuts the fastest of all of us, for example. And Arnold is surely ready for more responsibility.”
Giles’s stitching fingers paused. She had him. He turned to the younger apprentices. “Perhaps if we organized according to our strengths, we might move faster.”
With the idea in their heads, the apprentices discussed options until Giles outlined a plan much like the one she suggested. He would cut, Arnold would iron, and they would partner for assembly. The orchestration had required little from Meg.
“What a surprise for Mr. Sloan.” Giles flushed with excitement. “Think how impressed he shall be when the livery is finished early.”
“How clever of you, Giles. And Mrs. Gainsworth will be so pleased. Should you require another pair of hands, I am very ignorant, but you have only to ask.” Blooming pleasure warred with irritation that such manipulation had proved necessary.
Over the week that followed, a camaraderie developed between Meg and the apprentices. The young men winked at her when a delighted Mr. Sloan expressed his astonishment at their quick work. Two complete suits of livery hung pressed at the end of a single day.
Meg eased her way into their circle, volunteering to cut when Giles could not keep up, or to sew when an apprentice was unable to match his partner’s pace. She asked flattering questions and began learning and performing the tasks of a tailor, skills she had not thought to acquire.
She managed the needlewomen by asking what they most enjoyed sewing and encouraging them to attend to their favored projects. Some fell to embroidery while others focused on buttons, hems, or embellishments. Good cheer increased, and so naturally did productivity.
With apprentices and needlewomen brought to great effect, Meg turned her attention to customer orders, which were prioritized by no recognizable method.
Upon inspection, she also found no evidence that Sloan Tailoring followed any routine for collecting payment.
Mr. Sloan seemed to rely on whim and goodwill.
She felt almost no compunction about examining the account books, and so one day as Mr. Sloan sat with his father, Meg entered his office and began studying the ledger.
All too soon, her investigation was interrupted.
“Mr. Quincy here to see you, Miss Cooper,” said Giles, not entering the room.
Again? The man came to the shop with increasing frequency. She found him wearing turquoise breeches and an embroidered lemon waistcoat, a dandy if ever there was one. He blushed when he saw her, then glided over.
In sotto voce, he said, “I require a waistcoat in puce.” He withdrew a package and showed her pink silk. “It is for a celebration, but I trust only you.”
“Your confidence is misplaced, sir. I am not a tailor, merely an apprentice dressmaker. Giles, will you help us?”
“I believe ladies have a better sense of the latest fashions.” Mr. Quincy’s face had gone from rose to cherry. “You will give your opinion on the pattern at least?”
Meg obliged, then excused herself and returned to the ledger.
That Sunday after her visit with the Halvertons, Meg sat in her parlor, bright with sharp winter sun. Mrs. Bosket, the young wife of a yeoman and a potential new client, slipped the last of a butter biscuit into her mouth.
“Do you think gathered sleeves will remain the fashion?” Mrs. Bosket asked. “They are a vast deal more convenient than ruffles.”
“There is no predicting fashion,” Meg said. “We must create our own mode by wearing what we like. What do you find most appealing in a gown?”
Mrs. Bosket chewed her lip. “I prefer practical with a touch of…”
“Impractical?” Meg asked. She knew this woman’s income allowed for a little extravagance; she likely wanted to set herself apart from less affluent neighbors. “I suggest adding a flounce here and there to make your wardrobe distinct. Have you any remaining fabric from the sacque you are wearing?”
They discussed ruffles, ruching, and bows, and by the end of afternoon tea Meg had a new patron.
While constructing an entire sacque was beyond her abilities, she could confidently add lace and ribbons until a gown appeared almost completely new, wordlessly suggesting to the townswomen that she would soon construct their wardrobes.
Mr. Sloan was thus far ignorant of her work, which she judged to be fair seeing as he supervised her dismissively when they sewed together.
Meg had noted Mr. Sloan’s every effort with Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown and adjusted her own sacque accordingly, seeking to undo her ignorant mistakes. Her application was insufficient. She required his cooperation, and he would have to give it once he acknowledged her value.
When the women had settled on the embellishments, Mrs. Bosket looked around the small parlor. The furniture, though bought used, was not shabby. The walls were bare. Who had time to dress a room? The fireplace didn’t smoke, and the room was clean and pleasant.
“I hear you are great friends with Lord and Lady Halverton?” Mrs. Bosket peered over the rim of her cup.
The image of Lady Halverton’s disappointed face crossed Meg’s mind. That afternoon she had refused the lady’s insistence that they dress together for the festival.
Meg’s relationship with the Halvertons was as familiar as she wished it to be, and she would not have visited at all except to see Samuel.
But every new acquaintance eventually indulged in Mrs. Bosket’s question, surprised and sometimes outraged at the apprenticeship, curious about Lord Halverton.
In the end, none of it would matter. She would cater to all their silly curiosity until they came begging Meg to dress them.