When the door was closed, Kitty sank onto the soft tick and let herself go. The tears came slowly at first, then increased with intensity. She kept her sobs quiet, so as not to worry her kind hosts. How would her father fare without her? Had Terry tried to follow them? What would Pa tell her brother Joe when she didn’t arrive for dinner tonight? She missed them already.
Kitty needed to freshen her appearance after that cleansing cry. Peering into the white glazed pitcher on the dressing table, she saw there was water inside. She poured some into the matching wash basin, then splashed her face, and patted her skin dry with the cotton towel lying next to the basin. With a corner of the cloth soaked in the cold water, she applied it to her eyes for a few minutes, hoping they wouldn’t be so red-rimmed when she joined the other ladies.
Kitty took her spare dress, shift, and stockings from her traveling bag and put them away in the wardrobe, along with her pelisse. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother.
Think of it as an adventure, she always said when Kitty was nervous about trying something new.
Yes, that is how she would consider this. An adventure or holiday. And she had two new friends waiting to greet her.
CHAPTER 9
Next morning
Madame Chapelle’s, Clements Street
Kitty finished drying the dishes from breakfast, then fetched her basket. She spread the contents on the large wooden table and sat down, studying the bits and pieces. What would she create today? She had brought along several swaths of different material for reticules. Choosing the cinnamon shade, she poked a finger in the pouch of piping and chose two lengths of black, then studied the sequins. Embroidery or gewgaws?
Her mind wandered to her hosts. They were so kind, both insisting she call them by their given name so she would feel more of a friend and guest rather than a runaway. Over an evening of whist and interesting patter, she learned Genie had inherited her half of the shop from her mother. The poor woman, unwed and pregnant, had fled to London from a country estate when her father, the estate steward, had cast her out.
Pretending to be the widow of a French count, she had taken the moniker Madame Chapelle, providing a decent living for herself and her growing daughter. When Mrs. Peckton’s husband died, she had joined her sister and niece, helping with the shop and the rent. Kitty was in awe of how the women had grown the business on their own. Genie seemed so happy with her success and upcoming marriage.
Will I ever be as happy? Will I find success and love? At least one of the two? And if she had to choose one, which would it be? Success or love? But she already knew the answer, thinking of her parents. Love would provide her with a better life than success, wouldn’t it?
She could see the top of St. Clement Church from the kitchen window. Soon she was quietly singing the nursery rhyme.
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's.
You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin’s.
When will you pay me, say the bells at Old Bailey.
When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.
When will that be, say the bells of Stepney.
I do not know, say the great bell of Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
Chip chop, chip chop, the last man is dead.
There was a public dispute about the origin of the lyrics. This smaller church insisted its location, close to the docks where citrus fruit was unloaded, proved it was the church in the rhyme. But St. Clement Danes Church of Westminster proclaimed it is the St. Clement’s featured in the children’s poem.
“What do we have here?” asked Genie, chuckling when she startled Kitty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The modiste wore an azure muslin with a square neckline and short, puffed sleeves. Tiny loops of white lace had been added to the collar and cuffs, and small doves were embroidered along the hem. A gown too lovely for Kitty to ever wear as a day dress. She suddenly felt like a bumpkin in her serviceable brown wool.
“It’s my fault. My mind was wandering,” Kitty said as she tried to scoop up the scattered tassels, beads, and materials scattered across the table.
“Don’t stop. You’ve piqued my interest.” Miss Chapelle sat across from her, her elbows planted on the surface as she stared at the reticule Kitty was working on. “Is this for you or someone else?”
“I-I… both. I buy scraps from seamstresses, bits and pieces that aren’t enough to use for a project, so they’re cheap. I know so many women who can’t afford to replace their accessories. In this way, their old items can look and feel like new.” She showed Genie a pair of gloves she’d finished for a customer. “The fingers were in good shape, but the cuff was frayed and dirtied. I cut it off and added a new one in a slightly different color, piping to cover the seam, then embroidered her initials in the same color.”
Genie took the cotton glove and studied it. “Excellent work,” she murmured. “I sell items like this. One-of-a-kind accessories to go with my gowns and pelisses. But it’s so time-consuming. Any experience as a seamstress?”
“I learned from my mother, though I prefer this type of handiwork,” admitted Kitty, her stomach churning with nerves. Was Madame Chapelle considering her as an employee? She might swoon. Deep breath, deep breath.
