Page 9 of Miss Pauline’s Perfect Present (Double-Dilemma #3)

T hus it was that, a few short minutes later, Augusta, Phyllida, Mr. Cooper, and three bolts of the finest pale blue merino squeezed into a hack and drove to Conduit Street. When they walked into the workshop—where one gown was already taking shape thanks to Pauline’s quick work—Pauline shrieked.

“Gussie—Lady Bridlington! I didn’t mean for you to come. Sit yerself here. Take a load off.” She bustled over to her old friend and business partner and all but dragged her to a stool. “I just wanted your advice, is all. You didn’t ought to come out at this hour, and in your delicate condition!”

Pauline kept talking and giving instructions until Augusta said, “Pauline! Enough! I did not receive a letter from you. I arrived at the atelier just before Mr. Cooper did.”

“And I’ve the lump on me ’ead to prove it,” he said.

Pauline turned to him, shocked. “What do you mean?”

When the situation was fully explained, Pauline wanted to sink into the floor. What had she done? Nothing Augusta could say would convince her it wasn’t all her fault.

Mr. Cooper himself put an end to her self-recriminations. “No need to throw it in yer own dish. There’s no harm done, and I’ve got the merino. Trouble is we still haven’t figgered out how to get all this done in …”

Aloysius once more pulled his watch out of his pocket. “Thirty hours.”

This silenced everyone.

“What did your letter to me say, Pauline?” Augusta asked.

“I only wanted to ask if we should try to get some of the girls back to help. I’d want to pay ’em extra is the thing.”

“Do you know which ones might be willing?”

Pauline reached into her pocket and pulled out a list she’d made of the seamstresses she knew would welcome the additional income and who wouldn’t mind coming back to work just before Christmas.

Augusta cast her eye down the list. “I think this is good,” she said. “There’s one name missing, though.”

“I know none of the others would agree to it, M’Lady,” Pauline said.

Augusta smiled and raised one eyebrow. “My name is not on your list.”

“Oh no Ma’am! I’d never ask, not with you, and all?—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered. Now, tell me what to do.”

Everyone shuffled around so Augusta could have the most comfortable seat with ample room for her ungainly form.

Pauline brought her the gown she’d tacked together and had her hem the seams. That way their edges would be finished before the final fittings, which would happen on Christmas morning, so Pauline supposed—although she hoped the mysterious customer would arrive before it was time for church.

Christmas was the one day a year she made sure to go.

She was normally too busy to take the time on Sundays.

As they all got to work, it was left to Phyllida and Jem to go to the homes of the seamstresses on Pauline’s list. Phyllida’s hands were too wracked with arthritis to be any use, and Jem could dart around town like a little rat.

“Take my mittens, Phyllida,” Lady Bridlington said, holding out the rabbit-fur-lined mitts she had bought when the weather got so cold.

“Oh no m’Lady!” Phyllida said. “I mustn’t.”

“Nonsense! Take them!”

Pauline recognized the voice that would brook no argument, and was glad to see Miss Carp relent and put the luxurious calfskin mittens on her cold hands.

But Pauline was not easy about Lady Bridlington staying to work with them.

Not that she was too high and mighty—never that—but she was so near her time.

“Perfect color merino, My Lady,” Pauline said, casting an admiring eye over the bolts that Aloysius was now unrolling on the large cutting table. “It’s better than the bit Aloysius found at first.”

“Mr. Cooper chose it,” Augusta said, smiling warmly at the tailor, who blushed.

So, Cooper had an eye as well as skilled hands, Pauline thought, and without realizing she was doing it, watched him whip tiny, tight stitches into a shoulder seam. Graceful, she thought, recalling the moment their fingers had touched and imagining them trailing up her arm.

She shivered. No! He doesn’t deserve to be noticed. He still hasn’t explained himself, or even really apologized. And every time he opens his mouth, out pops another something awful!

“Are you cold, Pauline?” Augusta asked.

“No Ma’am! Not cold, just a bit nervous.

” Hardly realizing she had done it, she looked up at Mr. Cooper again.

After a moment, he lifted his eyes from his work, she made a quick stitch and caught the tip of her finger with the needle.

“Ow!” she said and put her finger in her mouth so no blood would drip on her work.

Foolish not to wear a thimble! Where was her head?

She hoped Mr. Cooper didn’t notice the timing.

Mr. Cooper didn’t, but Augusta did, and she narrowed her eyes at Pauline.

They had no leisure to talk, however. And once Miss Carp and Jem had gone on their errands the workshop quieted again.

Pauline stifled a yawn. She didn’t need much sleep.

Or at least, she didn’t get much sleep most nights.

But doing the close work so late at night after all the rushing and excitement sapped her energy.

She blinked hard and rolled her shoulders.

She knew she should focus all her attention on the sewing.

However, one other thing about what they were doing bothered Pauline.

She’d come in and taken over Mr. Meyer’s workshop without so much as a by your leave.

He wasn’t there, of course, and he generally gave Aloysius carte blanche in the shop.

But Meyer was a master tailor and had the crotchety personality to match it.

Pauline learned that over year ago, when they were first trying to negotiate their arrangement.

It had taken more than a month and many meetings to settle it all.

She and Aloysius both had had to make concerted efforts to persuade Meyer that, instead of leaving ladies to buy their pelisses without considering the dresses underneath them, they would both benefit by having ladies’ outer garments made to coordinate with their dresses, thus creating a more harmonious ensemble—as well as inspiring them to purchase additional pelisses.

Mr. Meyer was skeptical. But the increased business this arrangement brought in soon reconciled him to his decision.

What he didn’t know—and Aloysius had recommended Pauline not tell him—was that in addition to what Meyer paid the seamstresses, tailors, and pressers who worked on the garments for her, they each received a little extra bonus directly from Pauline for every piece.

She considered it an incentive to do their very best work.

All Pauline could hope was that Meyer had gone home to his house in Cheapside for Christmas festivities with his family, and would not return until they were finished and his workroom was empty again.

He certainly wouldn’t come back to the shop that night.

She would find a way to placate him if he showed up in the morning—which by then was only a matter of hours away.