Stitched in Love: The Nettlefold Chronicles

by Thorne, Isabella

  James sighed as he stood up, stretching his sore muscles and walking towards the basin sitting on a wooden table. He splashed the cold water on his face and neck, relishing the brisk feeling of freshness in the heat of the morning. After he used the bellows to revitalize his fire, he ate a meager breakfast eaten in a hurry in front of the cupboard. In a moment, he would fire his forge and begin the day’s work.

  As he began preparations for another day in front of the fiery inferno, hammering away at the glowing iron, his mind strayed away from spurs and fittings. His thoughts fell again to the seamstress’ younger sister. She seemed to invade his thoughts completely. He could not keep his mind on his work.

  Phoebe, even the name was strange but sweet to him, and though he had known her since she was little. He wondered how he had never seen just how intensely courageous the girl was. He remembered how she did not even flinch as she saw Demon galloping wildly her way. Any other girl would have either run screaming or have fainted, if not in truth in an effort to display their propensity for sensibility. In truth, the mere comparison between her and any other woman felt offensive. She had a vigor, an untamed strength in her that James had only seen in once before, in his own mother, before the fever had mercilessly taken her from him, and he had to become a man.

  James wondered how Miss Merton saw him. He must have appeared to be so utterly inept at his craft, losing horses onto the streets. He shook off the feeling of awkward embarrassment, thinking that he would have to prove her wrong. He decided that after he had finished with his present obligations, he would fashion something for her. He could not decide what that could be presently, but he would think hard and come up with something delicate to gift to Miss Merton to prove that he was not the clumsy fool she thought him. On the other hand, she was a practical girl. Perhaps she would prefer something more useful.

  While he waited for the forge to heat to a consistent temperature, he took watered the horses in his care, while thinking of what he might forge for her. Never had a woman so entangled his thoughts.

  James heard noise in the room up front. It certainly could not be a customer, not this early in the morning. Few were awake at the crack of dawn, certainly not a gentleman. And of course, a customer would have called to him by now. It must be his helper. He hoped the butcher’s boy was well. He could use Alex’s help today.

  “Alex, my boy, are you feeling better?” he asked as he came into the forge, carrying a sack of coal to fuel the fire. “I’ll have you know I missed you yesterd…” he stopped short as his eyes fell upon the very woman had been so intensely thinking about. The young Miss Merton stood upon his threshold.

  They looked at each other for a long moment, before he found the presence of mind to mutter an excuse under his breath. “I beg your pardon, Miss Merton.” He said. “I thought it was perhaps my helper…”

  “Alex. The butcher’s boy. So I gathered.” Phoebe replied wringing her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  James could see that she was in a hurry. The woman seemed always to be in a rush. His thoughts strayed to things which were better done slowly, and he shook off the thoughts as heat filled him. “Can I…” he began.

  “Help me? Yes. I am indeed very much in need of your assistance, Mister Brassy.” Phoebe looked at him taking note of his less than decent attire. James hugged the sack of coals tighter in order to conceal his open shirt. “I need you to go to The Arms straight away and inspect Lady Charity Abernathy’s horses.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bribe the stable keep there if you must, I shall suffer any costs necessary, and my sister and I shall pay you directly.”

  “I do not think…” he began, but Miss Merton interrupted him.

  “I need you to tell the ladies’ party that their horses need fresh shoes.”

  “A-all of them?” James stuttered, not exactly knowing what the entire matter was about.

  “Yes. Or as many you can find plausible fault with. Or maybe their carriage has something wrong with it. I am certain you can find something! Tell them that they shall never reach Bath in their present state. I need you to delay their departure, if even by an hour. Believe me; it is of the utmost importance.”

  “This is about the dress, isn’t it? The one you said you ruined.” James asked, finally piecing things together.

  Phoebe gave him a pleasant smile. “Mary has assured me that she can fix the damage, but she needs more time. You see why I am so desperate to have them stay in town just a bit longer? Lady Charity said she wanted to leave for Bath as soon as possible today, so we must make it impossible for her to leave. Do you not see? This is a matter of life and death,” she added pleading with him, she laid a hand on his arm. It was rock solid, and she blushed at her own effrontery, and pulled away, suddenly embarrassed.

  James thought there was no refusing such an honest plea. Not coming from her. James placed down the coal sack and disappeared into the back room to make himself more presentable.

  “I will go immediately.” He agreed as he searched for his coat. “I will take off the horses’ shoes off myself, if need be.” He added, coming back into the room and searching for his tools. He stopped and looked at the young seamstress who still stood in the doorway. “You need not worry, Miss Merton. Tell your sister she has her hour and then some.”

  James was pleased to see Phoebe’s pretty face brighten with the spark of hope. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, stepping forward with exuberance; she stopped just short of hugging him.

  Both stood shocked for a moment, and then Miss Merton collected herself and hurried back to her sister and the sewing she had left behind.

  ~.~

  10

  When Phoebe burst through the shop’s door she was breathless and panting, but smiling at the prospect that she had done something to right yesterday’s wrongs. She dropped onto nearest chair and picked up her needle to resume her work.

  She glanced over at an angry and reproachful Mary, who had nevertheless not moved from her chair and still busied herself, working diligently on the Abernathy dress. Phoebe could see that the cream hem was pinned and ready to be stitched all around the dress. The ornament seemed intentional, and the colors blended together in a perfect manner, so that it only made the rare and delightful material shine through with new brilliance. She would have liked it very much, were it not a painful reminder of her mother’s dress, now dismantled and slumped at Mary’s feet.

  “I do suppose you had a very good reason to leave your own sister alone and overwhelmed with her work.” Mary looked at Phoebe, trying to puzzle out what she could from her sister’s expression.

  “I was barely gone a moment, and it could not be helped.” Phoebe replied confidently. She was not yet ready to divulge her meddling in Lady Charity Abernathy’s delayed departure, for she knew her sister might be upset in her meddling in matters of the Ton. Mary, though even in dire need of time to complete the dress, would never agree on the employment of such devious tactics to stall her customers. Phoebe smiled with amusement thinking about it, but said nothing more. After a moment of silence, it was clear that her sister had dropped the subject, being too busy at her work to bother with pursuing the matter further.

  “I am almost done with the bodice.” Mary said at length, holding the piece in front of her and inspecting the stitches. “But I still need to attach the flounce and I am already struggling for time and Lady Charity could walk through the door at any minute.”

  “I am certain you will have all the time you need.” Phoebe replied enigmatically and before Mary could ask her what she meant by such a thing, spoken with utmost certainty, the door of the shop opened to let in a modestly clad serving woman from the Nettleford Arms.

  She lowered her head under the mortified gaze of both sisters, and began speaking in a low, trembling voice.

  “Lady Charity Abernathy has sent me to tell you that her departure to Bath has been delayed, and she will return for her dress before tea. The l
ady wishes to know if the dress will be done by that time.”

  “Oh!” Mary said. “Of course!” Mary stood up, instantly regaining her pleasant demeanor and beaming smile. “We shall be ready for her. You must tell the lady that her dress is ready and that she may come at any time she pleases.”

  The shy girl bowed slightly and left the shop as quickly as she had come. Phoebe could even see her run down the street back towards The Arms. Phoebe’s gaze then fell back to her sister, who had thrown herself back into her chair and was looking over her work with a critical eye.

  “Why did you…” Phoebe began, but Mary interrupted her with a long sigh.

  “Believe me, I myself do not know why I told her it was done! I suppose I was trying to be polite!”

  “But what if Lady Charity is impatient enough to change her mind and come now?” Phoebe demanded, her hands idly fiddling with the bodice. “You could have just agreed and it wouldn’t have made things any less polite, you know.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t help me much now to linger on the matter.” Mary replied, threading her needle once more and resuming her stitching. “And I would appreciate if you would not pester me as well. I cannot tarry any longer. In fact, maybe you should take a walk. You always lament sitting inside all day and I would rather get on with my work unperturbed.”

  Phoebe threw the half-finished bodice on the chair and crossed her arms. “Are you kicking me out of the shop?” she demanded in an indignant tone.

  Her response came in the form of a dismissive gesture from Mary. It was clear to her then that she couldn’t expect anything more out of her sister, and decided she would take her advice and go outside for a while. Mary clearly needed to concentrate on what she was doing if she would take advantage of the time she had now.

  Before Phoebe could even close the door of the shop behind her, she saw the footmen leading the Abernathy horses from The Arms and down to the forge, where James was already busy changing shoes and hammering down imperfections that weren’t really there. Phoebe could hear the clanks and clicks of his hammer from where she stood, and a faint smile crossed her lips at the thought of how much effort James had taken upon himself in order to help her. Surely he had his own work, but he had chosen to help her.

  She had gone to him in desperation; half expecting that he would laugh in the face of such an outlandish request. How quickly he had accepted! How readily he had brushed aside his usual work in order to satisfy her need! A pang of anxiety nestled within Phoebe’s bosom as she thought of how impossible it might be for her to repay such a kind gesture.

  She decided she would make a savory stew. She and Mary had eaten only bread and cheese for the last few days and although meat was rather dear, perhaps the blacksmith would appreciate a home-cooked meal after his extra work. It seemed a simple thing to repay his kindness, but it was a start. The blacksmith deserved a bit of extravagance. She would go to the butcher, and get to work straight away.

  After the stew was bubbling, she thought perhaps she would make a pie as well. She looked in the larder and realized that they were low on flour. She called to Mary to tell her that she was going to go to get more, but Mary just nodded absently. “I’m almost finished,” she said. “I will definitely be done before tea time.”

  “Good,” Phoebe said as she went out the door into the sunshine.

  ~.~

  11

  Phoebe was brought up short by a dreaded familiar voice. As she turned towards the inn, she saw Lady Charity and Missus Lavinia Hartfield walking down the street towards her, laughing and talking. They seem intent on heading into the shop. Phoebe knew it was too late to run inside and tell Mary. They were too close, and they had surely seen her already. She did the only thing she could at the moment: engage in conversation with them and stall their entrance for as long as she could.

  “Lady Charity, Missus Hartfield!” she exclaimed, secretly proud of herself for remembering their names from the other day. “What an extraordinary day for a stroll, is it not?” she added with feigned good humor, hoping that the ladies might not see through her act. “Such a beautiful sunny day!’

  “Oh it is quite pleasant weather,” Lavinia replied in a sweet voice, emphatically gesturing towards the sun with her gloved hands. “But I do hope the sun will not be too bright today. Our parasols are packed and ready to depart. I told Lady Charity we should wait until the sun was lower in the sky.”

  “Oh, but you must be coming by to pick up the dress,” Phoebe said. “I surely could have delivered it. I would not mind in the least. In fact, that is what I do best. Deliveries. If you wish to go back to your room, out of the sun…”

  “I am sure you do, dear.” Lady Charity cut off Phoebe’s speech. It was clear to Phoebe that she had been addressed as ‘dear’ because Lady Charity Abernathy did not remember her name, but she did not mind it at all. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was to keep the two ladies out of the shop for as long as she could.

  “Oh?” Phoebe asked, returning the smile she had received. She turned to Missus Hartfield and shifted in front of the door of the shop. “I just love the sun,” she said. “But of course, no one cares particularly about my complexion.”

  Lady Charity took out a fan and began fanning herself. She positioned the accessory artfully over her bosom as they walked.

  “We have just received word that your sister has finished my dress. I was planning on coming for it just after tea, but since Mama decided to call on the Dowager Kilmerstan, I thought we had time to come to the shop. I must confess I am eager to see it, and I could not bear to wait any longer.”

  “In fact,” Missus Hartfield said, “We were just heading for the shop now, if you will excuse us, please.”

  Phoebe could see no way of avoiding stepping out of the ladies way when Missus Hartfield asked so nicely, but nonetheless, she tried.

  “Oh, yes, the dress from Paris! I watched Mary work on it. I can say I have never seen such a beautiful and fine silk, but too bad it was cut into such an unmanageable design around the bosom.” Phoebe replied eagerly, as she observed that the ladies had lost interest in her. Nonetheless, it was gauche to express impatience on the street, even to a common girl like Phoebe. Phoebe hoped Mary was nearly finished.

  “I do not relish standing in the street,” Lady Charity said, at last, and Phoebe realized she had delayed the ladies as long as possible, so instead of standing in their way, she began to speak in a loud voice in the hopes that Mary might have some inkling of their arrival. “I say, it shall be quite the most fashionable object in Bath. Goods from Paris are so very rare to come by in these days.” Phoebe continued, her smile getting increasingly larger and further away from sincerity. “Isn’t that so, Missus Hartfield?”

  “Oh yes, I have heard my uncle say that…” Lavinia began eagerly, but a discrete sign from her friend made her stop in the middle of her phrase and rethink her approach on starting a new topic of conversation.

  The ladies stopped in front of the door and Phoebe knew that her stalling had come to an end.

  “I shall just fetch my sister; she might be in the back rooms.” Phoebe replied in a last attempt as she cracked open the door.

  The two ladies entered the shop, pushing past her. They did find Mary in the small back chamber, with the aforementioned dress on her lap. Phoebe stood behind them, praying that her sister might have had the time to finish the last stitches. Phoebe surmised she had at least allowed Mary time to prepare. Mary stood and greeted the two nigh born women warmly.

  Taking immeasurable pride in her accomplishment, Mary straightened the dress and laid it on the table with a theatrical flourish, so that the fine material shimmered and shone in the morning light. Though Phoebe could tell that her sister was perfectly pleased with her result, she addressed Lady Charity modestly.

  “I am afraid I needed quite a deal of material in order to accommodate a higher cut to the bodice, and it would have rendered the gown too short. The only solution I cou
ld find in such a short time was to add this border to the hem. I believe it quite matches the other flourishes.” Mary explained herself, spreading the beautifully flowing dress over the counter and under the eyes of the two ladies.

  Charity slowly ran her fingers across the hem of the dress, inspecting the delicate cream lace and flowers that had decorated mother’s dress. Phoebe remembered how she had done the same a thousand times as a child, observing every small detail as she sat on the floor with her mother mending dresses by the shop’s window. A bitter sadness came over her as she saw Lady Charity take the dress into her hands.

  “Oh, it is absolutely gorgeous!” Lady Charity exclaimed. “How perfectly it fits with all the rest, does it not, Lavinia?” she turned to her friend excitedly.

  “It is an altogether better dress than the one you left here only yesterday!” Lavinia replied with the sincere joy of a young girl. “Oh, I was wrong in doubting your clever idea of having it modified here, in town. I believe no seamstress in Bath would have done such a splendid job of it!”

  Mary followed the ladies behind a screen so that Lady Charity Abernathy might try on the dress. Phoebe could hear their praises and was happy for her sister, but could not help thinking of her mother’s cream dress. But then she chased the idea away.

  Their Mother was gone. It was good that Mary had the sense to sew the old into the new, that they might make the shop grow in popularity and attract more customers.

  Phoebe turned her attention back to the conversation between her sister and the distinguished ladies.

  “Why, the entire village has been nothing but pleasant for our entire stay!” Lady Charity exclaimed.

  “Just so.” Lavinia approved her. “I almost find myself regretting the fact that we are to depart in a few hours!”