19th Century Seamstress

Kitchen Waste Meal

After cleaning the fireplace, Eloise wiped the thin layer of sweat from her forehead. She quickly left the room, heading over to smooth things out with the two male coworkers.

"I don't usually come up to the seventh floor. Tonight was just a one-time thing, so if you could be so kind, please don't mention it to Mrs. Morrison," she said, offering them her warmest smile and speaking humbly, hoping that a few kind words could keep them on her side. She had no money or gifts to offer, only her polite, pleading demeanor.

The two men, glancing at her delicate face, blushed slightly and cleared their throats, assuring her there wouldn't be a next time. “As long as the gentleman inside doesn’t mention anything, we won’t, either.”

Eloise was reassured by their promise. She left, walking down the employee corridor to the first and second floors, sweeping up barely half a bucket of soot before returning to Storage Room 11.

The ash collected from the fireplaces was usually packed into a large metal box and stored in sacks to be picked up each morning. Workers would then cart it off the island and deliver it to farms in need of carbon for fertilizer.

Eloise checked the time—it wasn’t even ten yet. While cleaning the storage bins, she ran into Amy, who was coming down from the fourth floor with a bucket of soot.

"Are you all done with your shift?" Amy asked.

"Yes, do you need help?" Eloise replied, remembering she had Amy to thank for being assigned lighter tasks that day.

"Not yet. A section of the hot water pipe on the fourth floor is blocked, so that area’s guests all used the fireplaces last night," Amy replied, with a look of frustration. She gave Eloise a hopeful glance.

"If you help me out, I’ll take you to the staff dining room for lunch,” Amy suggested. She didn’t like owing favors and, with her brother as assistant chef in the kitchen, she could easily arrange a fine meal for the two of them.

Eloise nodded eagerly. She’d heard her aunt rave about the excellent food in the staff dining area. The hotel had over two hundred employees with staggered schedules, and the meals were served continuously, making it a major perk for those earning less than a dollar a day.

She set aside her cleaning, picked up a bucket, and followed Amy back up to the fourth floor. They worked together until 11:45, then returned to the storage room, exhausted.

As they headed down to the basement for lunch, they passed Laura, who looked pale and weary. The gatekeeper at the kitchen recognized Amy and let them through, exchanging a few friendly words as he opened the glass doors.

Eloise’s eyes widened at the bustling scene inside. Cooks in tall white hats and aprons were everywhere, stationed at stoves and ovens, busy frying, boiling, and roasting. A few waiters in tailcoats dashed back and forth with trays, taking the elevator to deliver meals upstairs. Before Eloise could take in more of the sight, Amy led her through a small side door on the left.

It was lunchtime, and the staff dining room was packed. Eloise even spotted Louise in the crowd, though Louise hadn’t noticed her. The staff dining area was divided by rank, and Amy guided Eloise past the main hall to a smaller dining room reserved for kitchen staff.

Inside, Amy handed Eloise a plate, and they sat down. “The chefs’ lunches are made from the guests’ leftovers. There’s lamb, goose breast—don’t be shy; eat as much as you like. I can get more if you need,” Amy encouraged her.

One plate held fluffy, buttered bread slices with golden edges, while the other was piled with cooked meats, a mix of lamb, goose, and ox tongue, all coated in a rich sauce. A few strips of bacon and sausage added to the savory aroma that filled the room.

The smell was mouthwatering, and Eloise’s stomach growled as she took it all in. It had been days since she’d seen this much meat in one meal. She glanced at Amy, barely able to believe her good fortune.

“Do you usually eat this well?” Eloise asked, still in awe.

Amy shook her head and handed Eloise a piece of bread along with a knife and fork. “Not usually. The manager, Mr. Pangolly, thought the guest in the Opal Suite might be dining in tonight, so he ordered the kitchen to stock up on fine meats.”

Hearing this, Eloise became curious about the guest staying in the Opal Suite, though she quickly pushed her curiosity aside and focused on enjoying her meal. It might not have been gourmet, but it was the first real meat she’d had in days, and she savored every bite.

After eating, Eloise felt full, though she regretted not being able to sneak a portion home for her family. Not wanting to take advantage, she turned to Amy and said, "I can’t just eat for free. I’ve been teaching myself sewing lately. The gloves I wore this morning? I made those. If you have any old clothes, I could turn them into gloves, hats, vests, or even shirts."

Amy had noticed her gloves earlier, assuming they’d been store-bought. Intrigued, she asked, “If you’re skilled with a needle, why are you sweeping fireplaces here?”

Eloise gave a wry smile. “I’m too poor to leave the steady paycheck,” she admitted.

In response, Amy reached under her bed, pulling out a wooden box. She retrieved a thin, floral-print cotton smock with a large burn hole near the hem. “Look at this! It’s a shame; the fabric’s nice, but the fireplace burned a huge hole in it,” she said.

At that time, most working-class women still wore long skirts similar to those worn by servants in the seventeenth century. The wealthy followed the latest trends, but for everyday people, fashion barely progressed, with long dresses the norm, especially in winter. However, summer clothing offered more variety for those with less means.

“This was a gift from my sister,” Amy explained. “She worked as a maid in a theater manager’s household. The lady of the house would sometimes give them her old clothes. My sister had a slum tailor make this smock from one of those dresses, which cost her half a dollar.”

“If you could turn it into a short-sleeve summer blouse, I’d be happy to pay you,” Amy offered, pulling out three dimes from her purse. “Will this be enough? I can pay you more once it’s done.”

Eloise’s eyes lit up. It was her first real commission, and she eagerly agreed. “That’ll do just fine.” She took the smock and the coins, already envisioning how to alter the fabric, cut it into panels, and make a drawstring neckline for a summery look.

After noon, Eloise left the hotel with the smock. She planned to drop it off at home and then head to the slum market at Brownrun Mill with the money from Louise and Amy.

Bracing against the wind, she made her way to Brownrun Mill, which was no longer a mill but a narrow alley between two old residential buildings. She brushed snow off her shoulders as she entered through the iron gate, her eyes adjusting to the dark, cramped space. Here, secondhand shops crowded together, their wooden and tin walls leaning against the buildings behind them.

In this narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, vendors displayed secondhand clothes, shoes, belts, and furniture on shelves or hung them on the walls. They stacked lower-quality items in bins near the door, inviting buyers to sift through for treasures.

Shops like these drew the poorest customers, and all the shopkeepers had a lazy but sharp look about them. Eloise had changed out of her hotel uniform, blending in with the rest of the clientele as she started her search through the tightly packed stalls.