‘I could call you a lot worse, believe you me.’
‘Mother – please,’ Clara begged, and Juliet saw a look flash between them.
‘Damned impertinence, naming you after Auntie Juley,’ snapped Adeline. ‘Well, Clara, what has happened at the salon since last month?’
And she blatantly ignored Juliet for the rest of the visit.
When it was time to leave, Clara asked humbly, ‘Should I bring Juliet next month?’
Adeline disappeared, leaving them standing, and returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper. ‘She may come if she has these ready for inspection.’
Clara took it. ‘A list of samples.’
‘Are you considering employing me?’ Juliet asked in surprise.
‘It’s to determine whether you’re worth the bother of having a granddaughter.’
A letter arrived from Miss Lindsay inviting Juliet to attend an interview. She borrowed one of Clara’s hats, hoping to appear more grown-up, an effort that appeared fruitless when she saw her reflection glowing with health in a way that suggested anything but being older. The morning sickness had stopped, so maybe that was why.
At Ingleby’s she was shown into an office-cum-workroom, which must be where Miss Lindsay worked her magic with paper patterns. Miss Lindsay was a thin, older woman with innate elegance. Her fingers were long and bony and clever.
‘I was expecting someone older. Can you assure me the work you submitted is your own?’
‘Everything in my letter was true, though I can’t prove it because, as I explained, I don’t have references.’
Miss Lindsay picked up a little brass bell. A woman answered the ring.
‘The new silk, please.’
When the bolt was brought, Miss Lindsay indicated that it should be placed on her worktable. The woman pulled a length free before withdrawing.
Miss Lindsay waved her hand at it. ‘Be my guest.’
The fabric had narrow stripes of brown and olive green, and it would support a crisp style. Juliet looked at Miss Lindsay.
‘Design something,’ Miss Lindsay ordered. ‘Here – pencil and paper.’
She left the room. Part of Juliet told her she should be panicking, but the rest of her knew there was no need, because she had started formulating an idea the moment she saw the fabric. She committed a few lines to paper, creating the beginning of a blouse. She saw its back with vertical stripes, but wanted the front pieces cut on the bias, so the stripes met down the front to form a V-shape, with every slender brown stripe meeting another brown one and every olive stripe meeting olive. Only an experienced fabric cutter would manage it.
Miss Lindsay returned and picked up the unfinished drawing. ‘Come with me.’ She led her into haberdashery. ‘These buttons – don’t you agree?’
They were smooth and silvery. ‘I’d choose something that toned, possibly self-covered.’
Miss Lindsay nodded. ‘Show me the best fabric for a skirt and jacket to go with it.’
Soon Juliet had designed a complete costume, mostly in words, and she and Miss Lindsay were back in the office-cum-workshop.
‘You may not have received formal training, but there’s no doubt as to your ability or that the designs you submitted are your own work.’ Miss Lindsay spoke formally. Then she smiled. ‘Ingleby’s will be pleased to purchase your designs. I’m authorised to offer a guinea for each.’
Two guineas! She tried not to beam her head off.
‘You understand that once you sign them over, you may not use them again?’
‘Of course. Shall you be interested in seeing more of my work?’
‘If you submit four more designs, one of which should be this afternoon’s costume, I’ll select two, assuming they are good enough. If your designs are successful with our customers, I’ll invite you to submit more, based on our winter fabrics. Now, I have paperwork for you to sign.’
Juliet sat with the agreement in front of her and Miss Lindsay’s pen in her hand – and hesitated. She couldn’t believe she was hesitating. Always find a way to earn extra. Not that she wanted to emulate her grandmother …
She looked up. ‘I’d also like payment each time one of my designs is used to create a garment for a customer.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Five shillings. Please,’ she added.
‘This is outrageous.’
Panic spurted through her. ‘Half a crown, then.’
‘Stay here.’
Miss Lindsay left the room, her back stiff with annoyance. She returned, accompanied by a tall, bespectacled man, who was bald on top. She didn’t introduce him. Could he be Mr Ingleby? Together, he and Miss Lindsay did everything they could to browbeat her into submission, but she held firm – outwardly, at least. Inside, she felt hot and wobbly.
In the end, with theatrical regret, the man agreed to the guinea plus half a crown for each complete make or one shilling if just part of a design was ordered.
‘But you may not offer other designs elsewhere for six months,’ said the man. ‘If we’re to pay you these sums, we’re not going to share your abilities. In six months, we’ll know whether you’re worth our while.’
‘Six months is a long time. I can’t agree to that.’
‘If your work is as good as this,’ said Miss Lindsay, her manner softening, ‘I don’t think you have anything to fear.’
Juliet signed, accepted her fee, signed for that as well. Soon she emerged onto busy Market Street, shaky but triumphant. Her grandmother would be proud of her. No, she wouldn’t. Adeline Tewson would despise her for not sticking to the original five bob.
The work on the garden was nearing completion. My, but it was going to be hard returning to Moorside now that he had tasted independence. Hal flung himself into his work. Sometimes he felt churned up with pain, other times his heart felt frozen solid, but there was rubble to be shifted, earth to be dug over, planting and staking to do, saplings to be put in and a last-minute problem with the new fountain to be unclogged, and the physical labour answered a need in him to expend his energy in some way other than by driving himself insane with worry and regret and questions, questions, questions.
‘I’ve a proposition for you,’ Mr Clayton said. ‘I’ll stand you a meal tonight and tell you.’
Later, over a hearty steak-and-kidney pie with delicious onion gravy, he explained.
‘After this commission, I’ve got another in Cumberland. How would you like to come with me, as a sort of apprentice? I’m impressed by your hard work and ability, and I’m prepared to train you.’
‘Really?’ Hal could hardly believe what he was hearing.
Clayton laughed. ‘Don’t kid yourself it’s for your benefit. When you’re not out of the top drawer, but you work for those who are, the manner in which you present yourself is everything. My having a talented young fellow in tow will impress prospective clients. But I’m offering you real work, make no mistake about that. In time, I’ll be able to take on more commissions, because I’ll delegate tasks to you. What d’you say? If you accept, you’ll come straight to Cumberland. I don’t know when you’ll see Moorside again.’
He pictured it. It would break Ma’s heart, but she would be proud too. As for himself, let alone this was his dream come true, it would be a relief not to go home, where everything would remind him of Juliet and he would have to suffer pitying glances from all sides. Aye, and Ma’s matchmaking.
‘You compared it to an apprenticeship, but those are paid for.’ He kept his voice neutral as he hovered on the brink of a shattering let-down.
‘You have a patron. Lord Drysdale has offered to put up the funds.’
‘His lordship?’ His lordship’s good like that.
‘I don’t suppose his lordship knows you from Adam,’ Mr Clayton said. ‘It’s Mr Nugent who put you up for this.’
The September air was hot and thick. Juliet would have sold her soul for a blowy walk across the tops. She submitted four designs to Miss Lindsay, who wa
s polite and cool, though there was no hiding the sparkle in her eyes when she examined them.
‘We’ve already had an order for your walking costume,’ she said, ‘and another customer wants the blouse from the other design.’
She was shown to the top-floor office of Mr Owen, who turned out to be the man who had hectored her last time. He looked through a big book full of figures, then informed her she was owed three and sixpence, his tone suggesting such a paltry sum was beneath his notice.
‘I’m also owed for two new designs,’ she dared to say.
‘Not until I’ve been informed in duplicate by Miss Lindsay.’ Mr Owen produced a cash tin from a drawer, unlocked it and counted out her money. ‘It isn’t necessary to rush up here every time you earn a few shillings. I don’t wish to see you again for at least a month. Your money will be safe in my keeping.’
And that was where she decided to leave it. She hadn’t told Clara about her designing work. Swanning in, being marvellous – that was what Clara had accused her of when they met. Adeline would for ever hold it over Clara’s head if Juliet outshone her. Juliet decided to hold back her good news until the time came to lump it together with her bombshell. Then she would leave before she was chucked out.
She broke into her three and six to buy Clara a bunch of Michaelmas daisies and a bar of Fry’s Chocolate Cream.
‘What are these for?’ Clara demanded.
‘To say thank you for letting me stay.’
‘Oh yes, well.’
The next morning, Ethel, the one who had done summat mortal to her leg, came limping back to work, so Juliet was out of that job. Alice, however, knew someone who knew someone and the next day, Juliet left her early job at a run to catch an omnibus into town to clean offices over a jeweller’s on Market Street.
That job led to more daytime work and she felt able to give up two of her evenings, though she was careful to give Alice time to replace her. She owed Alice a lot. Being home of an evening felt like an enormous treat. She dragged Clara out for walks in Platt Fields Park, though it wasn’t the same as having a proper friend. She worried about Cecily and William Turton. But how could she warn her when any letter would be intercepted? Besides, Cecily might still be in London.
On the days leading to her free evenings, she worked all afternoon on Market Street and Deansgate. One afternoon she arrived at her final job to find the firm embroiled in a stocktake. Boxes were piled everywhere while their contents were checked. Anxious not to forego her wages, she did what she could, but with boxes all over, she had no floors to wash and had to finish early. Never mind. She would meet Clara and they could go home together.
She hovered at the corner of Caroline Street. A customer left Mademoiselle Antoinette’s, a good-looking lady with a heart-shaped face and creamy skin, who walked into St Ann’s Square, her face lighting up as two girls of around four and eight ran across to meet her, pulling a laughing gentleman along. Juliet couldn’t take her eyes off her.
She was wearing a sleeveless bolero jacket, which displayed the sleeves of her blouse – sleeves that Juliet recognised instantly. Snugly fitted on the forearm, the fullness above the elbow was the softly draped alternative to the leg-o’-mutton that she had designed for Ingleby’s.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Well? What did you discover?’ Adeline demanded. She sat behind the battered old table she had first used as a desk when she opened her earliest workshop. Occasionally since then, as her business had bounded from strength to strength, she had toyed with the notion of replacing it with a grand desk inlaid with French morocco leather, with a pillar of drawers to either side of the knee hole. That was what a man would do – which was precisely why she hadn’t. A man might surround himself with magnificent office furnishings to intimidate rivals and minions alike, but she had had to be better, stronger, cleverer, more resolute than any man. And if any intimidating needed doing, she was perfectly capable of dishing it out herself.
Ivy Phelps stood in front of the table. She was standing up straight with her hands folded neatly in front, which was how all Adeline’s employees stood to address her – or, far more likely, to be addressed by her. There was no chair on Phelps’s side of the table. Everybody stood in Adeline’s presence, the only exception being customers, for whom there was a chair by the wall, which was set before the table for the duration of the interview, then returned immediately afterwards.
‘I’ve seen the work of the designer you referred to, madam,’ said Phelps. ‘I pretended to want a costume, and the assistant showed me this season’s designs and there were some that stood out.’
‘In what way?’
‘More stylish, with something new and fresh about them. The assistant said they were by a new designer, who is working exclusively for Ingleby’s.’
Adeline held her face in position, not giving away a single thought. ‘Go home and change into your uniform. Come straight back.’
‘Yes, madam.’
Adeline’s eyes narrowed. So Miss Lindsay had found the girl good enough. How dare the chit offer her work elsewhere? She should have come to her grandmother, aye, come crawling on her belly after the way that mother of hers had behaved.
But she would be working for Adeline soon enough. She gave her mind to other matters. That was one of her strengths. She pictured the inside of her head as a series of boxes, each containing thoughts relating to different aspects of her life. She had the ability to open one box while keeping the others securely fastened.
But when she arrived home and read the letter awaiting her, a couple of lids were blown to kingdom come.
Juliet hurried home, astonished and betrayed. She checked her designs. They were all there. Presently, Clara arrived, looking hot and fed up from her journey.
‘Why are you home early?’ Clara asked tetchily.
‘Have you used one of my designs?’ Juliet demanded.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Clara muttered, but her skin flushed an ugly red.
‘I saw the customer you made my blouse for. She was coming out of Mademoiselle’s. Had she been in to choose another of my designs?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She waved the design under Clara’s nose. ‘I know you copied it.’
‘Only a bit of it,’ Clara said defensively. ‘The skirt and bolero are Miss Alexandrina’s patterns. I only copied the blouse.’
‘Only! Well, that’s all right, then!’
‘Don’t get clever with me. I took you in when you had nowhere to go.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can help yourself to my work.’
‘It isn’t work. It’s something you do for pleasure. What difference does it make if I used one of them? You should be proud.’
‘I’ve sold some of them to Ingleby’s.’
Clara gasped. Her eyes glazed over. ‘You’ve what?’
‘Have you taken any others?’
‘No.’ A pause, hot and heavy. ‘Possibly.’
‘Did you sell them to Mademoiselle?’
‘No, I’m on commission – eighteen shillings each time one is used.’
‘Eighteen!’ Juliet’s heart gave a thud. ‘I get two and six – and that’s only if the whole costume is ordered.’
Clara smirked. ‘It’s what comes of working in a superior establishment. Ingleby’s, indeed. It shows how Agnes’s standards had sunk.’
‘It shows nothing of the kind – and don’t change the subject. Can’t you see what you’ve done is wrong? You stole my designs.’
‘That’s an ugly word. Besides, how was I to know you were doing business behind my back?’
‘What do I have to say to make you understand?’ Her voice throbbed with frustration.
The door burst open. Adeline barged past Clara and made straight for Juliet, who stood frozen in surprise. She saw Adeline raise her arm and draw back her hand, but even though she could see what was going to happen, she didn’t move, because she couldn’t believe it.
/> ‘She what?’ Cecily couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You’re kidding. Juliet would never do anything like that.’ But a look round the table in the servants’ hall told her otherwise. Some eyes danced with amusement at her disbelief, other expressions showed complacency at having long since accepted what Cecily was struggling to comprehend. And it was a struggle. ‘Juliet? Our Juliet?’
‘Not ours, if you don’t mind,’ Cook said crisply. ‘It’s not just Hal she let down. There we were, feeling wretched for her with her mam dead and gone, and then the truth comes out.’
‘If Mr Nugent hadn’t been there,’ added Thomasina, ‘she’d have vanished and we’d never have known why.’
‘Aye, and we’d have been fretting ourselves sick to this day, I don’t doubt,’ Cook added.
‘Poor Hal,’ Cecily said.
‘He’s gone an’ all,’ said Cook. ‘Went to London and took up with a fellow what designs gardens, and off he’s gone and never coming back.’
Mrs Whicker and Miss Marchant walked in, and everyone fell silent.
Mrs Whicker glanced round. ‘I take it you have been discussing Juliet?’ she enquired disapprovingly – as if she and Miss Marchant hadn’t been gossiping their heads off about the very same thing in her sitting room. ‘Now that Cecily has been informed, let us not refer to the matter again.’ She eyed Cecily. ‘I suggest you choose your friends more carefully in future.’
Cecily’s mind was in turmoil. Juliet pregnant, and the baby not Hal’s. Juliet with a secret lover. Juliet! It was impossible to believe. Cecily’s nails bit her palms. They were meant to be friends, so why had Juliet never said anything? It wasn’t as though Cecily had kept William secret. She felt betrayed and humiliated. Everyone knew she and Juliet were friends and now they knew Juliet had kept important secrets from her. She felt used.
Then she remembered the letter. I have something important to tell you, but it can wait until you come back. Juliet must have been going to reveal the details of her complicated love life. That made her feel a bit better.
The Sewing Room Girl Page 17
