Chapter 6 #2
After Miss Cooper departed and his father went to bed, Peter sketched the flowers decorating Miss Cooper’s stomacher. It required more than cherry preserves to undo the wariness and suspicion that had grown between himself and the gentlewoman apprentice, but he was ready to offer his friendship.
Miss Henton was late the following morning, so Peter entered his office an hour after his usual time. He opened the door and found Miss Cooper bent over his account books.
She looked up. “I knew we were behind, but this?” Her face was troubled, and not because she had been caught.
He had determined the evening before to extend kindness. Not when she took such liberties. “That is not yours.” He slid the book from her fingers, snapping it closed.
“Mr. Carlisle came asking for his wife’s gown and clothing for his servants. I only looked so I might tell him when he could expect his order.”
Presumptuous. Any intention to repair the coldness between them dissolved.
“Miss Cooper, I appreciate your help with Mrs. Gainsworth, but this is a step too far. And not the first time you’ve violated my private space.
I must ask you to leave and never enter my office again, or I will confiscate your key. ”
She produced the key and dropped it on the desk, her confident gaze steady on him.
“Take it, then. I will sit in my corner and keep to myself as you wish, but I warrant you will soon discover how much you require my help.” She walked past him and turned at the door. “Good luck to you, Master Sloan.”
Peter sighed and stashed the ledger. He knew as well as she that without the key, Miss Cooper would not have access to the shop in the early hours of the morning.
Surely Arnold could be counted on to tidy the workroom without her.
Miss Cooper was certainly equal to any difficulty, but she pushed those admirable qualities into a vice.
What made her think she could go through his things?
A knock. Mr. Lawrence’s large shoulders filled the doorframe, his face ruddy with a rage that would increase when Peter told him they required another week to finish the three suits for his son’s first year at Lincoln’s Inn.
Peter offered a comfit. “Mr. Lawrence. Please help yourself to a treat. These are delicious.”
Mr. Lawrence waved it away.
He tried again, smiling genuinely. “Straight from France. Better than any in England.”
Mr. Lawrence gave in, his thick fingers inserting the shiny white delicacy into his mouth.
“You must be so proud of your son—headed to London for barrister training.”
The red peak drained from Mr. Lawrence’s face as he took hold of his lapels and widened his stance. Without the elegance of manners to prevent him from speaking with food in his mouth, he launched into a full account of his son’s accomplishments, rendering the comfit useless.
Peter let him monologue, hoping he would forget his errand or request another sweet. But all too soon, Mr. Lawrence fixated on him with a resentful stare. “You promised my son’s new wardrobe a fortnight ago, yet he departs in three days, and we have not received a single garment.”
Peter sighed and placed an apologetic hand on Mr. Lawrence’s arm. “I am afraid it requires one more week. A hasty stitch is a crooked one, after all. We will give him our best for London.”
“Then in the spirit of celebrating my son’s future career, let us adjust our contract. I’ll deduct half a pound from your charge for each week my order remains past due.”
Peter inwardly grimaced. This sort of compromise was becoming far too common, but his customers deserved fair treatment and compensation for his shortcomings. “Of course. I apologize for the inconvenience. Good day to you.” He accompanied Mr. Lawrence to his office door and opened it.
“Sir, I saw you come in. You must be looking for these.” Miss Cooper appeared, arms laden with breeches and waistcoats.
“Would you care to inspect the suits, or shall we package them directly?” She beamed at Peter as though she were responsible for the stroke of luck. Upon consideration, she well may be.
She made arrangements with Mr. Lawrence while Peter wondered whether she had deliberately waited for his customer to leave before coming forward with the order.
When the door closed, Peter turned to her. “Why did you not spare me that conversation?”
“You commanded me never to enter your office. I dare not disobey.” Her eyes were wide with mock remorse.
Impertinent. But again she had saved him. He swallowed a bitter lump of pride. “Thank you for your help, Miss Cooper. I apologize for my sharp words earlier. Really, you are of great value to Sloan.” But he did not return her key.
The straight, obstinate line of her mouth softened, replaced by the slightest smile. She looked a whole different person. “I am pleased to be of service, Master Sloan.”
He watched her pivot and walk away. What was he to do with her?
Peter joined the apprentices at the table with a linen sacque gown requiring assembly. Miss Cooper resumed her corner, hemming a chemise.
Freddy eased off the table and, with a glance at Peter, made his way to Miss Cooper.
They exchanged a few words, then Freddy returned.
At the midday repast of cheese, bread, and beer, Giles and Johnathan slipped off the table and went to her.
The threesome spoke for ten minutes, shuffled through the stack of commissions. What was this mutiny?
As afternoon yawned into evening, Peter noted that each of his apprentices had at some point removed himself to confer with Miss Cooper.
Their returning looks were sheepish. Why would they seek her guidance?
He’d been distracted over the past weeks, perhaps less accessible than usual, but did his occasional absence make him superfluous?
Contrary to custom, Miss Cooper departed as soon as the others began making their exits. Peter found himself alone in the workroom, surrounded by mounds of fabric left to wrinkle, empty spools, scissors left open, unbanked fires. Had he instructed his apprentices so poorly?
He knew the answer was yes. Miss Cooper picked up after the boys and tended the fires.
In addition to their recent speed, he had noticed their seams were straighter and far less fabric went to waste.
His mind stretched back to the words she had spoken in his kitchen.
She had assumed credit for catching up with orders, setting the apprentices to collaborate, driving them faster than they’d ever worked. What else was she doing?
His mind grew quiet, uncomfortably still. He rummaged around but could find no argument to defend his behavior. The certainty he so easily carried toppled. Whatever the guild’s intentions, Miss Cooper’s excellence and tenacity deserved more than a corner for finishing work.
He felt his mouth draw into a rueful twist, astonished at all the ways he had misjudged her.
The night before, illuminated by dim candlelight, he’d recognized compassion and humor in a woman he had determined to make little of.
He’d understood he had taken her measure in one dimension.
But that was only the beginning. She’d gained the trust of his other apprentices, guiding them more skillfully than he had.
He’d deserved the trick she’d played with Mr. Lawrence.
Blind to her contributions, he’d behaved as though she were a thorn in his side when he should have expressed gratitude for her willingness to keep the shop so well while he remained with his father.
She deserved a worthy concession.