Page 4

Gussie was hugging her friend, so Cleo wandered over to another form, this one wearing a misty gray gown under an exquisite spencer, very severe and cut in sharply just below the bust. The gown could be worn in the morning, but adding the jacket transformed it into a walking dress. The wrists ended in corded rows forming Vs at the wrist.

Her mother had had a veritable lust for brightly colored clothing. Secretly, Cleo had sometimes thought Julia’s garments were garish, if fashionable. To Cleo’s mind, the design of a frock was irrelevant if it had been constructed from bright orange silk with an apricot overlay.

This gown had elegant lines, but it was reserved. Powerful. The woman who wore it informed the world that her lack of general’s stripes was merely an accident of birth. The silk felt smooth and heavy. If a bonnet had one of those long lavender feathers . . . No, that would call too much attention to herself.

“He can’t do that!” Gussie cried sharply, behind her. “I’m sure it’s illegal.”

Cleo turned. Her maid was still hugging Martha.

“How can he possibly move you wherever he wishes? It’s impossible. There must be a law against it. You should write to the constable. The king! Write to His Majesty!”

“I won’t, I just won’t,” a young woman sobbed. She was drooping on the shoulder of an older seamstress, who was patting her and staring into space.

“We have arrived at an uncomfortable moment,” Cleo said, walking over to Gussie.

“Martha is being forced to move, Miss Lewis,” Gussie cried.

“You must be Mrs. Quimby,” Cleo said. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Gussie has told me of your emporium.”

Martha bobbed a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. I’ve just had some bad news, or I’d be more cheerful.”

“Have you lost your lease?” Cleo asked. Her father had left her a number of plumbing establishments, and although her man of business dealt with many of the day-to-day activities, she had necessarily learned a great deal about leases.

“I wish it was so simple,” Martha said, sighing. “A few months ago, I decided to look for an investor, Miss Lewis. The theaters aren’t steady with payments, you see. They open for a season, travel about the country or Europe. Then they come back and need a bishop and four gowns for the lead actress within a fortnight.” She waved her hand toward the dress forms.

“I can see that would pose a problem,” Cleo said sympathetically.

“Quimby’s prides ourselves in making up a gown within a week. If an actress leaves a company, I’ll have a new wardrobe made up for her understudy in no time. Sometimes my seamstresses just sit about, with nothing to do. But the lack of steady money tests the soul.”

“That does sound challenging.”

“My solicitor found us an investor to give us a fixed amount every other month. I was so happy.” She stopped and wiped her eyes.

“Does your investor wish you to leave the West End?”

“Not just the West End, nor yet London, but England itself,” Martha said, wringing her hands. “He plans to move us, lock, stock, and barrel, to New York City. Which is in the Americas, you know, in the colonies.”

“Not colonies,” Cleo said absently. “They won that war some twenty-five years ago.”

“I know, I know, I just forgot,” Martha said. “Oh, do stop crying, Peg. If you don’t want to come with us, you needn’t.”

“Then what would I do?” the young girl cried, lifting her head from the older seamstress’s shoulder. “I’ve a son at home. And if I go over the sea, my babe will turn into an American, and my da will never speak to me again!” She threw her apron over her head and resumed sobbing loudly.

“Why on earth would your investor move you to New York?” Cleo asked.

“He’s American,” Martha explained. “He’s buying up everything. He bought a bunch of them early Shakespeare books so he can put them on display. He’s taking actors too. I heard that he’s paid Reginald Bottleneck to go over there.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Gussie put in. “That’ll be a relief for the parish as has to support Reggie’s ill-begotten babes.”

Condoms! Julia commented in Cleo’s head. I told that boy about French letters years ago and he never listened.

“Bottleneck is the lead at the Drury Lane,” Martha said, shaking her head. “What are they to do without him? He’s been playing Robin Hood to full houses. What’s more, half the cast of The Honeymoon, including the lead, Louisa Siddows, say they’re going over there. That gray gown—” She pointed a trembling finger. “That gown is for Louisa’s next role! Now I’ll be out the cost.”

“No, you won’t,” Gussie said, patting her on the back. “If you’re going to New York, and Louisa is going to New York, she can wear it there.”

“The Drury Lane commissioned it for a play they are putting on,” Martha pointed out. “Who knows what role the American theater will put her in? She’ll likely be in frills and ribbons, playing a girl of seventeen. That silk cost a fortune.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Cleo intervened. “If you can remake it to my measure, of course.”