by Laura Locke
“Well?” Melody pushed.
“She…she says you poisoned her!” she snapped and took another step back.
“Poisoned… what? That’s ridiculous! What makes her think she’s poisoned?”
“She sent her housekeeper, Mrs. Pinkerton, around early this morning before we even opened the door. She wanted stomach remedies and said the woman had been up all night, indisposed.”
“That could mean she over-indulged, knowing her,” Melody snapped, her kindness gone in light of being so accused.
“She says you brought biscuits you made with your own hands and she immediately became ill after eating them,” Mrs. Dillard shot back, cowardice making her bottom lip quiver.
“I delivered her last gown and brought her a plate of biscuits I had baked, but I can promise you there is nothing at all wrong with them. My parents ate from the same batch as I did when I returned home. She may or may have not been ill but it was not to my doing. I am surprised at the lot of you. You know my family and have notice forever. That you would believe such a horrid thing of me sickens me. Good day!”
Melody was shaking as she left the apothecary. She fought to keep the tears from running down her cheeks, unwilling to let the others see that they had upset her. She resisted the temptation to stop by the Rutherford house. The calamity of what had happened sink in on her than. She had somehow made anatomy of Mrs. Rutherford, so virulent an enemy that she would attempt to destroy Melody’s reputation. Melody could not understand the logic the letter to do such a thing. She also knew that Conner would hear of this, in some far-off place from a well-penned poison letter his mother would send. He would not believe it, in fact he had warned her that his mother could be vindictive without limits.
She walked into the drive that led to their house, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Her father instantly came out of the barn, his pipe in his mouth. He pulled it out, shook the embers from it and stuck it in his apron pocket as he came toward her. She heard the sound of the kitchen door slam as her mother ran to join her as well. They did not know what had her so aggrieved, but whatever it was, they joined together as a family, just as they always would.
The next morning, Ira harnessed the wagon and loaded Melody’s luggage into its flatbed. She climbed up onto the bench seat next to him and waved goodbye to her mother. She was off to London, to throw herself upon cousin Lily’s good graces. They had talked it over late into the night and decided that while Melody leaving the village could be construed as her being guilty, the truth would ring out in the end. In the meantime, it was unthinkable that Melody would have to endure the stairs, the whispers and innuendo. The Wellchesters were above that sort of thing. Sylvia stayed behind to finish up the gowns on consignment freeing Melody to leave immediately. It was a long ride to London, but not near so long as the journey away from her old, known life.
Chapter 17
Melody’s life changed dramatically when she moved in with cousin Lily in London. Cousin Lily, much to Melody’s pleasure, was not at all what she had expected. She was neither dowdy nor boring—in fact quite the opposite. She had apparently never married because she was not yet ready to give up her candlelit dinners and romps in satin-lined boudoirs.
Lily’s cover story of running a bakery had been manufactured to ease the sensibilities of her relatives. She told Melody in all honesty that she wanted no interference from them, so had made herself appear as poor and unattractive as possible. The ruse had worked, as Melody was the first to visit from the family. “I have your confidence, I trust?” Lily queried when Melody first arrived.
“Oh, of course,” Melody had assured her, relieved her life was not to be tedious. Between the two of them, they had managed to dispatch Ira back to Tymington without suspicion as Lily told him that she had recently moved her bakery to another location.
Lily traveled in very auspicious circles, most of which were only one or two steps from the palace itself. In fact, it was said that in many ways, Lily ruled the palace and not the other way around. Melody knew if her mother had understood how Lily lived, she would have never allowed Melody to come. Nevertheless, Lily took her responsibilities seriously and when Melody was about, she was always the proper chaperone. The two had breakfast together every morning long after the sun rose. Lily gossiped and Melody listened, taking careful notes of all the names, titles and who was sleeping with whom. The conversation often made her blush, but she was a young woman on her own now and should be accustomed to these things. Once a week, Lily entertained in the form of a small dinner party. Her guests were only the most elite and best-dressed, well-heeled to be found. There were poets, artists, philosophers and politicians. There were men and women and some who Melody could not quite make out. Nevertheless, they were a gay group and their dinners were lively. It was not uncommon for Lily to invite a particular partner to meet Melody but then when the gentleman went for their cigars, Lily asked Melody to say good night. Melody did not mind being treated like a child at these times; she knew Willie was trying to give her time and space to acclimate into the glamour and shallowness of London life.
It was at one of these dinners that Melody’s new career began. There were a dozen at the table; six ladies and six gentlemen. Melody had sewn herself a new gown, one that was suitable for the company included. A certain countess whose full name Melody could not recall, make comment upon her gown.
“Is not that just the most beautiful thing?” Cousin Lily exclaimed. “You know she is a very talented seamstress in her home territory?”
The countess drew an appreciative sigh. “It looks like nothing I would expect to see in the village,” she commented. “May I?” she asked, reaching her hand forward to touch the fabric.
“Of course,” Melody put a fold in her hand. “I could see a fabric such as this hanging well on you, perhaps in a pale lilac color to offset your raven hair?”
The countess tittered and looked around to the group for approval, all of whom nodded. The very next afternoon the countess arrived, her calling card presented to Melody by Mrs. Davis, Lily’s housekeeper. “She wishes to see you in the morning room, Mistress,” Mrs. Davis told her.
As Lily and she had begun to rise late in the mornings, Melody was not yet ready for the day but quickly threw on a morning gown and brushed at her hair before hurrying downstairs.
“Good morning, Countess,” she greeted the woman who waited. “I apologize for my tardiness, but Lily and I keep rather unconventional hours, you see.”
“No need to apologize, I completely understand. May we sit for a moment?”
“Why, of course, how rude I’ve been. Please, Mrs. Davis? Could you bring us some hot chocolate and perhaps scones?”
Melody felt that was a fairly sure guess, judging by what Mrs. Davis made on a daily basis. “Of course, Misstress,” Mrs. Davis responded and hurried off to her bidding.
“Now then,” the countess opened the conversation. “Of course, I’ve been here a number of times when you were at dinner and have always admired your gowns. I hope you do not find me overly ambitious or presumptuous, but I understand you were a seamstress in your hometown?”
Melody nodded. “Indeed. My mother is a very well-known seamstress in that area and taught me her skills.”
“I do not suppose I might convince you to make a gown or two for me, could I?”
Melody drew in her breath. She had not yet come to any conclusions as to how she would support herself, so the request came at the most opportune moment. She chose her words carefully. “I have not, as of yet, taken on any clients, you understand,” Melody pointed out. “That said, you are a most attractive lady and I feel would present a unique pallet for some designs I have been working upon. What sort of garments did you have in mind?
“I should like some gowns that I could wear to these evening engagements, such as the dinners that your cousin has. You would have, of course, an unlimited budget with regard to materials and I would pay quite handsomely for the skills I see you evide
nce in your own gowns.”
Melody’s heart was pounding but she calmly nodded as though the proposal was quite common. “Of course,” she murmured. “How many gowns did you wish to begin with?”
“You mean you may consider it?”
Melody was having trouble containing herself. It was so important to maintain the upper hand when in a business discussion. Her father had taught her that as a young child. “Well, as I have not yet built my clientele, I do have openings and would consider it a pleasure to work with you.”
“But I be very selfish if I asked for a dozen gowns to begin with?”
Melody nearly fainted. She took a deep breath to steady herself just as Mrs. Davis entered the room, bearing a tray. She set up the hot cocoa and scones and then quietly left the room.
Melody picked up where the conversation had left off. “Why, I believe I could accommodate that, at least now. I would hope, Countess, that you are pleased enough to circulate if you recommendations on my behalf. Of course, the clientele would need to be appropriate, because after all, I am a young woman here in the city, unchaperoned and rather shy with my country ways.”
“I see nothing country about you, my dear. With your permission, I would like to entertain from time to time and include you, and of course Lily, at my table. Would that be agreeable?”
“I think I speak for Lily as well as myself in saying that we would enjoy that, thank you. Now then. What would you like to begin with the gowns? I would need to take your measurements, choose a color palette that would be to your advantage and get your approval for some rough sketches of what I intend to create. I am embarrassed to say, that my expenses at the moment are being covered by cousin Lily and of course I could not ask her to finance new business for me. I wonder if we might arrange a day when you and I could visit some shops to find the appropriate fabric and notions, with your underwriting the initial purchases?”
“Of course, my dear, that’s no problem whatsoever. Let’s not talk money now. If you deliver what I believe you will deliver, believe me you will never need concern yourself with money again.”
“Then I believe we understand one another,” Melody nodded as both ladies sipped their cocoa.
At that moment, Lillie had descended the staircase and swept into the room in a satin brocade morning gown, exchanging cheek kisses with the countess. All discussion of Melody’s commercial enterprise was then discontinued as the ladies immediately dissolved into a good, old-fashioned, gossip fest. The countess took her leave shortly thereafter and as soon as the door closed, Melody set her teacup on the serving table and moved forward onto the end of her seat. “You will never believe what just happened.”
“Oh, I think I might.” Willie was casual and yet smiling.
“Why, what do you think?”
“I suspect you are about to become the busiest little fingers in all the city.”
“How did you know? The countess has asked to begin with a dozen gowns and she is going to underwrite the purchase of the materials until such time as I can build an inventory of my own.” Melody stopped suddenly, her mouth opening as she realized one very important detail have been omitted. “Cousin Lily, I am sorry. I neglected to ask you if I might work from one of your rooms?”
Lily burst into laughter and nodded, setting her cup down as well. “Of course, you may, my dear. You will attract many the suitor and I believe that there may be a few left over for me.”
Melody had noticed that her cousin preferred younger men and therefore she was not shocked at the statement. “Wonderful, thank you so much. I am so excited. I am going to take my leave of you now and go to my room. I think I would like to take a short walk and look about the shops close by.”
Lily nodded and waved her away, laughing in a deep throaty voice with the speculation of the naughtiness that was about to walk through their doorway.
Chapter 18
Trowbridge’s fairly flew out in front of her as she walked. She looked through the front window to see stacks upon stacks of bolts of fabrics, trims and cards of buttons. It was precisely the sort of shop she was looking for. He entered the shop and introduced herself to the senior Mr. Trowbridge who was only too happy to give her a brief tour and to set up an open account for her. Melody had been unprepared for that and while the countess would be purchasing her own materials initially, eventually Melody would be very appreciative of the availability of store credit. Mr. Trowbridge was also kind enough to give her a small sample of many of her fabrics. In this way, she could build a sample board for clients to consider.
Melody was feeling elated at the simplicity with which her business caught on. The countess and she worked together for several weeks and in the end, the woman was lavish in her praise, as well as payment. She included Melody and Lily in her party invitations, as promised. Lily commented one morning that Melody was getting the both of them invited into circles that Lily, herself, could have never hoped to be received.
Lily had generously offered the use of a main floor bedroom to be used as Melody’s studio. Clients called, sometimes without notice, and Lily loved entertaining them in the parlor until Melody was free to see them. Melody had become so well known that it was whispered that her creations were making themselves known in the palace, her name attached. As things went in royal circles, when someone or thing became popular, they quickly were sought after competitively. Dinner invitations literally spilled over onto the entry table from the gold tray that had formerly seen perhaps one or two at a time. Indeed, soon Lily, herself, was trying to persuade Melody into making gowns for her as she had run through her own wardrobe over the course of their many invitations.
Melody was concerned that her business was taking over the household. She brought up this point to Lily one afternoon.
“I fear you have no house left to yourself,” she broached the conversation.
“What would I do with empty rooms? Sit alone? No, my dear, you have brought gaiety and light back into my life and I shall not let you move out. I simply insist you stay.”
“But I have need of more space for my fabrics and then there are the late evenings as I work. I am to the point where I need to hire some assistants to handle the more laborious stitching.”
“Oh, I had not thought of that,” Lily frowned, sipping her tea. “Oh, what’s the matter with me? I have the answer!”
Melody was instantly alert.
“The house beside us – the owners have moved to India and are looking to let it. Why not take it and use it as your studio? You may hire your assistants, including someone to keep the door open and be there with you so you are not alone. Yet, at any time, you can retreat here? Of course, I will have to insist on spending time next door with you, taking my pick of clients back here with me for tea, and so forth,” she chuckled, smoothing her skirts.
“Lily, that’s a wonderful idea! How would I go about proposing such a thing?”
“You leave that to me. I have connections, you know. At least a few, although I will admit, your list is far longer and better ranked than mine.”
Melody laughed and immediately began planning her new studio. She would have one entire room of fabrics and notions where clients could browse and make selections. She would set aside the largest room for the seamstresses she would hire and yet another to serve as a parlor where the ladies could wait their turns.
The house, as it turned out, was already vacant and the owner’s representative only too glad to get it off his hands. Lily put down the first month’s rent and they were in business. Lily seemed to take great pleasure in furnishing and decorating the studio and Melody was glad to let her do it. She spent her own time, interviewing seamstresses and continuing the production that was stacked almost to the ceiling. Melody had become quite in demand and the ladies were willing to wait months, just to be fitted in an initial consultation.
Melody wrote home of her good fortune and Sylvia wrote back to say that she had made sure that the entire village learned of Melody’s
success. Mrs. Rutherford had begun to wear on the nerves of the ladies who had earlier strived to be her following. Once Melody was gone, Mrs. Rutherford had set her malicious sights on someone else.
She also wrote, to Melody’s concern, that Ira was not feeling up to his normal self. He was coughing frequently, sometimes having to lie down until he could recover. The doctor had been consulted and when he emerged from his examination, his face was solemn, but Ira would permit no word of his condition to be shared. Not even with his wife.
Distraught, Melody rescheduled all of her most immediate appointments and hired a carriage to take her back to Tymington. It was a different sort of return that what she had ever expected. This time she had a sleak, lacquered carriage and two strong, swift black horses with the driver. No one recognized her, although they peered at her, mouths gaping with unvarnished curiosity.
Things had changed in her absence. The gracious old oak tree that had reigned over the village square had been cut down. Melody, her sister and brother had played there as children while waiting for their mother to finish her shopping. In its place now sat a smooth granite memorial to none other than Conner’s father, Mr. Rutherford. Apparently, his wife no longer village royalty, was unable to reign on her own reputation, and had reached into his. It was pathetic to see, but not so pathetic as the placard that hung at the entrance to the village. It seemed they no long lived in Tymington, but now in Rutherford. It bothered Melody greatly. She remembered all the stories of the battles and the brave men and lives to keep the village that and now one buxom old woman with an immense ego and bottomless pockets had wiped it all out. Melody wondered what she had done to claim this honor and that answer came as she rounded the curve and saw a new building standing where the village offices had been. Melody wondered whether Conner knew this. Undoubtedly, he did, for how could his mother had made such expenditures without their solicitor notifying him?
