She had discovered unexpected benefits to living in this cellar on Girard Street. Down here, the noise of those families eluded her. The former kitchen’s big hearth warmed her when she indulged in fuel, and plastered walls further held off the damp. A chamber abutting hers held the building’s only tub, used by everyone in the house. She could hear someone in there now, slamming the garden door while carrying in water from the old well in back. Living in the cellar meant she could use that tub at her convenience.
She could afford a bit better, but she saw little point in spending the coin for it. One space with a bed and a hearth suited her well enough, and she could save her wages for other things. One day, she might even fulfill her dream of traveling to America . . . a place where no one would ever learn about her past.
Of course, that would only happen after she completed the tasks currently required for her mother’s sake, and managed to avoid imprisonment as she did so. She was determined that this would be the last demand. The plan she had concocted for this one could, if it went even slightly wrong, cost her more than the price of a bad conscience and a few supplies. This dangerous game could not continue.
Nothing would be gained by dwelling on potential mishaps now. Her bold mission required bravado. Tentative thinking or counting the costs would only lead to failure.
She sang to herself while she placed the most expensive purchase among the garments, a white mask that she had bought at a warehouse. It covered most of her face, even reaching down the cheeks so only her eyes, nose, mouth, and chin showed. Now she must decide which gown it would complement the best.
She considered a combination that might pass for a member of France’s ancient regime. More embellishments would be required, however, and she did not have time to strip them off other garments and sew them on. She decided that if she removed the overskirt and tacked bits of lace at the end of the sleeves, the pink dress alone might do for a simple shepherdess.
“Amanda, I hear you singing in there. Can I come in?”
Katherine’s voice, muffled by the wall between her home and the bath chamber next door, jolted her out of her thoughts.
“Do you want to warm your bathwater?”
“If I could.”
“Bring it in.”
Katherine lived on the top floor. The air in her chamber might be better, but Amanda did not envy her having to climb all those stairs several times a day.
Her door opened and Katherine lurched in, carrying two buckets of water. Her red curls bounced to the rhythm of her awkward gait. “It should be against the law to never have enough fuel in a bathhouse. Does he expect us to use cold water from the well?” She set the buckets down on the hearthstone. Amanda went over and threw some fuel on the low fire.
“What is this here?” Katherine asked. She stood between two chalk marks on the bare wooden floor.
“I was thinking of buying a trunk that I saw in Mr. Carew’s shop, and wondered if it would fit.” Oh, how easily she lied. That skill had returned fast. She hoped all the others did too.
“It is huge. You can’t put it here. It will be in the way.”
“I suppose so. I will have to think of something else.”
Katherine lost interest in the chalk marks and walked to the bed. She eyed the dresses. “Fine things you own. Who would guess?”
“They are old-fashioned castoffs from my mistress, but for my purpose they suit me. I have to make some changes, however. I want to remove this overskirt.” She picked up her shears.
“You can’t just cut that off. It will look horrible with bits of the overskirt sticking out from the seam.”
“I should take it to a dressmaker but do not have the money. Perhaps I can hide the mess with this cording on this other one.”
Katherine held the skirt to the window’s light. She turned it inside out and examined it. “It should not be too hard to remove it properly, if you’ve the thread to sew the underskirt back to the bodice.”
“I’ve the thread, but doubt I possess the skill. That is no common seam.”
“Didn’t they teach you how to sew in that fine school you went to?”
“They taught us the needle skills expected of ladies. This is more substantial.”
“I can do this for you. I apprenticed for a couple of years with a dressmaker.” She shrugged. “Before James lured me to my fall, that is. Now I lay down ale and fight off drunken patrons, but make far more for my time than I ever would stitching rich ladies’ dresses in bad light.”
Amanda had not known about the apprenticeship, but she knew all about lying seducers like James. She and Katherine had that in common. It had formed a fast bond between them.
“If you could help, I would kiss your feet. I cannot pay you much—”
“You always let me warm my water here, don’t you? Of course I will help you. I am hurt you didn’t ask.” Katherine smoothed the dress’s bodice. “You won’t have the right stays for this. Needs a proper corset. What you have probably won’t be long enough, or firm enough in front. You show me what you do have, and I’ll see what can be done.” She continued examining the dress. “Not for me to ask, but why would you want such an old-fashioned thing?”
“I am going to attend that masked ball everyone is talking about.”
