Page 13 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Footsteps pattered upstairs. He locked eyes with Miss Cooper, who nodded at his unspoken wish. In a whirl, they gathered their things and rushed toward the door, arms laden, the clip of Mrs. Gainsworth’s approach ever louder.

“Your ledger,” Meg said.

He had left it on the table. They froze and stared at one another, each assessing whether they could manage another item. Miss Cooper eyed the door, then scampered to the side table. She squatted and retrieved the ledger without disturbing the mountain of linens balanced in her arms.

“Quickly.”

Peter smiled at her, and she laughed. A sound so foreign he paused.

“Miss Cooper?” Mrs. Gainsworth’s voice sounded from the hall.

“This way.” Peter tilted his head toward a door connecting to the library. They slipped through and bounded down the stairs to the kitchen and outside.

“Well done, Miss Cooper. Your maneuvering exceeded your commission.”

“I have my uses.”

Truthfully, she possessed natural talent and could apparently handle Mrs. Gainsworth better than he. Still, he hesitated to promise her more instruction than the guild would find appropriate.

Inside their conveyance, Miss Cooper said, “She is singular, to be sure. Quite demanding, but I admire her imagination.” She handed him a card. “The gown she wishes to create. How long do you expect it to take?”

Peter’s stomach sank a little. “Three months with all this frippery.”

“We must hire village women to help; else it will not be completed in time.”

We? When had they become accomplices in this project?

Three patrons had queued outside Peter’s office when he and Miss Cooper returned to the shop. He gave them each a comfit and invited them in one at a time. Already frayed from the visit to Mrs. Gainsworth, he dropped into his chair and listened to customer after customer complain about delayed orders.

By the time he’d reconciled with the last of them, his cheeks ached with sympathetic smiles and a pinching headache threatened. Having offered discounts to his disgruntled clients, he would barely break even. But Mrs. Gainsworth would be his salvation, so long as they met her demands before Saint Valentine’s Day.

He opened his almanac and counted five weeks and two days until the festival. Could it be done?

In the workroom, Miss Cooper had already set an army of needlewomen to trace the embroidery pattern supplied by Mrs. Gainsworth. But the light already grew dim and candles were dear. He called the apprentices to meet in his office and invited the needlewomen to take their work home.

As he addressed his apprentices on the subject of Mrs. Gainsworth’s livery, his eye caught Miss Cooper’s significant look. When the company rose to depart, she marched toward him. Too spent to argue, he avoided her and lunged for the door connecting the workroom to his living quarters.

“Mr. Sloan.”

Peter turned a grudging eye to her.

“When will we begin work on the sacque?” she asked. “I can stay late, if necessary.”

“The fabric must be embroidered before construction can begin.”

“Yes, of course.” She pinked. Her ignorance seemed to embarrass her. “Then we will begin cutting.”

“The fit must be remeasured first.”

“We will drape, pin, and cut. Together.”

His habit was to agree, so it was with some effort he kept his face neutral. “Goodnight, Miss Cooper.”

The door closed on a trying day. Peter leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh, pulled loose the knot of his cravat, and followed the sound of his father’s snoring, which grated like a rusty hinge.

In the parlor, his father reclined in his favorite chair, head back, mouth gaping, his sewing project strewn over his legs. Thank heavens for the racket. With his pallor, one might think him departed from this life.

There was no trace of Mrs. Call, but the money left for her—increased by five shillings per week to keep her coming—was gone. Alone in the kitchen, Peter ate a slice of minced meat pie by the crackling fire, his father’s wheezing a counterpoint. His hands grew restless. Exhaustion singed the corners of his eyes and the ache in his head expanded. Sleep remedied all ills, but that night Peter had something better to do.