travels. Not only that, but you go by a different name—there is not even that fact to associate you with his memories.”
“I thought of all this myself,” Catherine whispered, “but his expression suggested that he found something familiar in me.”
“Perhaps, but again, what if he does remember you? He is an American and not at all associated with your father or his business. He most likely has no knowledge of what happened to your father. If he should remember you, it would hardly be a lie to tell him your family fell on hard times and you moved to America with us to better your fortunes. I’ll speak to Dugan on this matter, but I would not let it worry you. Mr. Danby is most likely no threat to us.”
Catherine wanted to believe this. She prayed it might be so. In fact, she’d wrestled in thought and prayer throughout the night, wondering if God had suddenly overlooked her protection.
Later in the day, after the last of the afternoon appointments was concluded, Catherine sat down to work with the newest of the sewing staff. Beatrix was only fourteen and had not yet come to live at Mrs. Clarkson’s house. She was new to her training but very talented. The girl was the eldest of a large Irish family, with three brothers and three sisters her junior. Spirited and bright, Catherine found Beatrix a joy to work with and teach.
“See here,” Catherine said as she took hold of the pattern, “we can increase the bust in this fashion.” She took a pencil and drew along particular lines as Beatrix nodded.
“I’ve had to do that for me mum.”
“Good, then you’re already familiar.” Catherine stood back and handed the pencil to Beatrix. “Now show me how you would best expand the waist for a thicker woman.”
Beatrix studied the pattern for a moment. “I would be cuttin’ a fuller side seam to begin with.” She traced it out and then straightened. “I would maybe be takin’ a smaller dart in the front and maybe eliminate the darts altogether in the back.”
“That could cause the garment to drape awkwardly,” Catherine stated. “See on this piece?” She drew Beatrix to another table and showed her a blouse bodice that had been cut but not put together. “Maintaining the darts will allow for some semblance of narrowing at the waist, even if the dart is very small.”“Aye, I can be seein’ that now.”
“Catherine!” a young woman declared, entering the room as though she owned the place.
Catherine looked up to find fifteen-year-old Lydia demanding her attention. The girl had a way about her that always demanded something. “What is it, Lydia?”
“I need you to approve this bodice. I’ve basted it together, and Felicia says it’s perfect.”
Used to Felicia’s interference, Catherine sighed inwardly but was careful to show no emotion. “Sit down, Lydia.” She turned to Beatrix. “Go back to the pattern and show me how you would increase the sleeves for a woman with heavy arms.” The girl went immediately to the task.
Catherine took up Lydia’s bodice and began to look it over for problems. “This gap will not do,” she told the girl. “Do you see here how the pieces of the bodice must fold in to each other?”
Lydia looked at the lines of the garment. “I did it the way Felicia told me to, and she said it was fine.”
“But Felicia is not the one who has to approve your work,
Lydia.”
Toying with her braid, Lydia’s expression was haughty rather than contrite. Catherine put the piece down and looked at the girl. “Do you not like working here, Lydia?”
The girl seemed to immediately understand the implication. Catherine continued, “I cannot move you up to the position of Improver if you cannot learn to properly drape material and fit patterns. I know you are having difficulty adjusting to living here at the sewing house, but that cannot be an excuse for slothful work and insolent behavior.”
Shadows played on the girl’s face as the light of day faded and
“I thought of all this myself,” Catherine whispered, “but his expression suggested that he found something familiar in me.”
“Perhaps, but again, what if he does remember you? He is an American and not at all associated with your father or his business. He most likely has no knowledge of what happened to your father. If he should remember you, it would hardly be a lie to tell him your family fell on hard times and you moved to America with us to better your fortunes. I’ll speak to Dugan on this matter, but I would not let it worry you. Mr. Danby is most likely no threat to us.”
Catherine wanted to believe this. She prayed it might be so. In fact, she’d wrestled in thought and prayer throughout the night, wondering if God had suddenly overlooked her protection.
Later in the day, after the last of the afternoon appointments was concluded, Catherine sat down to work with the newest of the sewing staff. Beatrix was only fourteen and had not yet come to live at Mrs. Clarkson’s house. She was new to her training but very talented. The girl was the eldest of a large Irish family, with three brothers and three sisters her junior. Spirited and bright, Catherine found Beatrix a joy to work with and teach.
“See here,” Catherine said as she took hold of the pattern, “we can increase the bust in this fashion.” She took a pencil and drew along particular lines as Beatrix nodded.
“I’ve had to do that for me mum.”
“Good, then you’re already familiar.” Catherine stood back and handed the pencil to Beatrix. “Now show me how you would best expand the waist for a thicker woman.”
Beatrix studied the pattern for a moment. “I would be cuttin’ a fuller side seam to begin with.” She traced it out and then straightened. “I would maybe be takin’ a smaller dart in the front and maybe eliminate the darts altogether in the back.”
“That could cause the garment to drape awkwardly,” Catherine stated. “See on this piece?” She drew Beatrix to another table and showed her a blouse bodice that had been cut but not put together. “Maintaining the darts will allow for some semblance of narrowing at the waist, even if the dart is very small.”“Aye, I can be seein’ that now.”
“Catherine!” a young woman declared, entering the room as though she owned the place.
Catherine looked up to find fifteen-year-old Lydia demanding her attention. The girl had a way about her that always demanded something. “What is it, Lydia?”
“I need you to approve this bodice. I’ve basted it together, and Felicia says it’s perfect.”
Used to Felicia’s interference, Catherine sighed inwardly but was careful to show no emotion. “Sit down, Lydia.” She turned to Beatrix. “Go back to the pattern and show me how you would increase the sleeves for a woman with heavy arms.” The girl went immediately to the task.
Catherine took up Lydia’s bodice and began to look it over for problems. “This gap will not do,” she told the girl. “Do you see here how the pieces of the bodice must fold in to each other?”
Lydia looked at the lines of the garment. “I did it the way Felicia told me to, and she said it was fine.”
“But Felicia is not the one who has to approve your work,
Lydia.”
Toying with her braid, Lydia’s expression was haughty rather than contrite. Catherine put the piece down and looked at the girl. “Do you not like working here, Lydia?”
The girl seemed to immediately understand the implication. Catherine continued, “I cannot move you up to the position of Improver if you cannot learn to properly drape material and fit patterns. I know you are having difficulty adjusting to living here at the sewing house, but that cannot be an excuse for slothful work and insolent behavior.”
Shadows played on the girl’s face as the light of day faded and
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