Chapter 17 #2
“You’re working yourself ragged,” said Grace. “Go on and rest. The shop will do fine without you for an hour.”
Meg reached up and squeezed Grace’s wrist. She’d barely seen her since the funeral.
“I will sleep well tonight. When Mr. Sloan returns to the shop, he’ll not find it in shambles.
” She kissed Samuel’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re better.
Don’t overtire yourself,” she said, conscious of her own hypocrisy.
“While you’re here,” Miss Reed said, “can you assist me with the placement of this ribbon?” She held up a skirt with loose ruching pinned to its hem.
“It’s not the placement. The ruching is off.
” Meg unpinned it and demonstrated a longer stitch pulled tighter.
When she finished, Miss Matilde appeared at her elbow with another question.
On Meg’s way out the door, Grace asked where to record the money brought in from sewing and how to account for money spent at market.
Grace’s aid with accounts would ease Meg’s mind.
Quickly, she told Grace where the money lay hidden.
“Run your hand under the third shelf from the top and you will find a lever that opens to a hidden compartment,” Meg said. “The ledger is beside the money jar.”
Meg returned to Sloan Tailoring with the bone-deep fatigue of someone who hadn’t slept in a week.
“Miss Cooper, seven people stopped in while you were away,” Johnathan said. “We couldn’t help half of them, not knowing where to find their orders or what they owed. Giles told them to return tomorrow.”
“I’m not keeping secrets. I organized a new system to keep everything in order. Come, I’ll show the three of you.”
After the apprentices left, Meg tallied the accounts and tidied Mr. Sloan’s office. She leaned back and stretched her back. Mr. Sloan had not appeared all day. Torn between checking on him and getting home to Samuel, she resolved to make her visit short.
“Mr. Sloan?” she said into the stillness of his house.
“I’m here.”
She found him in the parlor, a table pulled before his father’s chair, papers scattered across it.
His face brightened upon seeing her.
“I meant to tend the shop today, but time slipped away. You look positively exhausted, which I suppose is my fault. My absence has pushed a burden onto you.”
“We shoulder it together. Have you eaten?”
“Grace brought something.”
“I will see you tomorrow, then. Good evening.” But her legs did not take her from the room.
“Chess?” he asked.
She sat, the cushions embracing her sore back. “I can’t think well enough to play.” She tilted her head into the chair and extended her feet toward the fire beside Mr. Sloan.
“How are you faring?” she asked.
“Now you are here, I’m better.”
His words seeped into her like sweet cream into sponge cake.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to feel it, to understand what it meant.
At the wake, he had selected her hand, her presence to comfort him.
It felt good to be wanted for herself, not for something she could make or do or give.
No one made her feel like that. Except her valentine, but he was words without a face, while Mr. Sloan’s bodily reality sat before her.
Whether she could decide to fancy Mr. Sloan or not, she could no longer continue taking his customers, working against the indenture.
Things would be tight, but Mr. Sloan did not deserve the betrayal.
She had enough saved to support herself and the three women in her household.
Her funds would not pay for a tutor for Samuel, but without so much sewing to keep them occupied, Miss Matilde and Miss Reed could teach him reading and history.
The dark, ever-present coil inside her unwound, Meg’s breath coming easier. It pained her to use the money she’d been saving, but it was not worth Mr. Sloan’s feelings. Or her own.
Late Sunday afternoon, Meg forced herself to remain calm as Lord Halverton enumerated the merits of a school located some twenty-five miles away. He often came to see Samuel, and now the boy felt better, wanted to discuss the future.
On he spoke while Meg consumed endless cups of tea to soothe the lump in her throat.
“James.” She used his given name, hoping he would listen.
“If Samuel attends Tillmore School, I shall never see him.” She did not voice her second concern—her inability to pay the tuition.
“I am deeply grateful for your support. For Samuel and me, your gifts meant the beginning of a new, better life—a shop, my apprenticeship, Samuel’s foray into a more genteel world.
But we have found our footing and can no longer accept your charity.
My savings sufficiently cover our expenses for the next two months, including a tutor.
” She did not mention that her tutors were also her needlewomen.
Lord Halverton’s jaw tightened. “You must give your stipend away, then, for I cannot unravel it.” He rubbed his eyes. “Your trust and what you do with it has nothing to do with what is best for Samuel. He is my half-brother, too.” His voice remained level, but his brows gathered like storm clouds.
“But you cannot make every decision for him.” In truth, Meg felt Samuel belonged to her.
She thought of the day she’d first met him. His mother had pounded on the servants’ door of their London townhouse. The woman had been admitted into the kitchen and collapsed from illness, the boy nearly falling from her arms.
Meg’s mother had argued with the ailing woman, refusing to concede that their children’s common father bound her to aid them.
All the while a toddler’s cry wove between their shouts.
Meg had scooped up the boy and taken him to her chamber, holding him tight against the uproar.
Samuel had clung to her, his fingers curling around her fichu, his sobs devolving to intermittent gasps until he fell asleep.
Despite the wet circle of tears on her bodice, his warmth had folded into hers, radiating a comfort so profound it felt like belonging.
At that time, Meg’s mother had a new beau who kept her comfortably with a cook and a housemaid.
An ill woman and her child might ruin the situation, so while Samuel’s mother was too unwell to move, Meg kept him quiet.
Then his mother died, and Samuel became Meg’s.
She’d cared for him through every blessing and hardship when they sunk into poverty in Rosemary Lane.
Lord Halverton found them only a year prior. If Samuel had not been ill when Lord Halverton discovered them, Meg never would have accepted his help. Trust came hard when he resembled her father—a man devoted while it pleased him and cost him nothing.
“I raised him.” She turned to hide the emotion on her face. “I know what he needs and what is best for him. You cannot dictate his life simply because you are wealthy and an earl.” But he could and most probably would.
“Since we are at odds, perhaps we might consider what Samuel wants. He asked when he might return to Gloucester, misses his school chums something fierce—his words.”
“At least we agree that won’t happen.”
“Yes. However, it would keep him close. We might visit the school together, look into the workings and recommend some changes.”
Meg nodded slowly. “I am loathe to trust the institution, but I will consider a visit.” She would certainly prefer Samuel to stay close—if she could guarantee his safety.