19th Century Seamstress

Leeds Hotel

It was the late 19th century, and New York had already grown into a bustling city.

However, the towering skyscrapers over ten stories high were still about a decade away, and upscale department stores and office buildings would take at least another two years to appear.

For a time-traveler like her, if she was a well-to-do lady starting off with a dowry of several thousand dollars, it would be easy to catch the wave of the era’s progress. She could simply look into investing in the shares of companies that, while not yet prominent, would soon become household names, and then sit back to reap the rewards.

But the reality was different. She lived in a world where opportunities were few, competition was fierce, and her margin for error was painfully slim.

Eloise had come to realize this. It was like knowing the winning lottery numbers but not having the two dollars to buy a ticket.

All those tales about going to heaven were just that—tales. She was already dead, and yet here she was, resurrected only to work as a wage earner.

Her aunt and cousin walked ahead of her, both dressed in brown linen dresses with petticoats and bustles, but without hoops. Their short, fitted jackets had brass buttons and lapels, indistinguishable from the outfits of other low-income women on the streets.

They were discussing how to use this week's wages to pay off the bill at their regular coal dealer before getting more coal on credit.

Cousin Louise was counting on her fingers as she calculated the cost. "Coal dust is dirt cheap at only twenty-nine cents a bushel, but it just doesn’t last. It barely burns for a few days."

Eloise followed behind them, listening. She knew that a bushel was about twenty-five kilograms.

The household stove consumed a lot of fuel. Cooking three meals a day required seven or eight kilograms of coal dust, plus water heating and evening warmth. Twenty-five kilograms would last only about two and a half days, meaning they’d need about one dollar’s worth each week.

Yet every night, the coal dust would burn to ash too soon, leaving them shivering in the cold. This morning, Louise and Aunt Bella had both woken up sneezing from the chill.

Aunt Tilly shook her head. "We thought we’d try it, but it just doesn’t last. We’d better go back to buying coal chunks, even though they cost more."

"Yes, it wouldn’t be worth it to catch a cold while we sleep," Louise added.

Medium coal chunks were sixty-four cents per bushel and lasted much longer, often burning for three to four hours at a time, which stretched a single bushel to three and a half days. But this meant they’d need about one and a half dollars' worth a week.

One and a half dollars didn’t seem like much, but there were other essentials to buy, too. Week after week, they saved nothing—barely enough to buy even a secondhand blanket.

Her uncle, who had passed away, had worked as a farm laborer and had suffered from asthma. The little savings they had went toward his medication, along with anything they could sell—clothes, furniture, anything that might buy him more time. But even that wasn’t enough, and now, with Aunt Tilly struggling alone, the family was even poorer.

And now, there were five mouths to feed.

Aunt Tilly was sighing over their accounts when Eloise hurried up to catch them, her feet crunching through the snow.

"Auntie, actually... I think I could take on another job," Eloise said, under her aunt's questioning gaze. "I only work three half-days a week right now, so I still have a lot of time left. I could deliver milk or wash dishes at a restaurant."

"Then I’d earn enough to buy more coal," she said earnestly.

Louise chuckled and shook her head. "Are you crazy? It’s not that easy to find work in New York. You don’t have a trade, and you can’t rely on just brute force. If you do, it’ll wear you down."

"Our hotel’s kitchen workers who wash dishes every day soak their hands until they lose feeling. The skin goes raw and cracked, and they get frostbite. Even if it heals, the next day they’re back to the same cold water, and while they earn a dollar and a half a day, it’s hardly worth it," she explained.

Aunt Tilly agreed, reaching out to put her arm around Eloise affectionately.

"Don’t worry about it. Every family goes through times like this, but we’re lucky we have steady jobs. A few months from now, when it warms up, things will get easier."

Eloise had always been so thoughtful and considerate, and Aunt Tilly was touched. But she couldn’t imagine letting her niece work herself to the bone.

She thought Eloise only wanted to work more to escape the cold and took her arm gently.

"We’ll manage without the coal dust. Worst case, we’ll go to Gunther Walter’s Market on Eleventh Street and stock up on corn to cook. This year’s corn is cheap, and just a few cents can get us through the day."

That market was one of the city’s well-known poor markets, mostly selling locally grown crops: corn, potatoes, yams, along with local beef and chicken.

"Alright, if you think so," Eloise murmured, a bit embarrassed, as she dropped her gaze. Maybe she had oversimplified things.

What good was being a time traveler if there were still a million others in New York? What kind of work was there that would be waiting just for her?

Yet hard labor would damage her health. With nothing to her name, just meeting her basic needs was difficult, and she didn’t even have a skillset to rely on—

Wait… a skillset? She did have one.

Did fashion design count?

In her past life, Eloise had worked for a fast-fashion brand and had been the top designer in annual sales.

But there were no companies like that now. Even ready-made clothing was rare; the wealthy went to tailors, and most ordinary people sewed their own clothes.

Could she become a seamstress? Eloise had studied pattern-making and draping at college and had even created several pieces for her senior collection.

She could easily create and draft modern designs.

But the tailoring trade had a high entry barrier; both men’s and women’s fashion followed strict aesthetic norms and established patterns, with no room for amateur innovations. To be a tailor, you had to find a master to train you, starting as an apprentice.

As an apprentice, you’d first have to clean and serve your master for years, then spend more years fetching scissors and carrying packages before finally learning the craft. After long years, you’d only begin making clothes when your master was too old to work anymore.

Eloise knew she didn’t have that kind of time.

So, it seemed her only choice was to start with small items and see if she could at least bring in some household income.

She kept her head down, thinking all the way to Fifth Avenue, where she arrived at the employees’ entrance at the back of the Ritz Hotel.

The Ritz was situated in a very upscale area. The hotel had eight floors and was about thirty meters wide. Its white marble facade had an elegant, stately design, with a hint of Baroque palace architecture.

As she waited in line to clock in, Eloise looked up at the hotel, seeing the classical details of the window frames and the grand roofline.

Set against the falling snow, the building appeared refined and dignified, like a palace where one could almost glimpse the lavish decor within. She couldn’t imagine affording even a single night here if it would cost her half her life.

"Eloise Zannilon!" The doorman, Mr. Wuschter, called her name, looking at the employee roster through a magnifying glass.

Eloise quickly responded, signed in, and squeezed past some kitchen staff to enter the back door.

She stepped inside and got her first full look at the Ritz Hotel’s employee area.

To the left of the entry hall stood about two hundred small wooden lockers for the employees to store their uniforms. Each locker was numbered, even for part-time workers like Eloise.

Taking a small key marked with the hotel’s initials from her pocket, she unlocked her compartment. Inside was her uniform and a white lace-edged cap.

For a poor girl, this job was about as dignified as one could hope for.

The Ritz was a large establishment, highly esteemed among the upper class and very strict in its management. Working here lent employees a certain pride, almost as though they belonged to a higher rank of service.

The changing room was to the right, already crowded with employees from various departments. The hotel had state-of-the-art heated water pipes, so it wasn’t too cold inside.

She removed her vest and overskirt and changed into the hotel’s standard black dress, with a white apron embroidered with the hotel’s initials. She tucked her hair into her cap.

Eloise made her way to a mirror and took in her appearance.

She was not very tall, a bit too thin, with lackluster hair but fair, clean skin. Her eyes were a light, clear shade, and her nose had a fine bridge, though her lips were a bit thin. Still, her features were quite harmonious.

With a bit of tidying up, she could be considered rather attractive, no wonder she was cast as an actress in the original story.

Overall, she looked every bit like a maid from Downton Abbey, neat, composed, and pleasing to the eye. This was likely what had won Mrs. Morrison’s approval, along with her aunt’s recommendation