Chapter 32
The Monday morning after Michaelmas, Peter stood in the middle of his shop, evaluating the transformation he’d worked over the weekend.
He no longer had any reason to wait. Hobbins, Halverton, and he had organized their venture.
Now the longest table from the dyehouse filled a prominent space in the workroom.
His grandfather’s journals decorated the walls, where their genius might be seen by the world.
The mixing of dyes belonged in the dyehouse, but Peter had arranged kalam pens, stamping blocks, wax, and the necessaries for painting and imprinting cloth on a large bookshelf.
Calm steadiness settled in Peter’s chest. Certainty pushed him forward. He felt his father’s approval of the scheme, understanding that his own unwillingness to change had prevented his progress, not his father, nor the tired promise he’d made to his grandfather.
He nodded in satisfaction and stepped into his office, where he wrote another letter to Mr. Hobbins and Lord Halverton explaining the arrangement he’d proposed to the tailor’s guild.
The front door clattered open. Peter went to meet his apprentices. Before he reached the entrance, Miss Matilde’s voice preceded the thunder of the apprentices clattering in to begin the day’s work.
Miss Matilde’s arms were laden with gowns. Arnold and Johnathan were helping her peel each layer and reposition the fabric over a chair. From where they stood, the changes to the measuring room could not be seen.
At Peter’s entrance, Arnold turned to him. “Sloan Tailoring is saved. Miss Cooper has fled to London.”
A dreadful void cracked Peter’s chest. “What do you mean?”
Miss Matilde’s young eyes sagged with fatigue. “She said she could not stay in Stroud, but I never saw a better reception than her shop opening. Nothing persuaded her, though didn’t we beg.”
Had Master Dickson sent her away after all? “When did she leave?”
“So early yesterday morning that we did not say goodbye.” Miss Matilde sniffed, her mouth forming a childlike frown.
“What is all this?” Peter indicated the unfinished garments being unloaded onto every surface of the workroom.
“Miss Cooper said to bring everything to you and to tell you she is sorry for…” Miss Matilde eyed the ceiling as if searching for words.
“Disrupting your work and causing a bother. No, that isn’t it, but something like it.
Well, that is that. I return to Havenwood shortly.
” She began blinking rapidly. “I enjoyed my time in Stroud. It was a pleasure to know you all.”
She disappeared before Peter could absorb the situation.
“Miss Cooper is gone?” Peter looked to his apprentices for confirmation.
“Sounds like it. Looks like it too.” Johnathan stood in front of the window that faced The Golden Thimble.
Peter joined him, noting the shuttered, lifeless appearance of a place that had vibrated with energy just days before.
He could not imagine Margaret giving up, regardless of what Master Dickson had said.
Something must have pushed her to such an extreme decision, and her family would likely know what had happened.
“I must go.” Peter departed for Halverton’s.
Peter reread the lines of Margaret’s letter to Lord Halverton. In leaving Stroud, I am gifting Peter what you have given me. The freedom to choose his own path. Then, I am not necessary to this place or people.
Could she believe that? She thought to make amends, but they were unnecessary; he had not been forced to pursue dyeing by anyone, not even by her.
How was she blind to the essential role she took in the community?
Peter had recognized the rightness of a female dressmaker.
And Stroud loved her—the apprentices, the clients, the women whom Meg inspired.
And now she was gone, taking his heart with him just as he’d feared she would if expelled by the guild.
He did not want to be a tailor or a dyer as much as he wanted her.
Reconciliation with her complicated character evaded him, but he must keep trying.
“And you don’t know where she’s gone?” Peter asked.
“I expect to hear from her in a day or two.” Lord Halverton sat beside his wife, concern etched on both their faces.
Peter reached for his cup of tea, then dropped his arm.
Halverton’s drawing room brought Margaret’s absence to sharp reality.
His memories of her helping Lady Halverton with her gown, her interactions with Samuel, their game of billiards—all of it rounded out her character and had been paramount in understanding it.
He had fallen in love with her in these rooms.
“I will inform you as soon as I discover her whereabouts,” Lord Halverton said.
Peter stood. “Thank you for your time, my lord.”
“You won’t stay for tea?” Lady Halverton asked. “Perhaps we could think of a solution together.”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I need time to think.” Peter bowed and turned from the room, numb and incredulous.
He barely felt the jostling of the carriage as it returned him to Stroud. Why had he allowed his pride to interfere with what he knew about Margaret? Her letters were a proffered olive branch. Had he accepted her then, they might have met Master Dickson together, avoided the confusion.
Bewilderment sat heavy in his chest, thick and immovable.
The words of her letter to James kept pricking his memory.
To imagine that Margaret did not feel needed or wanted by the people of Stroud befuddled him.
Beloved by all, Margaret had entered the town and seemed to have taken a position, declared herself necessary, demanded space.
Perhaps he had misunderstood? Or perhaps she had.
A plan began to take shape. If she did not accept the love he must declare, he would convince her that her home remained in Stroud, that these people indeed needed her.
Margaret Cooper, a ship under full sail with no intention of consulting the wind, could hold the world together without ever considering that she required holding.
She had blown into his life and upturned it, and he could not do without her. He must fetch her home.
He knocked on the roof of the carriage and asked the driver to return to Lord Halverton.