“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Bea glanced down at the book, then back at Vivian. “I should give it back.”
“Do you want to?”
“No,” Bea said, her words coming out quick and defensive once more. “I give every penny I earn to my family. I never spend any of it. I’m certainly not buying poetry for myself. A fella thought I deserved something nice for once. That’s not so unreasonable, is it?”
“Of course not,” said Vivian gently. “Of course you deserve something nice. You know I’m not judging you for it. We can forget I said anything at all, if you want.”
Bea sighed again. “There’s no way out, is there?” she asked quietly, chin resting in her hands as she stared at nothing. “Not a legal one, anyway. Not for folks like us.”
Vivian didn’t answer.
“Vivian Kelly.”
The steely anger in the voice left Vivian as motionless as if she’d been frozen and equally chilled. Unable to make her legs move any further, she clutched the coat she had been about to hang up so tightly she was worried she might rip it. She turned slowly, not showing any of her anger or fear, to face her employer. “Yes, Miss Ethel?”
“Vivian.” The shop owner’s face was nearly purple with rage. “I am shocked beyond words.”
The room was silent, all the other seamstresses hovering over their work, not moving and barely breathing as they tried not to draw any attention to themselves. Everyone knew what it meant when Miss Ethel Marie Barnes spoke in that tone of voice.
“I am sure you know what I am referring to.”
Vivian opened her eyes wide, looking as innocent as possible. “I can’t say that I do—”
“A man, Vivian. I am talking about the young man who came into my store looking for you, not fifteen minutes ago. Who announced where any customers might hear him that he wanted to speak to one of my seamstresses!” Miss Ethel trembled with outrage. “Do you have any idea how that makes me look? How it makes every girl who works here look?”
Vivian took a deep breath. It had to have been Leo, and if he had been there at that moment, she could have killed him for it. “Beg pardon, but were there actually any customers in the store? Because—”
“That is not the point.” The shop owner looked angry enough to spit. But a moment later, her fury was under control, masked with an expression of concern. “Vivian, you do not seem to appreciate the danger that I am trying to protect you, all of you”—her glance took in the rest of the shop girls, huddled over their sewing machines or counters—“from. How will such things make you appear? How will they make your fellow workers appear? You already toe the line of respectability.”Her glance took in Vivian’s bobbed hair, the careful patching around the hem of the coat she still held, which only the eye of a trained seamstress would be able to spot. “Such loose associations do you no favors.”
Vivian caught her breath, her hands clenching into fists underneath the coat, where her employer could not see them. They couldn’t afford for her to lose her job, but she didn’t have any way to stop what was about to happen. Honor’s favor hadn’t come in time.
“No, Vivian, I am afraid I cannot allow you to endanger the reputation of every young woman who works under my care.”
The regret in her employer’s voice made every muscle in Vivian’s body tense with fury. It would have been so much easier if Miss Ethel had looked smug, if the condescending wrongness of her words was reflected in her expression. But she sincerely believed every word she was saying.
“For their good, as well as your own—”
“Excuse me, but the young man who was asking after Vivian is our cousin.”
Vivian’s eyes snapped toward her sister, and she could feel the silent, anxious rush of air as more than half a dozen young women drew in a collective breath. Florence’s head was just barely raised above her sewing machine, her shoulders straight but her chin ducked down, looking as deferential as she possibly could. Her face was painfully pale, and the red flags of color standing out on her cheekbones could have been caused by so many different emotions that Vivian didn’t want to guess how her sister was feeling at that moment.
Miss Ethel blinked several times, her momentum derailed by the simple lie. “Your cousin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any cousins.”
Florence’s wide-eyed, polite sincerity didn’t waver. “We do,” she said simply.
Vivian held her breath, not daring to move or even glance at her sister. She could feel the weight of stillness from every girl in the shop.
“Well.” Miss Ethel cleared her throat, the fingers of one hand drumming against her thigh. “Well. Well then.” She cleared her throat a second time, then raised her voice. “Is there a reason everyone has stopped working?”
The sudden burst of movement was almost painful, a moment of whiplash that made Vivian’s head spin as girls went back to sewing, sorting beads, cutting material, stocking shelves.
Miss Ethel glanced down at Vivian’s still bandaged hand and pursed her lips. “There are more deliveries today. See that you don’t dawdle while completing them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Vivian nodded.
