Chapter 11
Mr. Sloan was an ungrateful, selfish man. Meg could do far more than attach embellishments to a dress. Why had she ever believed she could make headway with a tailor when a mantua maker would have served? Gross miscalculation.
Why had he changed his mind? When he’d promised, it had held all the appearance of sincerity. But no, the real question was why she had believed him. More fool she for beginning to trust him. His decision not to teach her after all did not hurt as much as realizing he had broken her trust.
When she’d learned that morning of his departure for a large family requiring mourning clothes, she had retreated home, where she remained all day. As irritated as she’d been, the day had not gone to waste. Many visitors arrived to leave work or collect and pay for finished orders.
She emptied her pocket onto the kitchen counter. A fine mountain of coins, a small balm to her dark mood.
The room smelled of stew bubbling in the hearth. The floor was swept, dishes were stacked in order, and not a speck of dust lay in any corner. Grace was an angel. Meg would never take for granted the glorious gift of leaving behind worries about cooking or cleaning.
“Are you alright?” Matilde stood in the doorway.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for your part in ordering the house.” Meg’s irritation had nothing to do with her own household. She swallowed her anger and forced a smile.
“I finished hemming the last shift for Mrs. Bosket. I’ll go tidy the shop and return shortly.” Matilde skipped away.
Meg counted the money. With Miss Matilde’s help, the stash grew heavier by the day. She stowed it in its secret place while Matilde swept the floor, then settled in with another of Mrs. Bosket’s gowns to wait for Grace.
“Miss Cooper?” Matilde asked once she’d finished.
“Yes?”
“What do you think of this pattern for Mrs. Smith’s stomacher?” She held up a sketch, roses growing up a trellis.
“Heavens, you’ve a fine hand. That will do splendidly. Now run upstairs and wash for dinner.”
Meg attempted to restore her placidity as she stitched, but she could not forget Mr. Sloan’s infuriating words. The silent rhythm of her needle tightened her growing irritation. A key sounded in the lock. She put away her work and marched toward the kitchen, indignation hot on her tongue.
“Grace?” she called. “Mr. Sloan is a thankless blackguard. I banish my guilt for cheating my contract. You will never believe—”
She burst into the kitchen and met Lady Halverton, Miss Ivy, and Grace. Lady Halverton kissed her on the cheek. Miss Ivy, a longtime friend of Mr. Sloan, Meg now recalled, wore a less amused expression. Grace’s grimace confirmed they had heard every word.
“There you are, Meg. I found Lady Halverton and Miss Ivy searching for you, so I let them in through the kitchen,” Grace said, her expression apologetic.
Meg felt the falseness of her smile. “I just sat down to supper. Would you care to join me, my lady? Miss Ivy?”
“Yes. How delightful.” Lady Halverton yanked off her hat and removed her cloak.
As the rest of the party stood motionless, the countess found bowls and spoons.
“I am famished. I spent all day on a horse—ten miles at least. James was with me half the time and the other half I jumped more hedges than I can count. Only don’t tell James. ”
Lady Halverton began ladling stew into bowls while Grace held them steady. Meg surged into motion and cut bread, frowning at the oblong, flattened slices, evidence of her anxiety.
“Please, Miss Ivy, sit,” Meg said over her shoulder.
“I must do something in this house of female industry.” Miss Ivy slowly removed her mantle, hat, and gloves.
“Miss Ivy, you can set the table with mugs while I fetch ale from the cellar.” Grace disappeared, leaving Meg alone with the interlopers.
“I confess your visit surprised me,” Meg said.
“You did not take my threats to call on you seriously?” Lady Halverton teased. “We came to invite you to a literary breakfast. Everyone is buzzing about the female apprentice. You will be a favorite. Miss Fisher already thinks well of you. And how is Miss Matilde? A lovely girl.”
Meg wondered if this gathering could be an opportunity to mingle with potential customers. “What is a literary breakfast, and who attends?”
Grace returned with the ale, Matilde at her heels, and the five of them sat around the small round table.
Lady Halverton cast a pointed look at Miss Ivy, whose silence seemed deliberate. She must have heard Meg’s outburst. But had she understood it?
“We read novels, philosophy—anything, really—and discuss what we read,” said Miss Ivy reluctantly.
Meg would be bored to tears without something to do with her hands. “And who attends?” she asked, a spoonful of stew cooling over her bowl.
“So many wonderful, intelligent ladies,” said Lady Halverton. “Ladies like you.”
“That is a pretty little bird.” Miss Ivy picked up a watercolored card from the table that had lain there all week. “A starling, charmingly done.”
“Miss Margaret has a valentine,” said Grace.
“Such detail.” Lady Halverton squinted at the card.
The card was painted artfully, but it meant nothing to Meg. What use had she for clutter? “Grace is giving it to her own valentine so the effort does not go unappreciated.”
“You better hang it on one of your bare walls,” Miss Ivy said, glancing at the unadorned room.
Stark white walls stared back, but they were clean and beautiful to Meg. The sight of their unadulterated spotlessness made her heart sing.
“For one possessed of an acute eye for beauty, I wonder you do not make an effort with your own home.” Miss Ivy’s tone held a cool glint.
Meg, usually so quick with a response, could think of nothing but to sip another spoonful of soup.
“And how do you like it here?” Miss Ivy asked Miss Matilde warmly.
“Very well indeed. But I shall return home soon to marry, have children, and keep a garden.”
“To Havenwood?” asked Lady Halverton.
“To my family in Kent.”
“How lovely for you,” Lady Halverton said, squeezing the girl’s hand before turning to Meg. “We received a letter from Samuel’s headmaster. He is doing well but caught a cold.”
Meg’s heart clenched. “Was the purpose of the letter to report the illness or how he excels?”
“Do not fret, dear Margaret. A mere trifle.” Lady Halverton squeezed her arm, but it did not reassure. Samuel suffered frequent, serious illness. Meg wished for someone who would understand her distress.
The meal continued with Lady Halverton carrying most of the conversation and Meg catching suspicious glances from Miss Ivy.
As Mr. Sloan’s friend, she would surely tell him what she’d heard and urge him to end the apprenticeship.
Her anger faded, replaced by dread. Whatever crumbs Mr. Sloan condescended to drop, she would collect them while she could.
When spoons scraped the bottom of bowls, Meg thanked her guests and bade farewell. Lady Halverton promised to send a carriage next Saturday for the literary breakfast, and Miss Matilde begged to join. Meg agreed.
Miss Ivy’s farewell was chilling.
When the door closed, Meg collapsed in a chair. “Heavens, Grace, I never imagined they would eat with us.”
“Nor I.” Grace poured them each a cup of tea and sat with her.
Matilde sipped her tea happily. “But I’m glad they did. They are such lovely acquaintances. You best keep them close.”
Meg nodded thoughtfully. “You are right. Lady Halverton’s patronage will go far when the shop opens.”
“What could they mean showing up here of an evening?” Grace asked. “Suspicious, is what I call it.” She distrusted everyone of higher social class. Meg understood the unease but found it hard not to like Lady Halverton.
“When you entered the house, how much of what I said could you hear?” Meg asked.
“Every word, I’m afraid. I began talking immediately, but their ears were attuned to you.”
Meg groaned. “Miss Ivy will tell Mr. Sloan everything. This may be my end.”
“Nothing so petty would stop you.” Grace squeezed Meg’s shoulder.
“And we will assist you, no matter what happens with Mr. Sloan,” Matilde said.
Grace helped Miss Matilde tidy the kitchen while Meg retreated to the shop in search of work to ease the sinking weight in her chest.
Rather than beginning early at Sloan Tailoring, Meg remained at home working on her own projects. Mr. Sloan might appreciate her if he noticed how much better things went when she was there. And if Miss Ivy had told him what she said, her own ventures must take precedence.
When she finally entered the shop thirty minutes later than everyone else, she found the anticipated disarray.
Snippets of fabric littered the floor, empty spools rolled about, the grates were full of yesterday’s ash, and the little boy she’d convinced Mr. Sloan to hire sat in a corner tying scraps into a long chain.
“Good morning,” she told the apprentices, who mumbled their greetings with sheepish looks. They were strange with her. Did they know something?
Mr. Sloan stepped from his office. “Miss Cooper, may I speak with you?”
Miss Ivy had told him already.
He motioned for her to sit, then took his place across the desk. Separated by two feet, unease swirled in her belly. She leaned back as far as possible and looked out the window.
“I apologize for my rudeness yesterday in trying to explain myself. I would like you to understand that when I received word of Lord Downsbury’s passing, I departed in the early morning hours, which did not permit time to extend an invitation.
I beg your pardon and ask for your assistance assembling the gowns for Lady Downsbury and her daughters. ”
Relief washed from her shoulders to her toes. He did not ask in which ways she had broken their contract. His confession was thorough and convinced her she’d misjudged him.
“Thank you, sir. My conclusions were hastily drawn. Pardon my rudeness. Shall we begin?” There was no sense in prolonging the matter. She did not wish to dwell on any of his misdeeds when her own cast a weighty blight over what might have been friendship.