Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The streets of London are alive by the time I reach Kensington Gardens.
Mr. Hughes, Grandad’s chauffeur, parks the Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost along the curb, a few blocks from my true destination, as I requested.
With his helping hand, I step onto the busy pavement, wearing my beige cloche hat, pale pink wool coat, and cream leather gloves.
Despite the break of sunny weather and the emergence of spring, it is still quite cold for mid-April to forgo any heavy clothing materials.
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I should only take a half-hour,” I say before making my way east of Bayswater Road.
Mr. Hughes gives a curt nod. “I will be waiting right here, Miss Fairfax.”
Making my way along the pavement, my heels clank along as I pass Londoners going about their Saturday afternoon—some heading to high tea, others on shopping excursions like me.
I know I could have spared myself the walk by having Mr. Hughes park in front of the shop, but there’s a reason I want to stroll through London on my own.
Although I reap the benefits of being the granddaughter of an Earl, I find the advantages quite discomforting.
It’s the way people solely regard me as a member of high society that troubles me.
Women are often perceived as an adjunct to the family, tied to someone else’s title, social status, and accomplishments, never as independent individuals with our own ambitions and achievements.
I want to be seen as Clara Fairfax, historian and aspiring archaeologist, and nothing more. That’s why I do what I can to separate myself from that perception, even if they’re the smallest of actions, like having Mr. Hughes park a few blocks away so I can stroll the streets on my own.
In the distance, the weathered wooden cerulean sign of my destination, Evangeline’s, the finest women’s dressmaker in the country.
As I walk closer to the shop, my mind wanders back to Grandad’s relationship with Mr. Ashford, trying not to be bothered by how close and personal it seems or how much it mirrors my own connection with Grandad.
Just as I try not to fret about him joining the expedition, I remind myself that Grandad must see something in him worth trusting.
As I place my hand on the door handle, I promise myself that I will not let a man like Mr. Ashford ruin the expedition of my dreams. I’ve waited nineteen years for this moment, and I will not let any man stand in the way. I learned that the hard way during Trinity term of my first year in Oxford.
I pull open the shop’s door and am consumed by the sweet lavender smell and pastel-colored interior of Evangeline’s—a place I’ve been visiting ever since I grew into my body. A place that always made me feel welcomed, even with my unconventional upbringing and family dynamic.
Every time I step inside, I’m reminded of the dollhouse my mother gifted me for my fifth birthday, a few months before she passed.
With painted white walls and furniture and décor in soft shades of pink, purple, and blue, Evangeline has transformed her shop into a place that transports me back to my childhood—a time when imagination inspired dreams of becoming a ballerina, a fairy, or an elegant princess.
Her shop is one of the few places that reminds me of my mother, and every time I try on a newly made outfit, I feel her presence more strongly than ever. Somehow, I know she would have loved this place, too.
Stepping closer, I hear Evangeline in the backroom, explaining to her young assistant, Lottie, the exact hem pattern to follow.
Her face appears behind the light blue velvet curtain she pushes aside, hiding the front room from the back, “where the magic happens,” as Evangeline likes to say.
A bright grin rests on her face, making her look younger than her true age of sixty-one.
Her greying hair is pulled into its usual bun at the nape of her neck, a pencil or pin almost always tucked into it.
“Clara, love,” Evangeline exclaims. “Always on time. Make yourself at home and take a seat on the settee. There is already a tray of treats and a hot cup of tea, just as you like. Lottie and I are finishing up on your last piece, and we will showcase them to you in a moment.”
“Take your time, Evangeline. I know this order must have been quite a handful for both of you.” I smile, full of gratitude.
I’ve always been the client who keeps her on her toes, constantly challenging her with unorthodox requests.
My favorite is the long skirts she’s made with deep pockets to hold my pencils and notebooks.
With my latest request, though, I know I’ve challenged her to do something she’s never done before: design a pair of trousers for a woman.
When Evangeline has hidden herself once more in the backroom, I head toward the dressing room at the rear of the shop. Beyond a small, raised platform stand a velvet settee and tea table, opposite a massive floor-length tri-fold mirror.
For years, I never understood why Evangeline included a sitting area in the dressing room—until one day I came across a mother perched on the settee, teacup in hand, watching her daughter try on dresses.
I’ve since understood that dress shopping is meant to be an experience for a mother and daughter to share.
And that realization brought with it another: I will never have that same experience with my mother.
Perhaps that is why Evangeline spoils me with jelly-filled biscuits and small squares of chocolate—to help soften the absence of what I will always miss.
I take my usual seat on the comfy settee and make myself at home, placing my hat and leather gloves on the empty space beside me.
With my bare hands, I take a piece of chocolate and sip on the perfectly made cup of tea.
I settle in, knowing it will be a while before Evangeline and Lottie return with my newly made wardrobe.
Unlike her other clients, I didn’t ask Evangeline to design clothes that meet fashionable standards.
My new wardrobe must endure five months of sweat under the hot Mediterranean sun and constant exposure to the dirt and sand of the excavation pits.
It must allow me to do my job, which is crucial not only for making a discovery but also for proving myself as an archaeologist.
One could argue that my wardrobe is as important as my knowledge and expertise on the Seven Wonders—two sides of the same coin.
My thoughts are cut short when I hear Evangeline’s voice grow louder as she and Lottie stroll into the dressing room. “Now let’s not forget the accessories, too,” she says over her shoulder, her arms stacked high with my new garments.
My mouth falls open in astonishment as they hang each piece on the metal hooks fastened to the wall. My breath catches as I take in every item, realizing the expedition is truly happening. All it took was seeing my dream wardrobe laid out before me to fully accept it.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Lottie smiles over her shoulder.
“You both truly outdid yourself,” I breathe, eyes wide with awe as I take in my new garments—they are exactly as I envisioned.
Evangeline reaches for the first garments to showcase—five cream-colored button-up shirts. The soft fabric flows as she lifts each one by the hanger, turning it in the air so I can see it from every angle.
“I ordered this fabric specially for you from Egypt. It’s a special type of cotton that is very lightweight and breathable.
In my research, I found that this type of cotton is good at withstanding heat and absorbing sweat.
” Evangeline smirks as she says the last part, knowing that only I would need material tough enough to handle a woman perspiring on her garments.
I grin and stand, rubbing my fingers across the fabric. It feels exactly as I imagine a cloud would.
“Lottie has your new trousers.” Evangeline tips her head toward Lottie with a grin, making it clear which piece is her favorite in this lot.
Two pairs of linen trousers in different shades of light brown are presented before me, and my eyes linger on the foreign pieces. I’ve never seen trousers cut with such a narrow waistline and thinly tailored legs, garments designed solely for a woman’s body.
Suddenly, I can envision everything they will allow me to do: bend down to my knees with ease, sprint without fabric tugging at my hips and ankles, and climb with freedom.
“Trust me when I say that linen will make your life so much easier on this trip,” Evangeline jokes.
Eager to test them out, I turn my head back toward Evangeline, grinning. “Can I try them on?”
“Oh, you must!” she exclaims.
After changing behind the privacy screen into only my chemise and undergarments, I emerge again. Evangeline and Lottie circle back around, guiding me through how the trousers work and how to tuck the button-up shirt inside.
With the hem of the shirt tucked into the waistline of the trousers, I secure the final button. Like a leather glove, the two garments fit perfectly—onto me, and into each other. Giddy as a child, I sway side to side and bounce on my heels, kicking one leg out and then the other.
The trousers are perfect, form-fitting to my legs, yet generous enough at the waist that I can bend and slip my hands into my pockets without restraint.
The shirt moves with swift ease. For the first time, I raise my arms straight above my head and reach for the ceiling.
In the tri-fold mirror, I catch Evangeline standing off to the side, a brown leather belt in hand.
“What is that for?” I ask, turning around to face her, placing my arms back down.
“You don’t need this for function, but it’s my duty to make every client’s outfit as fashionable as can be.
” She steps toward me, looping the belt through the hoops across the waistline of the trousers and securing the buckle.
She positions me in front of the mirror and moves to the side. “Now your look is complete.”