The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  Finish this seam … attach these hooks and eyes … add that lace …

  William turned up on Saturday afternoon. Mrs Gillespie passed their door to answer a knock. Then there was another knock, this time at their door, and William popped his head in.

  ‘I say, I hope you don’t mind,’ he began, his face bright with self-consciousness.

  Cecily exchanged surprised looks with Juliet, but it wasn’t surprise alone she felt. The sight of William’s good-natured if embarrassed face brought everything thundering back – the desperate eagerness with which she had hovered in that office, dying for her beloved to come downstairs; the sledgehammer shock when a total stranger had walked in; the cold humiliation of having that stranger witness the worst moment of her life.

  She could have crowned Juliet for inviting William to sit down. Then Juliet laughed, adding, ‘I’m sorry,’ because she and Cecily occupied the chairs, and the only other place to sit was the bed, which William glanced at and looked even more embarrassed.

  Good. Now he would go.

  But Juliet said, ‘I’ll sit on the bed—’

  ‘Please don’t get up. I’ll perch on the windowsill.’

  ‘What brings you here?’ Juliet asked.

  ‘The office shuts at one on Saturdays, so I thought I’d drop by on my way home.’

  ‘You’re not telling me this is on your way home,’ Cecily said tartly.

  ‘Well, no, but—’

  ‘So why are you here?’ she demanded.

  ‘To see if things are all right. After all, I’m the one who sent you here.’

  ‘We’d never have found such a decent place without your help,’ said Juliet.

  William looked pleased, but the smile dropped from his face when Cecily gave him the evil eye. He left a few minutes later.

  Juliet turned to her. ‘You certainly put the mockers on that.’

  She shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine why he bothered coming.’

  ‘I think it was kind of him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he’ll come again.’

  ‘No,’ Juliet agreed drily, ‘not after the reception he got from you.’

  But he did. This time, Cecily was on her own. The stupid thing was, she had almost got up to answer the front door herself, but she had left it for Mrs Gillespie, and so missed the opportunity to turn William away on the step. Now here he was in the room. All she could think of was the other William. She had loved him so much and none of it had been real. She had thought herself so clever, when really she had been a gullible idiot.

  ‘Close the door,’ she said ungraciously.

  William cleared his throat. ‘I thought your landlady would want it left open, you know, with you being alone here with me.’

  She flattened her lips in irritation. As if she would look twice at this gauche young man! ‘There’s no need.’

  William closed the door and waited until she nodded him into the other chair. ‘What are you making?’

  More irritation. She wasn’t about to pretend a welcome by engaging in small talk. ‘We told you last time we like being here, so why have you come again?’

  ‘I was hoping we might …’

  She was too astonished to be outraged. He wanted her to walk out with him.

  ‘… be friends.’

  Friends? Friends! She felt as though he had made a fool of her, but really she had made a fool of herself. Thank heaven she hadn’t done it out loud.

  ‘To be honest, your turning up at the office was jolly exciting.’

  ‘Jolly embarrassing, I’d have thought.’

  ‘At the time, yes, and the other fellows joshed me something awful. But … it’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me since … well, since for ever, actually.’

  ‘And the other chaps now think you’re a bit of a card, do they?’ Cecily asked tartly.

  ‘Can you blame me? I’m a pretty humdrum sort of fellow. I just hoped … well, like I say, that we might be friends.’

  How easy it would be to take offence, how easy to tell him never to darken their door again. To her own surprise, Cecily laughed, and the moment for banishing him was lost.

  And for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, she didn’t mind.

  With excitement fluttering inside her, Juliet bought postcards for newsagents’ windows. She sat at the table, pen poised.

  ‘You need a name that describes the business,’ said William. ‘What exactly are you selling?’

  ‘Second-hand garments made good,’ said Cecily.

  ‘I want them to sound special,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Businesses are often called after the people who start them,’ said William.

  Cecily waved a finger at her. ‘If you write Ramsbottom on that card, I’ll bash you one with a saucepan. What was that place where your aunt worked?’

  ‘Mademoiselle Antoinette’s.’

  ‘How do you fancy being Mademoiselle Juliana?’

  She laughed. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘What’s your grandmother’s firm called?’ asked William.

  ‘Tewson’s Textiles, and her tailor-mades are called Tewson’s Tailor-mades.’

  ‘Harper’s Hand-finisheds,’ exclaimed Cecily. ‘No—wait … Hand-finished by Harper – and we could embroider a tiny harp on each garment.’

  ‘It’s a harpist, not a harper,’ William said, then mumbled an apology as their glares smote him.

  ‘Have you any idea how long that embroidery would take?’ Juliet asked Cecily.

  ‘You said you wanted your garments to be special.’

  ‘Like an artist signing a painting,’ William added.

  She couldn’t resist. She spent hours embroidering little harps, then the postcards were written and distributed, but it was Cecily who produced their first customer, a pretty actress called Jessamy De Vere, a name Juliet didn’t believe was real for one moment, but who cared so long as she purchased a garment?

  ‘Have you a travelling costume?’ Jessamy asked.

  Juliet produced the grey jacket with blue buttons and piping, and a smart black skirt that was so free from fault that she had examined it a hundred times, sure she must have missed something. Both garments would need taking in to fit Miss De Vere’s petite frame, but she was happy to pay for that, and purchased a blouse too. Juliet pointed out the harps, and Jessamy declared them charming.

  Soon they had a couple more customers. Word got round and more came. One morning Juliet was thrilled to be visited by a group of four until she realised they had come merely to gawp, but she remained polite and helpful, and it paid off, because one of them returned for a coat.

  ‘Is it going well?’ Mrs Gillespie asked.

  ‘Starting to,’ said Juliet.

  She had just returned the evening tray, adding the empty plates to the stack awaiting washing-up. Mrs Gillespie sat at the kitchen table, looking tired.

  ‘Do you ever think of moving somewhere smaller?’ Juliet asked. ‘It’d mean less work.’

  ‘Aye, I think about it, dear, but I doubt I’ll ever do it. Fewer rooms might mean less work, but it’d also be less money. It isn’t easy. The Willetts have given notice, so I’ll need a new ’un.’ She smiled wanly. ‘There’s always summat to worry about, in’t there?’

  But Mrs Gillespie wasn’t so steeped in worry that she failed to think of others, and two or three customers arrived on her recommendation, including a woman from the next road, who wanted them to clothe her daughter’s wedding.

  ‘Nowt fancy, mind. She has to be able to wear it afterwards. Same goes for her sister as bridesmaid. And I’d like summat an’ all.’

  They scoured the markets for possible wedding finery, but it proved hard finding something special for a bride.

  ‘This is the best we’ve seen.’ Juliet displayed a pale-green dress patterned with cream buds and dark-green leaves.

  Cecily wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Married in green, ashamed to be seen.’

  ‘Tell you what, we’ll dress Mrs Todd and No
reen from the market, but I’ll make Edith’s dress. We’ll dye it afterwards to the colour of her choice.’

  ‘But – the work!’ Cecily exclaimed.

  ‘The goodwill! Think of the friends and neighbours asking where the dress came from.’

  ‘It’s a lot of work.’

  ‘I know, and time spent on it will be time other garments don’t get done. But every seamstress longs to dress a bride, and I want my first to be perfect.’

  She didn’t enjoy making the dress the way she had anticipated. Misgivings chewed at her. A rush of customers reduced their stock to almost nothing and there was no time to replace it, even though this was where their real business lay. No stock meant no income, except for Cecily’s, which wasn’t much. Afterwards they would have to build up their stock and it would be like starting again. Might they have lost potential customers through letting their stock run down so dramatically?

  ‘I hope making Edith’s dress isn’t a mistake.’ She had kept her fears to herself at first, but now they came pouring out, not just to Cecily but also to William. Was this what it was like to have a brother?

  ‘The wedding clothes are certain to drum up business,’ said Cecily.

  Cecily’s loyalty warmed her, but she had to be realistic. ‘If we haven’t got a good stock, customers won’t give us a second chance, and we haven’t as much to spend on new things, because of the time Edith’s dress is taking.’

  ‘You’ll just have to work like stink to make up for it,’ said William. ‘I’ll help. I can cart stuff home from the markets on Saturday afternoons and if you trust me with a pair of scissors, I’ll cut off unwanted buttons.’

  That made her laugh and her spirits lifted. There was nothing wrong that darned hard graft wouldn’t get them out of.

  ‘It’s unfortunate this happened before you had a decent sum put by,’ William observed.

  Juliet remembered the money Mrs Grove had handed into Mr Nugent’s keeping.

  ‘I have money. At least, I think I have. Mr Nugent has my mother’s money, including my wages from Mrs Naseby.’

  ‘Ask for it back,’ Cecily urged immediately.

  ‘No!’ The word burst out. ‘I … I need to think about it.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’

  She felt hunted. ‘I don’t want Mr Nugent knowing my address. Please – let’s talk about something else.’

  The others complied, but she saw curiosity and concern in glances that passed between them. She felt edgy. Deep inside, something horrid and cold stirred, and she felt stupid, stupid, stupid.

  The wooden gate was open. Just as well. It would fall to pieces if anyone attempted to move it. Adeline walked up the path. Well, walked hardly described it. It was all of three paces. But the doorstep was clean. Not that the chit deserved a clean doorstep after the atrocious way she had behaved.

  Before she could knock, the door opened, and a youngish woman with a little lad stopped, then half-stepped forward as though expecting her to stand aside. She dealt them a look and, cowed, they melted against the wall.

  She stepped across the threshold, stopping next to the female, her shoulder on a level with the woman’s forehead.

  ‘The girl who makes clothes?’ she demanded without looking at her.

  ‘That door there,’ the woman whispered.

  Adeline threw it open, taking in the room at a glance. A few bits of furniture and a rack that, aside from a couple of garments, was gratifyingly empty. The chit stared at her. She was sewing and the fabric – decent quality, Adeline noted – almost slipped through her fingers.

  She marched in, like an actress dominating the stage.

  ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t find you? Mr Owen furnished me with the name of the firm you claimed was representing you. Mr Winterton was most surprised when I informed him.’

  ‘William—’

  ‘Your friend has kept his job, though I recommended his dismissal. Mr Winterton did, however, forbid him to come here before close of business this week. I told Mr Winterton I required time to make enquiries. I know about your tawdry business, tarting up cast-off clothes. But that isn’t what you’re doing now, is it? You’re making this from new.’

  ‘It’s for a wedding.’

  ‘And you couldn’t fob off the bride with your usual crud. Where’s your stock?’ She suppressed a smile. ‘You’ve run out, haven’t you? The wedding dress has taken too much time away from your usual rags. I recall saying you’d never make a businesswoman. Get packed. You’re coming with me.’

  A gasp. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You said that last time, but you obeyed in the end, just as you will this time.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Look round. No stock – therefore no money coming in – and customers who go away disappointed won’t come back and they’ll spread the word. You’ve failed, girl. And don’t forget what you owe me.’

  ‘What about what you owe me?’ the chit demanded. ‘Things are difficult now, I admit, but if you had the decency to hand over my money, I’d manage.’

  ‘That presupposes I want you to manage.’ She looked round as the door opened and another girl walked in. Adeline took one look at her swollen belly and exclaimed, ‘Good God, another harlot!’ She rounded on the chit. ‘Have you learnt nothing?’

  ‘Please leave,’ was the stony response. ‘I’m not coming with you and I’m sure Mrs Gillespie doesn’t want people arguing in her rooms.’

  ‘Mrs Gillespie!’ Adeline snorted. ‘And she, of course, is a paragon of virtue.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Ask her.’ Oh yes, and see how she cowers at the question. She drew herself up, towering over the shabby room. ‘You’ll come back,’ she foretold, ‘even if I have to get a magistrate to force you.’

  The gong sounded, and Juliet fetched their Sunday roast. The kitchen was hot and steamy. Trays occupied every available surface, vying for space with used pans. Plates were piled high with veg to make up for the portions of meat being smaller than was desirable. Gravy boats and jugs of custard balanced precariously on the edges of the trays.

  ‘Roast capon and roly-poly pudding,’ Mrs Gillespie told a middle-aged man Juliet hadn’t seen before. ‘This is Mr Jones, new in the upstairs back. This is Miss Harper, downstairs front.’

  ‘How do? I’d shake hands, only …’ Mr Jones glanced down at the tray in his beefy hands.

  She stood aside to let him pass, then hugged Mrs Gillespie. ‘You were worried about being left with an empty room, but you needn’t have fretted.’

  Cecily had cleared away the sewing things and prepared the table.

  ‘This feels like a celebration,’ said Cecily as they tucked in. ‘Edith’s dress is finished and, in case you weren’t listening the first time, it’s beautiful and I’m proud of you. Mrs Todd’s costume is done and Noreen’s only wants hemming, which I can do tomorrow while you, my girl, go down the market. We’ll be back to normal in no time.’

  After the meal, they sat sewing close to the windows, not simply for the light but also to enjoy the fresh air, which had that sudden special warmth that betokened early spring. A picture sprang into Juliet’s mind of Constance in a cradle beside an open sash window, her little fingers reaching to grasp the sunbeams. Pain clutched her heart. She stood up.

  ‘Forget work for once. Let’s take a walk.’

  They went to the park, strolling arm in arm, as they headed to the bandstand. Holding her hat, Juliet tipped back her head, offering her face to the sun. She had worked so hard recently.

  As they neared home, William emerged from the house and hurried towards them, but their smiles were met with an anxious frown.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he began.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Juliet.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Giving my grandmother this address.’

  ‘It’s not that. One of the attic chaps let me in and I knocked at your door and went in—’ He stopped. ‘Prepare
yourselves for a shock.’

  Juliet loosened herself from Cecily’s arm and darted inside. Bursting into their room, she stopped dead. Her lips parted and she expected a loud cry of horror to emerge, but nothing came out. Cecily clattered in behind her and there was a long wail of distress, as though Cecily were crying out for both of them.

  The wedding clothes, the new stock, everything – slashed to ribbons.

  Chapter Twenty

  While Juliet and Cecily, sick at heart, sifted through the ruins of their livelihood, William darted out, returning with a bobby as Mrs Gillespie arrived home from visiting a friend. She started to accompany the constable round the house to ask if the other residents had seen or heard anything, but no sooner had they gone upstairs than Mrs Gillespie came streaming down again, all in a tizzy because Mr Jones had flitted.

  ‘But he’s only just moved in,’ Juliet said.

  ‘And now he’s gone,’ exclaimed Mrs Gillespie, and as the tears began to flow, Juliet found herself comforting their landlady just when she most needed comfort herself.

  No sooner had she soothed Mrs Gillespie than the Todds swarmed in.

  ‘We’ve heard such a story.’ Mrs Todd was in full flow before she even got inside, with her daughters sobbing in her wake. ‘What about our wedding clothes? We’re that worried.’ Seeing the damage, she pressed a hand to her bosom. ‘Oh my. What a thing to happen.’ Then she lapsed back into her own concerns. ‘What about our Edith’s dress, not to mention mine and Noreen’s? The wedding’s next Saturday.’

  Juliet summoned her calmest manner. ‘We won’t let you down. Hand-finished by Harper’s reputation is at stake.’

  ‘You’ve not been open for business five minutes. You haven’t got a reputation yet.’

  ‘We will have after this, and you’ll start it by telling everyone how we rose above this calamity and made beautiful costumes for you.’

  When the Todds left, she couldn’t hold on any longer. Her hands, which had cleared up so efficiently, became clumsy. Cecily hugged her, and they clung together. She shut her eyes, trying not to cry, but tears squeezed out, burning her cheeks. She let go of Cecily, smearing tears aside with the back of her hand.