“One moment,” she managed to squawk out, her voice hoarse. She pulled on the dress then quickly polished her teeth, splashed cold water from the basin on her face, and gave her hair a brush. The hip tub and bath things were still in the corner. She skirted around them and went out into the sitting room.
Once he’d heard her voice, Talbert had stopped his incessant knocking. However, that didn’t stop him from letting his impatience be known with a snort of derision when she opened the door.
Sarah could have slammed it in his face except for the crowd of women behind him. They carried bolts of fabric, beautiful materials in colored muslins and radiant silks.
Talbert indicated with a snap of his fingers for the women to follow him into the room. The woman who entered first was obviously the leader of the dressmakers. Her burgundy gown was an understatement in refined grace. She wore a charming straw hat trimmed in silk ribbon and one jaunty ostrich feather. Her dark hair was streaked with the silver of age and yet the amusement in her eye over Talbert’s high-handedness gave her youth.
With a professional’s glance, she seemed capable of measuring Sarah’s person. She noted the bare feet, the wrinkled dress, the unruly hair. It took all of Sarah’s considerable will to not run to hide in the bedroom.
“This is Mrs. Hillsman,” Talbert threw out as if the name should mean nothing to Sarah—but it did.
“Mrs. Hillsman?” Sarah had to stop from sinking to her knees in admiration. In a city overrun with fashionable dressmakers and seamstresses, Mrs. Hillsman was the finest of them all. Only the very crème of London Society were her clients. Her dresses were in such demand that the papers made mention when a gentlewoman wore one to an event.
And the idea that Sarah was standing there looking like a wild-haired harridan in front of the esteemed Mrs. Hillsman horrified her. Dear Lord, she still had sleep in her eyes.
Fortunately, Talbert was on hand to keep Sarah firmly in reality. He opened the ledger he carried, tapped something on the page with his finger and then snapped the book shut.
With a haughty flare of his nostrils, he said to the dressmaker, “You will provide Mrs. Pettijohn with a full wardrobe. Please keep in mind her station in life. She is dressing for His Grace and not her own preferences.” He gave Sarah a tight smile as he said the last. He then added, “You do understand what is expected, Mrs. Hillsman? I’m certain you have dealt with these sorts of circumstances before.”
“I do indeed, Mr. Talbert.” She spoke with the authority of a woman who understood her business and her place in the world. She also considered Talbert a minion.
Sarah was jealous of her quiet confidence.
“Mrs. Pettijohn,” Talbert barked as if Sarah needed scolding, “I will return to take you to look at—” he opened his book and reread it again to confirm “—theaters and possible residences at half past one. We have a full afternoon before us. Do not keep me waiting in the hall the way you did this morning.”
With that, he closed his ledger, performed a most excellent about-face, and marched out of the room, a soldier for the Duke of Baynton. Lest anyone believe he was enjoying his new duties of shepherding Sarah, he slammed the door behind him.
And Sarah wanted to go after him and rail at him for such dismissive treatment. She confronted the esteemed dressmaker and her staff who had witnessed his patronizing behavior. They were certainly forming the worst sort of impression of her. “How dare he behave as if I’m a pest? This is not my idea. I’ve been locked in here by the Duke of Baynton. He left me without a key and no way to fend for myself.”
“No key?” Mrs. Hillsman questioned. “Like this one?” She walked to the desk and picked up a key that had been beside Sarah’s play. “In fact, the door was not locked. Mr. Talbert assumed it was, but I did not hear a key turn in the lock when you opened it.”
A hot flush made Sarah shift uncomfortably. Baynton had left the key for her. “I did not realize.”
“And if you are a prisoner, this is a lovely prison,” Mrs. Hillsman observed, taking off her gloves and giving the room the same scrutiny she had used on Sarah’s person. Seeing her assistants still held their wares, she said, “Put those down and have all these taken away.” She indicated the serving dishes from last night’s meal on the table. “This stack of papers as well.” She referred to the Widow.
Sarah swooped in and picked up the play. “I shall see to this.” She carried it in to the bedroom.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Hillsman was giving orders to her assistant carrying the dinner tray into the hall. “Have a tray sent up of breakfast dishes. You know what I like. And a pot of good strong black tea. A hot one, mind you. Test it yourself to see that it is right.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the assistant said.
Sarah stood in the bedroom door, taking in the busyness of the room. While the assistant left with the empty dishes, two others were moving the furniture toward the wall, clearing an open space. Another placed a huge leather portfolio on the table and then began setting out scissors, pins, and chalk from a basket. Mrs. Hillsman took off her smart bonnet and set it carefully on the table next to her gloves.
“Thank you for ordering breakfast,” Sarah said. “I would not have known what to do, not here.”
Mrs. Hillsman opened the portfolio. It was filled with dress drawings. She began flipping through the pages. “There is a floor steward at the top of the steps. You need only stick your head out the door and tell him what you need. He knows who is paying your account. He will do anything to please you, as will I.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, mortified that she was not more worldly. If Mrs. Hillsman had not told her about the steward, she might have starved in the room. She crossed to look over the dressmaker’s shoulder. The gowns on each page were of the very height of fashion.
Mrs. Hillsman set aside one particularly lovely day dress and assessed Sarah a moment before studying the fabrics her assistants had spread out on the furniture. Offhandedly, she said, “I usually don’t make these calls myself.”
“What kind of calls do you refer to?” Sarah asked.
“The mistress ones.” A well-manicured hand on the drawing, Mrs. Hillsman faced her. “I came because I had to meet the woman who has caught the interest of the Duke of Baynton. Many have angled for him but you are his first mistress to my knowledge.”
Sarah could confirm her conjecture, but chose to be silent. She had enough respect for Baynton to not reveal his secrets.
At her silence, Mrs. Hillsman nodded her approval. “There are many who will ask me about you. They will ply me for information.”
