Chapter 31
Meg scribbled a note to James regarding Master Dickson’s visit.
Thoughts scattered and knotted like thread tangled in cat’s-paws until she hardly knew what to ask him.
His help came whenever she needed it, that she had learned, but she did not like being a burden.
In the end, she merely informed him of the guild’s threat, deciding it best to discuss options in person.
Someone thwacked at the door. She froze, hoping whoever it was would leave. Another knock, more persistent. Leaving her letter unsealed, she opened the door and found Master Dickson.
She did not invite him in but raised her chin and settled her hands on her hips.
“I came to inform you that your mentor and I have reached an agreement,” he said. “The guild will allow your noxious presence without threat and hereby drop any charges owing to your dishonest behavior.”
She understood every word, but together the statement made no sense. “An agreement?”
Master Dickson rocked on his heel and took hold of his lapels.
“It appears he is now a dyer and has agreed to supply us with chintz and teach Gloucestershire dyers Turkey red. A fine bargain, for we tailors will be sought after by all. The situation could not be more beneficial. Good day, Miss Cooper.” A few steps down the road, he turned.
“I beg your pardon for the inconvenience.” Then he rounded a corner and disappeared.
Meg closed the door and leaned against it, trying to unravel what had happened. Peter had decided to share his secret and become a dyer. While she supported the decision, had advocated for it, she had never wished to push him into a change of craft for her sake.
It was all wrong. He must follow his heart, not sacrifice on her account. She had seen his little thumbprint beside his grandfather’s and learned it held a promise kept for a beloved grandfather.
She sank onto the settee, a tufted salmon-colored Queen Anne piece that elevated her shop into something special.
The Golden Thimble was not a mess of tables littered with partially finished clothes, bits of thread, and frayed strips of cloth.
Over the gleaming parquet floor stood white tables covered with artfully displayed gloves, pattern books, and fashion dolls.
Three full-length mirrors stood in the corners of the room, and a toilette table strewn with cosmetics had been pushed against one wall.
The room appeared an elaborate dressing room.
Meg, Louisa, and Matilde had imagined it together as a gathering place for women, a space for tea and gossip, and most importantly, an outlet for collaboration over gowns, petticoats, stomachers, and stockings.
A steady, dragging pressure fell over Meg’s shoulders like a gown constructed of chain mail.
The cost was too high. Meg’s ambitions had pushed Peter onto a path he did not choose, one against his principles that forced him to break a sacred promise.
If Samuel had ever truly depended on her earnings, there would be some dignity in what she’d done.
But he did not. His school was paid for, his future secured.
She had cheated Peter out of his loyalty.
She pulled a shawl from its peg and rushed toward the Michaelmas festival, praying James and Louisa were still there. Once on the green she elbowed her way through crowds, asking anyone she knew if they had seen the earl, desperation expanding in her throat.
On a platform meant for performers, she surveyed the throng until she spotted Louisa and Samuel and rushed toward them.
Meg greeted Louisa and opened her arms to her younger brother, but he looked at the friend who stood beside him and rolled his eyes before giving her a half-hearted squeeze around her waist. The gesture compounded Meg’s already tangled emotions.
Louisa took Meg’s elbow and led her away from the crowd. “What has happened?”
“Master Dickson visited me. He wishes me gone, seeks to take legal action against me for breaking my indenture. Mr. Sloan intervened.” Meg tried to find the words to explain, but they scattered like autumn leaves. “Mr. Sloan should not be obliged to sacrifice on my account.”
“Go to him. Explain everything.”
Louisa’s urgency somehow calmed Meg enough to gather her words. “I am in his way. I’ve taken his livelihood, forced this change.” Her head felt light, her legs weak. “I cannot bear the consequences of my ambition. I’ve ruined a man I deeply admire.”
“It is because you love him that you cannot remain silent.”
Love? The word hit Meg’s center and tumbled through her body.
Louisa shook Meg’s arm, her brow creasing. “Find him now. There is too much at stake.”
But Peter had begged her to desist. He did not wish to speak with her. His message rang with new clarity. He was asking her to stop taking his customers and close her shop. And so she must. Suddenly, what had taken a year to build seemed impossibly easy to unwind.
She glanced at Samuel, whose head bent close to his companion’s, some scheming taking place, no doubt. He no longer required her to remain near him. He had James and Louisa and his school chums. It was time to let go.
“I must go to London.”
“Listen to me, Meg, as your sister and one who knows the pain of reckless decisions. Take a moment to reflect on what you leave behind—all your efforts. Consider your Mr. Sloan.”
“I think solely of him. I see clearly what is required of me.” Meg leaned forward and planted a kiss on Louisa’s cheek. “You are very dear to me. I thank you for everything.”
Louisa’s arms came around her in an emphatic embrace that squeezed tears into Meg’s eyes. “Don’t say it. Please. Reconsider.”
She had weighed her options, and only one appeared solid.
London’s vastness could hold her and hide her.
A female dressmaker was no novelty there, and her trust allowed for time to find the right situation.
“I am finally doing the honest thing and returning all I’ve taken from Mr. Sloan.
I will have no trouble building a new clientele in London.
” She turned to explain to Samuel, but he was no longer where he had been.
She looked around and found him making a face at her from around the corner of a booth, he and his friend collapsing into laughter. She wilted and blew him a kiss.
When at last Meg had piled the last of her essential belongings into a trunk, she made her way into the parlor. Under the glow of a single candle, she waited for Miss Reed and Miss Matilde to arrive.
“There you are.” Miss Matilde clattered into the room and draped herself into a chair. “We wondered where you’d gone. What a fine feast.” She paused. “What happened?”
Miss Reed sat beside Meg and took her hand. “Even in the dim light, we can see your tears.”
Meg closed her eyes for the span of three heartbeats, then lifted her chin. “It is over.” She kept her tone calm. “I must send you back to Havenwood.”
Miss Reed folded her arms and lifted a brow, but how could Meg explain when she hardly understood herself?
“I cannot continue running the shop here. It isn’t fair to…” Meg took a breath, sighing out the words. “I misunderstood what friendship means. Sometimes a gift is too grand to accept.”
Miss Matilde knelt before Meg and took her other hand. “I don’t understand. Are we not friends after all we’ve accomplished?”
“You needn’t decide now,” Miss Reed said. “Surely tomorrow your worries will look different.”
But they wouldn’t; Meg must depart tomorrow, and Stroud would revert to the way it had been. It must be as though she had never arrived.
“The Golden Thimble is closed. I leave for London as soon as I can arrange it.” The following day was a Sunday and stagecoaches did not run. She would have to find a post-chaise willing to interrupt his sabbath.
“But I found my place here.” Miss Matilde released Meg’s hand. “I’ve never been happier. Not even at home.”
Miss Reed nodded. “I am useful for the first time in my life. You’ve allowed me to push my limitations until I no longer feel them.”
Meg endured their protestations but finally put up a hand.
“I have no other option. I ask that you take any gowns that remain unfinished to Sloan Tailoring. Pack the remaining fabrics. I will send for them when I am ready.” She would hire a man of business in London who would help her arrange a lease on the shop and anything else required to settle her affairs in Stroud.
Meg stood and strode toward the door, where she turned to face the girls. “If one of you would like to accompany me…”
Miss Matilde flicked a glance at Miss Reed, the exchange slight and automatic, an agreement between them that Meg could almost hear. We stay together.
As their employer, Meg was not a part of their group, not really, but the silent conversation conveyed how little they considered her.
Meg’s throat tightened as they avoided her scrutiny, rejecting her as one might ignore an uncomfortable truth.
Havenwood girls did not require anyone but themselves. Good. Neither did Meg.
Her smile felt like it would break her face in half. “Please, make sure to give Mr. Sloan my deepest apologies for causing strife.” Her voice broke as she made for the door, bent on hiring a carriage for a departure that would take place first thing in the morning.
Meg had succeeded in hiring a post-chaise at considerable expense. She rose before dawn and penned a letter to James.
Dear James,
When you receive this letter, I will be on my return journey to London. Now that I understand the trust, I will manage it myself. Thank you for your sense of honor that provided me such resources. It is a great comfort to me.
I know I make the correct decision but regret settling so far from Samuel.
I suppose I should be pleased that he does not require my support.
I will miss you and Louisa. The kindness I received at your hands goes beyond duty, though I understand you were rectifying our father’s unscrupulous behavior.
I suppose therein lies the puzzle. Your charity springs from an obligation to fulfill a perceived debt.
I can sympathize with that impulse in you, but I cannot reason out Peter Sloan.
I wronged and tricked him. Yet when handed an opportunity to end my scheming, he dropped the chance.
Only now, having learned his willingness to sacrifice everything for my interest, have I become cognizant of my error.
In leaving Stroud, I am gifting Peter what you have given me. The freedom to choose his own path.
My sojourn in Stroud has done little good and much ill. I am not necessary to this place or people, but I am sorry to leave behind my family.
As soon as I am settled, I will write with my address. Please visit when next you are in town.
Your sister,
Meg
She left it on the kitchen table, along with assignments for Giles, the needlewomen, and each of the Havenwood ladies. They would close the shop and receive generous wages for their pains. Giles might return to Sloan or begin his own enterprise. She wished them all the best.
Meg ran her hand over the scarred kitchen table, feeling each groove as though etched through her own aching heart.
She glanced at the wood counter where Grace, then Miss Reed had kneaded countless loaves of bread.
A vase of lavender carried its scent across the room.
Meg inhaled, treasuring the fragrance, the feel, the image of a room she loved, wishing to box it up and save it to open in a darker, more lonesome place.
She beheld the watercolor bird hanging over the stark, white wall, the sight of it pricking her eyes. Peter. He had undone her, presenting generosity so large it choked, as if kindness required no exchange. His selflessness terrified her.
She ensured the money jar was safe inside her satchel beside the food she required for a long day’s journey. Planning to stop only to change horses, she hoped to reach London that same day.
A crunch of gravel signaled the carriage’s arrival.
She glanced at Peter’s dark windows. Departing remained the right decision.
She waited for the familiar ache to follow, that tightening beneath her ribs, the pressure that had burdened her for months each time she thought of him.
It did not come. Something unfamiliar moved through her, slow as the first draw of thread through thick fabric, loosening the stiffness in her arms. She breathed, and the breath reached deeper than it had in longer than she could remember.
She had done this one thing, a single, clean thing, and it clothed her in warmth like only the best-fitting garment could.
She directed the coachman and his boy to load her trunks and stepped onto the mounting block. The carriage swallowed her whole.