Page 16
“Come,” Miss Sterling said, wading through Clara’s dilemma with a soft voice. She waved her into her room. “I shall help you. I know of Miss Bowles. You do not want to cross her.”
Clara’s stomach churned, staring down the corridor before following Miss Sterling into her room. The walls boasted a light blue, and lavender furnishings highlighted the color further.
“Place the gown on the bed. I’ve just the right color of thread, I believe.” Miss Sterling rummaged through a box atop her desk. “My maid, Grace, left this here for my own gowns. I do apologize for the short notice, by the way, in helping me dress. I appreciate your willingness to lend me your aid.”
Clara’s concern was quelled only slightly with Miss Sterling’s kindness. “I’m honored to be able to serve you, Miss Sterling, of course.”
Miss Sterling looked over her shoulder. “You speak very fine for a maid.”
If Clara was compensated for each time she’d heard that phrase, she wouldn’t even need to find Father’s blasted solicitor. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Here it is.” Miss Sterling held up a spool of thread, walking toward the gown and holding it against it. The color was perfect. “Yes, this should do nicely. If you take one end, and I take the other, we’ll be able to stitch it up in half the time.”
Clara stared. “Are you...certain?”
“More than. As I said, I know of Miss Bowles. We met at a party in London once. She’s a formidable woman. Knows just what she wants. If the dress doesn’t arrive soon, I’m sure her own maid will suffer because of it. Come, let us make haste.”
Clara didn’t protest again, though her heart was filled with overwhelming warmth and gratitude at the woman’s generosity. Clara was no stranger to such actions from Mother growing up. But in the last few years, being kept locked away at Cliveley, attending no balls or dinner parties and receiving no callers—all in the name of Algernon attempting to recoup the losses his own father made gambling while he was alive—she hadn’t experienced much kindness at all.
Especially since becoming part of the working class.
As the two worked together, mindful of each other’s fingers in such close quarters, Clara glanced up to find a deep, berry red gown on the opposite side of the bed.
“Is that what you’ll be wearing tonight, Miss Sterling?”
“Yes, isn’t it lovely? My cousin had it made for me to make a good impression on the first night of the house party. What do you think of it?”
“I think it will do precisely what your cousin hopes it will.”
Miss Sterling beamed.
“I’ve a few ideas for your hair,” Clara continued. “Unless you’ve something else in mind?”
“I never really have an opinion on how Grace does my hair. I shall allow you full freedom in that regard.”
Exactly as Clara liked it.
Within a few minutes, the two had whipstitched the gown back together without a blemish in sight, and Clara fled down the corridor toward Miss Bowles’s room with the promise of returning speedily to Miss Sterling.
As the woman had warned, Miss Bowles certainly did seem formidable.
Clara was allowed to enter the room, and as Miss Bowles sat before her dressing-table, her gaze remained focused on herself.
“It certainly took long enough,” she mumbled. “Margaret, ensure the gown is fine before allowing the maid to leave.”
Margaret stepped away from her mistress, examined the gown in Clara’s hands, glanced right past the tear, and nodded. “It’s lovely, miss.”
“Lay it on the bed. And next time, tell the laundry-maid to be faster, or I shall have to speak with her ladyship about the girl’s tardiness.”
Clara glanced at the lady’s maid, who appeared as worn down as Clara would be if she worked for someone like Miss Bowles.
“Margaret,” Miss Bowles snapped, “will you please get a move on? I’d like to arrive to dinner before it is over.”
“Yes, miss.”
Clara frowned. With a shake of her head, she left the room, proud of herself for actually keeping her mouth sealed closed without even having to bite her tongue that time.
Deep inside, however, she hoped Miss Bowles’s hem would come loose tonight while walking so she might trip into a dish of jelly.
