Page 16 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“Decide quickly, else there will be no sleeves at all,” Peter said.

Miss Cooper turned a narrowed eye upon him. “Nay, Mr. Sloan. We must ensure Mrs. Gainsworth receives the gown she desires, down to the last detail.”

She was cunning, but could she do the work? He stepped close enough to examine how she’d arranged the sleeves. Better than expected, but the lay required adjusting. He might retreat and allow these women to make a mess of silk that cost more than Peter earned in a month. But he required the payment and must prove he deserved Mrs. Gainsworth’s patronage.

He swallowed the sourness that crept into his mouth and addressed Miss Cooper with the first words of instruction he’d ever directed at her. “The pleats at her back should fall without bending over her panniers. You must pin them at an angle.”

“Show me.” Miss Cooper stepped back and gestured to the gown, her face open, eyes sharp and hungry. Her excitement made a fourth presence in the room and forced Peter to acknowledge his desire to instruct her, to witness her capabilities. He shoved the inclination away.

“May I?” he asked Mrs. Gainsworth before attempting to square the silk. Under Miss Cooper’s scrutiny his fingers forgot what they knew, requiring him to start over. And then his apprentice was beside him, her skirts pressing against his leg, her hands brushing his as she inserted a pin into the fold he created.

Peter focused on the nap of the silk, its fine weave and cool touch, refusing to be unsettled by Miss Cooper’s proximity. Together, they worked until the silk flowed from shoulder to floor in a smooth, cascading line. Job complete, Miss Cooper stepped away, and Peter took a full breath.

He rotated Mrs. Gainsworth to examine each place Miss Cooper had tacked the fabric before he arrived. After settling two stray pins, he searched in vain for additional mistakes but found none. He laughed to himself. Her skill astonished him.

“Well done,” he told Miss Cooper. “You have good instincts.”

Miss Cooper’s grin landed somewhere beneath his ribs, her pleasure at the compliment becoming his own. She took up a pair of scissors and swiveled toward Mrs. Gainsworth, evidently set on making the first cuts, which often happened during such a fitting.

Then she paused, fingering the scissors like a child holding the reins of a giant horse. She surely recognized the silk was more suitable for court than a small fête, how untrained she was to attempt shearing such finery.

Nearly sighing in relief, Peter intervened. “Jane, are you certain you wish Miss Cooper to take her first cuts on your silk?”

Mrs. Gainsworth smiled sympathetically at Miss Cooper. “You are right. You may cut the gown while Miss Cooper learns.”

He took the scissors from Miss Cooper and carved uniform lines down bell-shaped panniers, hoping Mrs. Gainsworth recognized his steady, expert hand. He avoided answering his apprentice’s questions, insisting her observance might be the most useful instruction at this stage of her learning.

Then, he made the mistake of glancing up at Miss Cooper, whose attention remained fixed on his hands, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He would not soon forget the sensation of watching her watch him. He performed the next cut more carefully than necessary.

When done, he gave the scissors to Miss Cooper and dismissed himself, so eager to leave behind his absurd self-consciousness that he did not care if he abandoned Mrs. Gainsworth.

Minutes after he watched Mrs. Gainsworth’s carriage disappear, a bulbous-eyed woman stomped toward him. “I waited all yesterday for the delivery of my underthings, but as they never arrived, I am here to fetch them.” Her round figure heaved with each breath.

“How do you do, Mrs. Brewster?” He fixed himself with a cheerful expression. “Considering your longstanding patronage, I determined to add some tasteful French lace to the hem of your shift. I will deliver everything tomorrow.” He believed it in that moment, though he could not recall whether the pieces for her stays were cut.

As soon as she took her leave, he called out, “Arnold. Have you seen Mrs. Brewster’s stays?”

Miss Cooper appeared. “French lace? On a shift? If she is clever, she will remove it and attach it to her sleeves. You’ll lose money.”

Where were those comfits? “Do you know where Mrs. Brewster’s underthings are?”

“Yes, and I will attach the lace. The stays are ready for boning. I’ll put them on the workbench by Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown.”

The day unraveled in a series of mishaps. He finished a set of stays to realize they were much too small for Mrs. Brewster—someone else’s pattern entirely. Johnathan left an iron-shaped burn on a nearly finished waistcoat. Freddy spilled stew on the wool for Mrs. Gainsworth’s livery.

After the apprentices left for the day, Peter shut himself in his office and lost himself sketching a whimsical pattern for stamping chintz, flowers and birds in repeated succession. The tension of the day began dissolving into his pen, but all too soon he was interrupted by a tap at the door.

He snapped the sketchbook closed and stood as Miss Cooper entered. His limbs grew heavy. No doubt she had come to berate him again.

“My housekeeper, Miss Grace Henton, asked me to give you a message.” She cleared her throat. “This afternoon Mrs. Call left your employ. Miss Henton is sitting with your father.”

“Mrs. Call?”

“Is gone.”

“Who is Miss Henton?”

“As I explained, she is my housekeeper and has been with your father since early afternoon.”