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“No,” she said sharply.

“Then you either need ready money or something you can sell that would equate half of the value of the business.”

It was simple arithmetic. She did not have anywhere near enough in her personal savings to buy Sylvia out. The money would have to come from somewhere else.

“Do you know the value of Mrs. Shelton’s?” asked Willie. “Maybe there is enough money in the accounts that you could use half to buy Sylvia out.”

“I don’t know how much money is in the shop’s accounts,” she muttered.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out. If you’ll show me the account books, I could take a look for you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her hands. “I don’t know where Mum kept them.”

“How have you been conducting business since you reopened?” asked Willie.

Izzie looked up at the ceiling, too mortified to meet her friend’s eye. “There is a box with a small amount of money in it under the counter. Mum would clear it out each week and put it in an envelope to take to the bank.” At least that’s what Izzie assumed Mum had done.

“Do you know which bank she used?” asked Willie.

Izzie shook her head miserably. “Sylvia made the arrangements years ago.”

Willie let out a long breath. “Well, the account books must be around here somewhere. Didn’t Mrs. Shelton do all of her business in the office?”

“She did, it’s just…”

It had taken her three days to work up the courage to open Mum’s office door, and the moment she did, she’d pulled the door shut again, overwhelmed by the disarray.

Mum had never tolerated anything but pin-straight perfection in the front rooms of Mrs. Shelton’s, and the workshop was a study in controlled chaos, with different orders in different states of production neatly set out for Mum, Miss Reid, or Izzie to work on. For as long as Izzie could remember, the employees of Mrs. Shelton’s had always been responsible for the upkeep of those rooms. However, since Sylvia left home, the office had reverted to being solely Mum’s domain.

Izzie wasn’t entirely certain how long it had been since Mum had done a proper clear-out of the office—certainly since before the war—and it showed. Outside of a small square of cracked leather blotter, it was impossible to see the surface of the modest wooden desk that sat close to the one blank wall of the office. Bookshelves lined two other walls, and those were packed with sample books, files, loose papers, catalogues, and folio-style notebooks. A small table and two chairs were piled with shoe boxes and cardboard boxes of the same artifacts, and yet another pile prevented the door from fully opening.

And somewhere in there were the account books Izzie had never been allowed to touch.

“Izzie,” said Willie, “you and Sylvia are equal owners in this business. The value, including any profit, is half yours. Once you find those account books and figure out how much is in the business, you’ll have a better idea of where you stand. And if there is still a difference between the price Sylvia will accept and what you have, you could work out an agreement that would pay her a portion of your half of the profits.”

“I will not take charity from my sister,” she said firmly.

“It isn’t charity,” said Willie.

“It is when I need this business and she doesn’t. Besides, she doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

It galled her that she would have to share Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions with her sister, who had hated the shop from the moment Mum had opened it. Her sister, who was ashamed of Mum’s years of hard work because Sylvia thought working an honest job was somehow beneath her.

“I hope that, as it has for me, the shop will take care of them when they need it most.”

The words from Mum’s will only made her angrier, because why would Sylvia ever need the shop when she had Horrible Hugo?

“I could try to ask a bank for a loan,” she said, grasping for a sliver of hope.

“The chances that they will lend to you as an unmarried woman are slim unless a man will guarantee the loan for you.”

The injustice of it stung even though she knew he was right.

Tears pricked her eyes. Before last week, she had been champing at the bit to prove to Mum that she was more than capable of taking over more of Mrs. Shelton’s, but now that she had, she felt as though she were already underwater.

How on God’s green earth had she ever thought she could do this?

“What about selling the building?” Willie asked. “It’s the most valuable asset you have, especially with the housing crisis that the Blitz landed all of us in. My guess is that if you put it on the market, someone would snatch it up and probably convert the ground floor into flats. You and Sylvia could walk away with a tidy sum each—enough for you to buy her out and take the stock, the customers, and the name to another, cheaper location.”