19th Century Seamstress

chapter 18

Anthony noted it down and then opened the paper bag.

Inside was a freshly made item; Anthony could see that at a glance.

He just looked at it without picking it up to inspect, his expression turning somewhat peculiar.

"Why did you make this thing?"

The craftsmanship was good—it was clear that a lot of thought and effort went into it. It had a fine poplin outer layer with a cotton lining, and it was decorated with embroidery in a coordinated color scheme. It was a piece that could probably fetch seven or eight bucks.

But the item itself? Few women would think of buying something like this in a boutique. Working-class families made these themselves if they needed one, and wealthier people had custom versions made by tailors.

Yes, he did sell binders in his store, but he never displayed them prominently, and on average, he only sold one or two per month.

Remembering how Eloise had just helped him, Anthony didn’t reject her offer outright. Instead, he stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

"I can put it up for sale here, no problem. And if it does sell, we can do a 30-70 profit split."

He didn’t believe the item would have much of a market. At most, it would sit on the shelf for a month before he’d end up returning it. Since it was her first consignment, if it didn’t sell, he figured he could bring it home for his wife to try out.

If it fit her, maybe he could hire Eloise to make other items with this craftsmanship, as her skills were at least better than the two other women who occasionally brought items to him for consignment.

In this line of work, experience and seniority didn’t mean much; only skill mattered.

It seemed she must have been taught by a decent tailor—skilled, not stupid, but a bit naïve.

Seeing Anthony agree, Eloise nodded.

"Just help me put it up for sale. I’ll come back a couple of days before Christmas."

Leaving the boutique, Eloise headed home.

She had left in a hurry that morning, only wearing thin socks. For the past few days, she had been too busy rushing through her work to properly attend to her clothing.

Last night, Thomas had spent the night at home, and by the time Eloise returned, everyone had already left for work and school.

She filled a bucket with wool socks, not bothering to figure out whose were whose, and washed them thoroughly several times before hanging them up to dry.

It was winter in New York, and with the snow melting and refreezing, leather and fabric shoes and socks quickly became damp. If they were left unwashed for a couple of days, they’d develop an unpleasant, stale odor.

In their small, often closed-up rooms, the smell could linger, so with a bit of extra time on her hands, Eloise took it upon herself to do some extra cleaning.

Since she arrived, it had been cold, and between work shifts and sewing, she hadn’t had a chance to wash her hair.

She had already told Louise last night that she wanted to borrow some soap to wash her hair and freshen up.

There was warm water in a large kettle on the stove. Eloise poured some into a shallow basin and, leaning over in the narrow hallway, began to wash herself with a towel.

She started by dampening her hair, wiping behind her ears and neck, then lathering it with soap.

The soap didn’t lather much, but her hair was short and fine—naturally dark brown, somewhat frizzy and a bit dry from poor nutrition.

After rinsing her hair until the water was clear, she wrapped it up and prepared to freshen up her body.

A couple of days ago, she had seen Louise demonstrate how to wash up without completely undressing.

She locked the door tightly, then took off her dress, remaining in her undershirt and an old, loosely fitting binder.

First, she dampened her skin, then scrubbed it with soap, wiping it off with the wet towel, rinsing it in the basin before repeating the process.

She continued this routine from head to toe, using two or three towels until the water in the basin was dirty. She changed the water and continued until no more dirt came off.

Exhausted, she changed into a clean undershirt and sat on the bed, drying her hair.

In a house where they rarely splurged on coal, the hygiene standards could easily be worse.

Her aunt was a clean person, but her job was exhausting; after coming home and grabbing a quick meal, she would go straight to sleep.

The next morning, it was back to work, with no time to take care of the house.

Eloise, when she wasn’t working, often helped deliver newspapers with Bella in tow, leaving her with little time to tend to the cleanliness of their home.

However, her aunt and Louise might each get a day off around Christmas.

They had planned to use those days to sort and clean up the house, selling what they could, washing what they needed to, and preparing for the upcoming move after the holidays.

Eloise only had about a week left to find a new place to live.

She decided not to make any more boutique goods this week and would focus instead on finishing the orders from the hotel girls. She wanted to keep some time free to go house-hunting.

As Christmas approached, she planned to visit the boutique again to see if her consigned item had sold.

She was confident that anyone who handled or tried on the soft-lined binder would be reluctant to say no.

Getting started was always the hardest part, but Eloise was in no rush.

After drying her hair, she took off the pillow cover to wash it and planned to dry it near the stove.

She then washed and mended her long skirts, which were a mix of dark brown and deep green in linen and cotton.

Despite having little money, she was determined to stay clean and presentable.

Around noon, she thought of making some oatmeal porridge but decided instead to spend two silver coins downstairs at the shop, buying a big chunk of buttered bread and a small package of ham.

The ham sandwich was a bit dry and hard to swallow, but at least the smoked meat had a bit of flavor and wasn’t too gamey. By the standards of this era’s odd culinary choices, it was practically a treat.

After lunch, she went out again, borrowing a newspaper from the previous day from her landlady downstairs, telling her that she was going out to look for a place to stay. The landlady handed it over without a word.

Back then, you could find all sorts of information in the local newspaper—anything from rental listings and wedding announcements to obituaries, job ads, new legislation, and the latest in horror fiction.

Eloise returned home with the paper and went straight to the classified ads section for private rentals.

Aside from going through an agent, newspapers were a common way to find housing, though the rentals listed tended to be on the higher end.

She found a listing:

"34 Rosabella Street, Midtown. Two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment with utilities, weekly rent of twelve dollars, monthly forty-five, currently vacant."

The location was on a main street with good lighting, which explained the higher price. Six dollars a week was the maximum they could afford.

She jotted down the address of a nine-dollar apartment, and also noted one at eight dollars.

That afternoon, Eloise got herself ready, going out again to check near the area where the factories clustered. It was a known working-class neighborhood, filled with inexpensive, lower-quality rentals in narrow alleys that cars couldn’t reach. Most agents wouldn’t even bother with this area.

One family from her building had already begun looking for an apartment here that week.

She saw a stout woman sitting under a porch washing clothes and walked over to ask if there were any vacant rooms nearby.

The woman, who seemed to make a living doing laundry for the young men in the area, had a sturdy build, a worn apron, and a cloth wrapped around her head. She was starching a frayed collar on an old shirt.

As long as the collar looked decent, the shirt was passable.

Many poor men wanted to look respectable but preferred the cheap option of just starching their collars, leaving the rest of the shirt untouched to avoid wearing it out too quickly.

With a starched collar, a necktie, and a wool coat over it, all stains and odors could be hidden. The cheaper colognes were a popular cover-up.

Eloise thanked her and smiled before heading to the door the woman had indicated.

She stayed alert in the area, noting the shabby surroundings and the two scruffy-looking drunks who passed by nearby.

It was a narrow street wedged between two factories, a dark little area where most of the buildings looked damp.

Passing through the alley, she knocked on the ground-floor window, hearing a coughing sound from inside before an old woman opened it.

"What do you want? Why are you knocking on the window?"

Hearing an elderly voice, Eloise relaxed a bit.

"Excuse me, is there a room for rent here?"

After a moment, the elderly woman appeared in the doorway, bundled in a thick shawl. She opened the front door, holding a ring of keys and motioning for Eloise to follow.

"Come on in. Three rooms opened up last week. A young lady about your age rented the best one a couple of days ago. Two rooms are left, both on the second floor."

Eloise nodded, following the woman up the stairs.

The building was indeed dim, with creaky wooden stairs that groaned underfoot.

The elderly woman was dressed in a style from the old Imperial era, indicating she might have been eighty or ninety. She gripped the railing tightly as she made her way up, saying,

"The two rooms on the second floor include