19th Century Seamstress

Chapter 12

As Christmas approaches, New York's New Year's spirit intensifies, and the city bustles with dense activity. Inside the Layson law firm, a faint yet somewhat unpleasant ink smell mingles with the warm air radiating from the water pipes. The source of this scent is Mrs. Romdev’s typewriter. Her hands are stained with dark smudges from fixing the ink cartridge, and she’s pressing the metal keys with caution, trying not to spread any more ink. On the paper in the machine is the list of clients Mr. Layson needs to visit before the New Year, with a few dignitaries and high-ranking individuals at the top of the list.

“Sir! Your schedule is ready,” Mrs. Romdev called as she spotted Mr. Layson stepping out of his carriage and entering the lobby. She quickly rose to pull the sheet from the machine.

“Good morning, Mrs. Romdev,” Layson said, a cigar still clamped between his lips as he took the paper and scanned it with a slight frown.

Mrs. Romdev explained a recent change. “Mr. Jans yesterday sent word that he wants to amend his will again, altering the designated heir—his niece, Miss Jans—to a dowry trust instead.”

“Poor Miss Jans,” she added, “it’s only been a year since her father passed, and already the Jans family business, factory, and stocks are all in her uncle’s hands.”

“Even Miss Jans herself hasn’t escaped. She’s been engaged to a powerful man. Without this marriage, she likely won’t receive a penny of inheritance.”

Layson had never met Miss Jans but had been to her family’s estate, so he asked curiously, “Engaged? To whom?”

“Winston Morken,” Mrs. Romdev replied, stirring two lumps of sugar into her tea with a faint smile.

Upon hearing this, Layson raised an eyebrow. “Is he essentially using his niece as collateral to secure a loan?”

Ashing his cigar, Layson folded the paper. There’s always another level to class—those with money wanting more of it. Mrs. Romdev shared a wry smile, knowing that in North America, the name “Morken” practically translates to “bank.”

Layson, in his early thirties, was a widower and hadn’t remarried, so even during the holidays, he didn’t need to leave much time aside for family. He had no objections to the packed schedule. Leaving his high-brimmed top hat on the front desk, he was about to head upstairs when he noticed a small, unfamiliar face.

Young Thomas was carrying a metal bucket down the stairs. After soaking a rag in water, he wrung it out and began scrubbing the steps. Layson found the boy’s face familiar but couldn’t remember where he’d seen him before. Pointing to him, he asked, “Where did this little mouse come from?”

“I just hired him. He used to be a newspaper boy. He sleeps in the little room next to the storage room—hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Romdev answered.

“Perfect,” Layson replied with a nod, stepping around Thomas as he headed upstairs.

Meanwhile, Eloise sat on her bed, carefully placing two pairs of newly crafted gloves into a paper bag. One pair was made from blue cotton with simple herringbone embroidery, long enough to reach the elbows. The other was a short, ruffled pair, repurposed from maroon undergarments. She’d spent all of yesterday sewing tirelessly, nearly passing out from exhaustion, but she managed to finish both pairs in time.

Eloise watched as her aunt left first to take Bella to school. Then she handed the gloves to Louise and headed out herself. The hotel’s Christmas decorations were all in place, and before changing, Eloise was given a box of New Year’s treats from one of the older ladies on the housekeeping team.

Carrying the box to the storeroom, she discovered Amy there, also holding her New Year’s gift. Curious, Eloise asked, “Aren’t you off today? How come you’re here?”

As Eloise unwrapped her box, Amy hesitated before answering, “Can you guess who quit?”

Eloise didn’t think much of it as she broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it in her mouth. “Who?”

The chocolate was bitter at first, making her almost spit it out before the sweetness kicked in. After a pause, Amy said, “It was Nasha. She quit yesterday and left with that guest from the sixth floor.”

“I knew she’d do something like that,” Eloise said. “People with money never get involved emotionally. They think it’s disgraceful not to have a mistress, like going without a carriage.”

“Nasha?” A bad feeling struck Eloise. This girl might have been deceived. She’d tried to warn her but knew her influence was limited. With a sigh, she muttered, “People have their own fates.” Eloise repacked the chocolate, tucking it into her clothes.

News of Nasha leaving with a wealthy man spread quickly. After her shift, Louise found Eloise and pulled her into the linen room next door. Inside, several maids were gathering, getting ready to head to the employee dining hall.

Some were eager to know more about Nasha’s departure, but Eloise dismissed it, claiming they weren’t close. A friend of Louise’s offered her a mug of hot mulled wine, which she accepted, explaining, “I only found out she left a moment ago. No idea who that businessman was.”

In the room, some of the girls seemed envious, while others looked disapproving. Picking up on Eloise’s reluctance to talk, Louise waved the girls off, saying, “It happens every year in places like ours.”

They soon changed the topic to Eloise’s sewing skills. The girls who received gloves this morning, both friends of Louise’s, were already showing them off. Some of the other girls, who didn’t need to support their families, had money to spare. Seeing how well-made Eloise’s items were, a few handed her money on the spot, planning to bring in old clothes for her to refashion into accessories.

Eloise was low on funds, so she accepted every job. Adding it all up, she’d made two or three dollars, which was just in time. She had recently made some ambitious promises at a boutique and explored a few other shops with similar results.