The Sewing Room Girl Page 6

  ‘Made of what? Can you tell? Wood will be rotten.’

  ‘Stone, I think.’

  ‘If I help you through the gap, can you get onto them safely? Safely, mind.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Once you’re in there, take your time. Feel your way. It’ll be dark.’

  With his help, she edged deeper through the gap and onto the top step, her nostrils filling with dank air.

  ‘Sophie,’ she called. ‘I’m coming.’

  She started by putting one hand on the wall and feeling for each step with her toes, but with darkness all around, it felt safer to sit down and shuffle from step to step on her bottom.

  Reaching the floor, she coaxed, ‘Talk to me, Sophie. Help me find you,’ and then crawled across packed earth towards the thin sound of the child’s voice. ‘There. I’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here.’

  ‘Take Mo first.’

  ‘You’re more important. I’ll come back for Mo, I promise.’

  ‘You won’t find him in the dark. Take him – please.’

  It made sense. She let Sophie guide her hands to the dog. She spoke soothingly as she touched its short coat. It was a little creature, a ratter, lying quietly but shaking, poor thing. Carefully, she wrapped it in her jacket and carried it up the steps, holding out the bundle until she was positive it was safely in the young man’s hands. Then she returned for Sophie.

  ‘If I crouch down, can you climb on and I’ll give you a piggyback up the steps?’

  Whimpering, Sophie obeyed. Juliet pushed herself to her feet, finding it harder than she expected. Gingerly, she made her way to the steps, leaning forwards and testing Sophie’s weight each time she lifted a foot. By the time she reached the top, her shoulders were ready to unhinge themselves and fall off.

  ‘Down you get.’ Her knees were about to crack under the strain. ‘Keep your bad foot clear of the step.’

  ‘I’ve twisted my shirt into a rope,’ the young man said through the gap. ‘Put the loop over Sophie’s head and under her armpits, then hand the end to me and I’ll pull her through.’

  The little girl had grit. Apart from a couple of sharp gasps, there wasn’t a peep out of her as this was accomplished.

  ‘Reach for my wrist,’ the young man told Juliet, ‘and I’ll hold yours. You’ll need to take a step into thin air before I can reach your other wrist, then I’ll pull you out, but you have to take that step first. Do you trust me?’

  She froze, but only for a moment. The hold on her wrist tightened. She stepped sideways. Her stomach swooped and her breath hitched. Then she thrust her free hand upwards – and he seized it, hauling her up through the gap onto the grass. She twisted into a sitting position and he sat beside her, drawing her into a one-armed hug. This close – and him with no shirt, though he did have his waistcoat and jacket on – she caught an eyeful of his chest and stomach, and her face was hot enough to fry an egg on. She made to wriggle free, and he released her immediately, but instead of feeling relieved, she wanted to pull his arm round her again.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  ‘We’ll soon have you home.’ As he spoke to Sophie, he did up his waistcoat over his grubby, flat stomach. To Juliet, he said, ‘What’s your name? I want to tell everyone how brave you were.’

  ‘Juliet Harper. My mother is seamstress to her ladyship.’

  ‘I’m Hal Price. My dad’s going to be head gardener when my grandfather retires.’

  Juliet’s heart delivered another of those thumps, and it wasn’t just the emotion of the moment. Cecily was right: he was handsome. But Cecily wasn’t attracted to him. Why ever not? He was top notch. Capable, resourceful, kind and strong. Top notch.

  Chapter Five

  Mrs Naseby sent Juliet to buy a bottle of ink. As she walked past the Saturday market, enjoying the stallholders’ familiar cries and the earthy scents of freshly pulled vegetables, and the sweet aroma of barley sugar and toffee apples, a shower sent her scurrying for cover and she found herself sharing the awning of the second-hand-clothes stall with Miss Bradley.

  ‘I’ve been looking at this coat,’ said Miss Bradley. ‘It’s in a sad state. The lining’s in tatters and the hem’s coming down – but I love the colour. What do you think?’

  How flattering to be consulted. ‘New lining is easy, and so is the hem. The main problem is this wear on the collar.’

  ‘Can it be repaired?’

  ‘Personally, I’d replace it.’

  Miss Bradley frowned. ‘But that means finding the same fabric.’

  ‘Use a contrast, and,’ she added, suddenly seeing it inside her head, ‘trim the cuffs with it too.’

  ‘Will you do all that for me?’

  ‘If Mrs Naseby gives me the job.’

  Miss Bradley brought in the coat later that day, and Mrs Naseby helped her select a contrasting fabric. Juliet would have enjoyed doing that, but didn’t push herself forward.

  ‘Could Juliet do the alteration?’ Miss Bradley asked. ‘She did such a good job on my jacket.’

  ‘Certainly. She is permitted to do mending and alterations, but she isn’t doing dressmaking yet; though, between me and thee,’ and Mrs Naseby didn’t trouble to lower her voice, even though Juliet was standing by with her ears flapping, ‘it won’t be long before I start giving her dressmaking to do. She’s been assisting me on a Sunday-best tweed costume and her work is of a high standard. I only wanted a shop girl when I employed her, but she’s much more than that.’

  Energy rushed through Juliet’s veins. Later, she took Miss Bradley’s coat home with her, planning as she made her way through the parkland’s evening darkness how to tackle the work.

  ‘Good evening.’

  Hal! She turned instinctively towards his voice.

  ‘I hope I didn’t startle you.’ He came towards her. ‘I’ve been hoping to see you to make sure you’re none the worse for our adventure.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’ve been wondering about Sophie.’

  ‘A bad sprain, nothing more. She’s one of the gardeners’ daughters. And Mo is on the mend too. If you’re heading for the house, I’ll walk part of the way with you.’ He fell in step beside her. ‘That’s a big bundle. Shall I carry it for you?’

  ‘It’s not heavy. It’s a coat.’ She explained the work that needed doing, then bit her lip. You couldn’t expect a man to be interested in sewing.

  But Hal said, ‘Do you intend to run your own shop or dressmaking service one day?’

  ‘I – I haven’t given it any thought. I’ve only just started at Naseby’s.’

  ‘Early days, eh? Still, it’s good to plan ahead. I know what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Be head gardener?’

  He laughed. ‘That’s what Ma would like: follow in Dad’s footsteps, but I want more than that. Don’t misunderstand. I love gardening, but I want to design gardens – and not just gardens but entire grounds. I attend the Mechanics’ Institute in Birkfield two nights a week, so I can better myself. I do maths, geometry and bookkeeping. Grandad says you can’t do a job properly if you can’t handle money.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And I go to a drawing master by the name of Charlesworth.’

  ‘To learn how to draw flowers?’

  ‘We’ve done some work on individual plants, but that’s for pleasure. I’m interested in sketching lifelike flower beds, as well as things like rockeries, fountains and pieces of garden architecture. I’ll have to be able to do all that as well as drawing plans to scale.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s an honour to be taught by Mr Charlesworth. He teaches the young Drysdale ladies, so I had to have permission from Mr Nugent before I could go to him. If we’d still been living in our old place, I’d never have been taught by Lady Arabella’s children’s tutor, but fortunately for me, that isn’t the case at Moorside.’

  ‘His lordship’s good like that.’

  ‘So everybody says. Mr Nugent admires ambition as long as it’s n
ot misplaced and he says he’ll keep an eye out for an opening for me.’

  But not too soon – please, not too soon. ‘It sounds …’ She was going to say ‘interesting’, but anyone could say that. She wanted him to know she had caught his enthusiasm. ‘… challenging.’

  He stopped, and she turned to him eagerly.

  ‘I go that way now.’ He indicated with a tilt of his head. ‘Will you be all right seeing yourself home from here?’

  ‘Of course. I use this route every day now.’

  ‘G’night, then.’

  He strode into the darkness. She had to remind herself to continue on her way, thoughts of Hal keeping her warm all the way to the house, but she had to fix her mind firmly on Miss Bradley’s coat when she reached the sewing room.

  ‘Show me when you’ve finished,’ Mother ordered. ‘I’m not having second-rate work going out of my sewing room.’

  ‘Mother! I don’t do second-rate work.’

  ‘Well, see that you don’t.’

  Juliet worked hard on the alterations. The contrasting fabric being her own idea made the work feel extra special.

  Mother checked the finished thing with sharp eyes and tightened lips, then thrust the coat at her with a curt, ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  But when Mrs Naseby examined it – and her scrutiny was every bit as close as Mother’s – she declared it an excellent piece of sewing, and Miss Bradley, when she collected it, said, ‘You’ve made it look like new.’

  Why was Mother so set against praising her?

  Miss Bradley came into the shop with a friend. Beside Miss Bradley’s slender figure, her companion was plump, though light on her feet.

  ‘I have this blouse pattern,’ she told Juliet. ‘Can you show me suitable trimmings?’

  The moment she looked at the pattern, and at the lady holding it, Juliet had an idea. ‘Have you thought of altering the collar?’

  ‘Listen to her, Grace,’ Miss Bradley advised. ‘This is the girl who worked wonders on my coat.’ She turned to Juliet. ‘Why change it?’

  For a moment, she was nonplussed. Miss Bradley’s friend was a little dumpling and the stand-up collar would make her look like she was overflowing with chins, but she couldn’t say that. ‘A softer line might be prettier. Let me show you.’ Taking a pencil and paper, she sketched the basic shape of the blouse before adding a gently rounded collar.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the friend said. ‘It’s so different – and she’s very young.’

  ‘Juliet has an excellent eye,’ said Miss Bradley. ‘Try this collar. Tack it on and see how you look in it. Juliet will make a paper pattern for you – won’t you, Juliet?’

  Juliet thought the friend was about to refuse, but instead she dimpled and said, ‘No harm in trying.’ She handed over the pattern. ‘You’ll need this for the measurements.’

  ‘I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow.’

  Miss Bradley’s friend duly collected the pattern, and a day or two later, Miss Bradley appeared, all smiles. The collar was a success.

  ‘I’ve made arrangements to extend your education, Juliet,’ she said.

  Hal sprang to mind. ‘At the Mechanics’ Institute?’

  ‘No, that’s for men and boys. When you’re explaining how a garment will look, wouldn’t you like to draw it properly? That picture you did of my friend’s blouse was rather childish, if I may say so, and therefore I’ve arranged drawing lessons. My friend is Miss Charlesworth and her brother is an artist. He’ll teach you for an hour once a week for six weeks in return for altering a dress that belonged to his late mother to fit Miss Charlesworth.’

  Mr Charlesworth! He taught Hal. But caution prevailed.

  ‘I’ll have to ask my mother.’

  Mrs Naseby joined in. ‘Tell her I said it was a good idea, because it might be of use in the shop. She can’t argue with that.’

  Was Mrs Naseby aware of how difficult Mother could be? Would she be difficult about this? Juliet thought of the embroidered panel and it seemed entirely possible. What if she went over Mother’s head? There would be hell to pay, obviously, but wouldn’t that be better than being turned down flat just because Mother had got out of bed the wrong side?

  That evening, heart pounding, she knocked on Mrs Whicker’s sitting-room door.

  ‘Come.’

  Mrs Whicker was a mountain of a woman, but her private domain was the last word in daintiness, with chintzy armchairs, small tables and whatnots with barley-sugar-twisted legs, and more pretty china than you could shake a stick at. Mrs Whicker and Cook sat beside the crackling fire, with a cut-glass decanter on a table between them. They each held a matching glass, containing a red liquid, and judging by the hearty flush in their cheeks, it wasn’t raspberry cordial they were imbibing.

  Juliet bobbed a curtsey. ‘Please may I have a word?’

  Mrs Whicker signalled to her to speak, and she explained Miss Bradley’s proposal.

  ‘Mrs Naseby thinks it would be useful, but I know Mr Charlesworth tutors the young ladies, so …’

  Mrs Whicker’s frowning countenance suggested refusal.

  ‘Begging your pardon,’ Juliet added, ‘but Mr Price’s grandson, Hal, has lessons off Mr Charlesworth. Mr Nugent gave permission, because it’s for his work. Please may I have permission, since it’s for my work?’

  ‘Hm.’ Mrs Whicker knocked back a thoughtful slug of the hard stuff. ‘Mr Nugent granted permission, did he? I’ll speak to him.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Whicker.’

  Juliet withdrew. Was she wrong to have gone behind Mother’s back? It felt like the only way.

  Agnes had to admit the drawing lessons gave Juliet a confident hand at sketching garments – but she would admit it only to herself. No point in giving the girl a big head. In truth, she was startled by Juliet’s swift progress.

  ‘Don’t waste time on it,’ she advised. ‘It isn’t as though you’ll need it much. You’re only a shop girl. Why Mrs Naseby thought it would be a good idea I can’t imagine. And as for Mrs Whicker and Mr Nugent taking an interest, well …’

  She let the sentence trail off. It wouldn’t do to say anything against two such important people.

  Outside church, though, it was a different story. Here, she could be suitably proud as she announced, ‘Juliet is being taught by the young ladies’ drawing master,’ and lapped up the gratifying murmurs.

  ‘What is Mr Charlesworth teaching you, Juliet?’ Ella asked.

  ‘To draw garments, obviously, but also to draw people. Not in detail. It’s only to get the proportions correct.’

  ‘How will that help with your sewing?’ Beatrice enquired.

  ‘If I’m going to alter something, or make a suggestion, I’ll be able to draw what it’ll look like.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Charlesworth will let you pay for more lessons in the same way,’ said Ella.

  Vexation flared in Agnes. Everybody was fussing round Juliet and it wasn’t right. ‘Everything Juliet knows she learnt from me. There can’t be many girls who have had the grounding she’s had.’

  ‘She sounds prouder of herself than she does of Juliet,’ someone murmured, but although Agnes looked round quickly, she couldn’t detect who it was.

  Those words niggled at her all the way home. It was a cold morning, but she didn’t have the energy to stride out and keep warm.

  ‘I wonder if I might have more lessons,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Certainly not. Goodness, to hear you talk, anyone would think you were going to design garments. You’ve already learnt more than you’ll ever need, and I’ll tell Mrs Whicker so. Let that be the end of it.’

  Others might mourn the passing of summer but, to Hal, autumn was nature’s greatest glory. There could be no better sight than that of the sun pouring through the park’s vast canopy of gold, bronze and flame. As he went about his work, raking up drifts of crunching leaves and lifting tender perennials, he enjoyed the mixture of vibrant and pastel hues in the flower beds and looked forward to the first fros
ts, which would engrave sparkling patterns on the gardens as autumn faded and clusters of berries glowed in the welcome brilliance of the winter sun.

  Twice a week, he tramped down the hill to the Institute. His folks were baffled by his ambition. Why couldn’t he be satisfied with a life of gardening, like his dad and grandad? It was an open secret that Ma had come to Moorside with high hopes that he would meet a girl and find himself halfway up the aisle before he knew it.

  ‘I can’t settle down for years yet, Ma,’ he had told her many a time.

  ‘You could, if you’d be a proper gardener. Look at the cottages his lordship provides for his gardeners. Much better than we had at our old place. And one is empty at the moment. I mentioned to Mr Nugent t’other day—’

  His senses sprang to attention. ‘You mentioned what?’

  ‘I asked if, should you need it …’

  Oh hell. Now he would have to seek out Mr Nugent and explain that Ma had it all wrong. How embarrassing. But he couldn’t have Mr Nugent of all people thinking him eager to wed or he wouldn’t bother looking for an opportunity for Hal to progress.

  Poor Ma. He couldn’t contemplate marriage for years yet.

  But …

  But if he were to consider it, he had to admit to being rather taken by Juliet. She was on the young side, admittedly, but her features were finely honed and when she smiled, her face was lit by an inner radiance that showed the beautiful woman she would become. Moreover, when he had told her of his ambition, she had appeared interested. Most girls ran a mile at that point, foreseeing an engagement that would last years.

  He had met Juliet crossing the park a few times now, each time learning a bit more about her and winkling further information out of Grandad. She had got that shop job through her own efforts and, according to his sister, Caroline, word in the village was that she was skilful with her needle. A highly capable girl, was Juliet Harper, though he didn’t think she realised how capable. Imagine walking out with a girl like that. She would understand and respect his plans. She would share them, and he would encourage her to develop her own.