For the first time in her life, Beatrix rents her own place, a proper apartment on the third floor of a stone building that was built around the same time as the Crystal Palace. The windows are drafty and the wallpaper is peeling, but for a little while, it is all hers.
She could invite Oliver to her home for one of his visits. She could cook him dinner, and they could push the furniture against the walls and dance in her sitting room. She could even have friends over for tea, if she had any.
The bell over the door of Levens & Young Boutique chimes as Beatrix pushes it open and enters the dress shop. She stumbled upon it on her third day back in London, reacquainting herself with the old parts of the city and discovering the new ones. At least, that is the story she told Anna, the first day they met.
She didn’t mean to meet Anna at all. Beatrix had told herself she’d be content with glimpses of her through the shop windows, with watching her ride away on her bicycle in the evenings. But then she saw Anna Noble with her own eyes. Her own family, real and here and now.
Of course she walked into the shop.
She told Anna she was looking to buy a new dress. Spent over an hour trying outfits on, always finding a reason to try a different one. At first, she was disappointed Anna wasn’t the spitting image of one of hersisters, didn’t have William’s freckles or her wild hair. Then she was glad of it. Anna was her own person, and she was brilliant.
“Good morning!” a cheery voice calls.
“It’s me, Anna.”
Beatrix hadn’t noticed the Help Wanted sign in the window until she was leaving the shop with her new dress. She froze on the threshold, even as she urged herself to keep moving, away from Anna and her terrible idea. But she couldn’t let Anna go, not when she had only just found her.
Ten years had never felt so long.
She hangs her coat on the rack behind the door, pulls off her matching cloche hat, and smooths down her hair. Even cut to her chin, it refuses to behave.
A short, broad-shouldered girl with a golden bob and lips painted a vibrant red steps up to the glass-fronted counter. “I thought you were Mrs. Jones, here for her fitting.”
Beatrix glances at her watch. “She’s late.”
Anna rolls her eyes. “What else is new?”
Mrs. Jones reminds Beatrix of Lady DeSallowe. Nowhere near as rich, but still lost in her own little world. She probably doesn’t realize what day of the week it is.
“Come see what I’ve been working on.” Anna grabs Beatrix’s hand and tugs her through the door marked Staff Only, her eyes shining with a familiar spark.
The workroom is cluttered with boxes and bolts of fabric, and a half-draped dressmaker’s mannequin stands in the corner. Anna has cleared enough space around an abandoned treadle sewing machine to use it when the shop is slow.
At first glance, Anna’s latest project appears to be a long tan skirt. On closer inspection, Beatrix notices the linen has been cut down the center and pinned to form two separate pieces. She runs a hand over the lightweight fabric and laughs. “Are you turning your skirt into trousers?”
Anna beams. “I saw it in one of Mrs. Levens’s French fashion magazines. For riding my bicycle.” Beatrix gapes at her, but Anna only shrugs. “My skirts are always getting tangled up in the thing.”
The bell over the shop door jingles.
“That will be Mrs. Jones,” Anna says. “Coming!” she calls through thedoor. She gestures to the sewing machine. “If you bring me one of your old skirts, I can make a pair for you, too.” She disappears like a whirlwind into the shop.
Beatrix shakes her head. Anna is the strangest woman she has ever met. She rides her bicycle everywhere—sometimes all the way to the outskirts of London—for fun. She protested outside Parliament for women’s suffrage. She was even arrested. And now, she is going to wear trousers.
Beatrix brings in an old skirt the next day, a long navy one that has faded over the years she’s worn it.
Three days later, Anna hands her a pair of trousers. “Go try them on.”
Beatrix disappears into the back room and changes into the old skirt Anna has turned into something new. The trousers are a bit like the coveralls she wore in the factory, though these actually fit her figure. They sit high on her waist, and the legs are so wide they could be mistaken for a skirt at first glance.
She steps out into the shop.
Anna sits on the counter, waiting for her in her own tan trousers and a periwinkle sweater. “Give us a spin,” she declares.
Beatrix turns in place.
“Perfect,” Anna says. She slides off the counter. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” Beatrix asks. “Go where?”
