19th Century Seamstress

The future is promising

The room was narrow, but that had its benefits. Tilly had finished cooking dinner, setting it on the only table in the room, a small cast-iron pot placed in the middle. The table itself wasn’t big; Thomas alone could lift it and move it into the narrow space between the two beds.

It felt a bit like living in a college dormitory. They kicked off their shoes and socks, warming themselves by the stove under the table, sitting on the edge of the beds or on stools, each holding a pottery plate. Each person got a big ladleful of potato and bacon stew, along with toasted slices of bread. The bread was dense, with a rough texture and no air holes, almost like a sturdy steamed bun. When Eloise ate, she spat out a few bits of toasted wheat bran. Still, it wasn’t bad; the wheat came from nearby farms on the Isle of Man, transported over short distances so there wasn’t a risk of pebbles getting mixed in.

Outside the window, the corner shop was still open, its bright lights illuminating the street where fine, chaff-like snow fell onto the wide cobblestone pavement. Eloise felt full, and she was the first to carry a kettle and a wooden basin downstairs to the shared washroom on the second floor.

The conveniences of living in the late 19th century were perfectly evident in times like these. In industrialized cities like New York and London, water pipes, sewage systems, and even trams had been in place for years, and flush toilets were fairly common too. This building was originally well-equipped, but the landlord’s family had recently bought a large plot of land in the suburbs where they were building a new home. To pay back the bank loan, they had to rent out this house without being too picky about tenants, welcoming whoever came along.

As a result, Eloise faced a shared washroom in a less-than-ideal state, with undergarments left behind by some other household draped over the window ledge. Despite the winter cold, the air had a lingering smell of sweat. The body she now inhabited had a natural scent that differed from her previous life. She gave her neck, ears, and armpits a quick wash, not even removing her petticoat, then carefully used the ceramic toilet.

Her caution in the washroom sparked a new desire: if only her family could move into a proper apartment suite. Once, while cleaning a fireplace, she had stepped into a small suite at the Ritz Hotel. It was hardly different from a 21st-century boutique hotel, except for the lack of air conditioning and television; a woman staying in one of those suites could lounge barefoot on a sofa, sipping tea, reading a novel, or even snacking on grapes fresh with morning dew in a bathtub.

The wealthy lived lives at least forty years ahead of the poor, something that felt scientifically obvious.

That night, the air felt even colder than before. The stove burned its last embers as Eloise bundled up with an extra skirt and wrapped herself in blankets, listening to the snores around her as she drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, and another freezing day began, accompanied by the clang and clatter of people bustling about. When Eloise awoke, her aunt and cousin had already dressed and were about to head out, each nibbling on a slice of bread. Thomas and Bella had already left to deliver the Morning World newspaper.

Eloise didn’t linger in bed. Thinking about her tasks for the day, she quickly got dressed, ate the toasted bread left for her, and saw her aunt off with a reminder: the coal delivery boy would be bringing the week’s supply soon, and she should remember to keep the stove going so she wouldn’t freeze. Eloise waited for the delivery, grabbed the coal, and lit the stove generously, boiling a pot of water as she worked on finishing a pair of gloves she’d started the night before.

Her old clothes yielded enough material for three pairs of short gloves, just enough for her aunt, cousin, and herself, so they could all show off her handiwork at work. In this era, sewing machines did exist, with New York’s famed Singer lockstitch hand-crank model capable of hundreds of stitches per minute, but the price was steep, anywhere from $160 to $200 for the latest models—a full year’s wages for Eloise.

It took her three hours to sew most of the gloves, and just as she finished, the water on the stove began to boil, sending up billows of white steam. Eloise poured the hot water into a basin, tossed in the family’s worn woolen socks, and added a bit of soap powder for washing. It wasn’t so much that Eloise was overly diligent, but rather, she had been bothered by the faint odor of sweat for two days now.

By noon, Thomas and Bella had returned, and Eloise asked them to find a spot to hang up their washed socks. The siblings’ lunch was simple; since cooking wasn’t one of Eloise’s past skills, she could only reheat the leftover bread, struggling to control the stove’s temperature.

In her inherited memories, this was exactly how bread was reheated, but somehow, it didn’t seem to work as expected. As a burnt smell wafted up from the pot, Eloise gave Bella an embarrassed smile. “No worries. Just scrape off the burnt parts, soak it in hot water—it’s the same thing.”

Thomas, in the middle of folding newspapers, couldn’t stand it anymore. Frowning, he tossed aside the papers and said, “I’ll be right back.” Before Eloise could react, Thomas was already heading downstairs, jacket on.

A few minutes later, Eloise had just managed to scrape the burnt bread into plates when Thomas returned, carrying a tall glass jar in one hand and a smaller Mason jar in the other—apparently, he’d dashed across the street to the food store.

Curious, Eloise asked, “What did you buy?”

“Milk, and a jar of honey spread. It only cost one dollar and nine cents.”

Thomas wasn’t sure why Eloise’s cooking had taken a sudden turn for the worse, but he remembered the bit of money he had left in his pocket. Rather than risk losing it, he figured he might as well use it to improve their meals. Bella jumped down from the bed at the mention of milk and honey, circling around Thomas to see what he’d bought.

But now that he’d returned with his purchase, Thomas lingered by the door, glancing at Eloise with a nervous expression, as if worried she would disapprove. Normally, Eloise would have reminded him they were living in their aunt’s house and that he wasn’t to make decisions on his own, even if it was his own earnings.

But now, Eloise simply felt a bit embarrassed. As the oldest sibling, she should be the one thinking of these things, not leaving it to Thomas, who was still a child. Clearing her throat, she gave a nod toward the door. “What are you standing there for? Come in and put things down.”

Seeing she wasn’t upset, Thomas visibly relaxed. He brought out a deep dish, preparing to soak the bread in the warm milk with a bit of honey, and divided it between Bella, Eloise, and himself.

Eloise could tell Thomas was a good kid—he shouldn’t be resigned to a future of thankless labor. Stirring the milk with a wooden spoon, she asked him, “Thomas, have you thought about what kind of job you want in the future? Do you want to learn a skill?”