She nodded, guiding the little girl to a workbench near the door, then moved toward the teapot. Her grandmother had always said that few troubles in life could not be eased by a good cup of tea. Whatever had brought the child to tears would be more easily imparted with something warm in her hands.
The seamstresses cast curious glances at the sniffling child but soon returned to their sewing. Mary Beth resumed a tale about a fight that had broken out at the tavern the previous night.
Caroline poured two cups of tea. She added a dash of milk to her own, but no sugar—experience had taught her that too much sweet made her sluggish, and she had no time for fatigue.
To the second cup, she added generous milk and an extra spoonful of sugar. If the girl was anything like Caroline had been at her age, she would prefer it sweet and mild. And according to the doctor she had worked for, sugar was a remedy for shock.
Caroline placed the cups on the table and sat across from her.
“What is your name, little one?”
“Annie,” came the hoarse reply. “Annie Greer.”
The child’s tears had ceased, but her expression remained bleak, her reddened eyes fixed on the cup before her. Caroline’s heart twisted at the sight.
No personal relationships, do you hear?
She silenced the voice. Now was not the time.
“And why are you so upset, Annie Greer?”
The girl was too thin, with pale skin and the hollow look of a child who did not eat enough. Her gown had been let out and mended multiple times.
“My mum is sending me away to Bath, and I don’t want to go.”
Caroline tapped the teacup gently to encourage her to drink. Annie obeyed, taking a cautious sip. The taste seemed to soothe her, and she drank with greater enthusiasm. When she set the cup down, only half remained, and her features had softened.
“What is in Bath?”
“My mum found someone who would take me on, but I cannot leave her alone. Mum is sick, and she needs me.”
“There is no one else to help care for her?”
“No. It is just the two of us. She tried to find me a place here in Chatternwell, but no one is hiring.”
Caroline mulled this over as she sipped her tea. She had not yet taken on any apprentices, as she was still lodging nearby and had no household of her own. Apprenticeship often required room and board—something she could not yet provide.
And you are not to get entangled with the townspeople.
“What sort of position in Bath?”
The girl’s throat worked as she choked out the word. “Washerwoman.”
Caroline winced. It was a grim path for a child. Exhausting, and with little hope of advancement. Clearly, Mrs. Greer was desperate.
Do not do it, Caroline. You swore you would not get involved again.
But she could not look into Annie’s face and ignore what she had once been herself: a girl alone with an ailing guardian, frightened and uncertain of the future.
Her own fortune had changed when Mrs. Harris, honoring an old friendship with Caroline’s grandmother, had promised to find her a position. Then Miss Annabel, observing Caroline’s skill with a needle, had arranged for her to be apprenticed in the arts of millinery and mantua-making.
Without that act of kindness, she would not now be mistress of her own shop.
“Would you like to learn to sew?”
Annie looked up. Her face was still damp with tears. Caroline took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed her cheeks.
“I can sew.” Annie tugged at the sleeve of her dress to show a neat little darn near the seam.
“That is excellent work.”
“Thank you.”
Caroline drew in a breath. She was about to break her vow. But what was the point of success if it could not be used to lift someone else?
“How about I take you on as an apprentice?”
Annie lit up—then immediately sagged. “I cannot. I must go home each night to care for Mum. And we have no money now that she cannot work much. I need a position that pays.”
“I believe we can manage something. I do not yet have room and board to offer, so I would pay you the value of that instead. You may return home to your mother each evening.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “Truly? I can work here and still stay with Mum?”
There were risks. If Mrs. Greer’s health failed, Caroline might find herself with a young charge to care for.
Are you truly prepared for that? This could grow complicated.
Caroline squared her shoulders. Just this once, she would make an exception. Because once, someone had made an exception for her.
“You may begin tomorrow, if your mum agrees. Tell her to come see me in the morning. If we reach an understanding, I shall have a contract drawn up for her to sign.”
Annie clapped her hands, eyes shining.
Caroline smiled and gestured at the cup. “Finish your tea, Annie.”
The child did so cheerfully. When they had finished, Caroline led her to the window display.
“As a seamstress and a member of my staff, it is important to tie your hair back so that you may see your work. Which ribbon would you like?”
Annie’s jaw dropped. “A ribbon? Of my own?”
“Pick one.”
The girl examined the spools intently, her fingers alighting on a length of scarlet. “May I have this one?”
“You may.”
Caroline reached into the drawer for her scissors, measured and cut the ribbon, then gently gathered the girl’s hair. She plaited it and tied it off with the ribbon, drawing it forward so Annie could see the bow.
“Cor! It is beautiful!”
Caroline smiled. “You will learn to make many beautiful things here.”
Annie left shortly afterward, having agreed on a time for her mother’s visit. Despite her misgivings, Caroline felt in her heart that she had done the right thing.
William had purchased provisions and was returning to his cottage with parcels under his arm, enjoying a rare respite from his work.
The walk should have taken only a few minutes, but somehow he found himself hesitating outside the mantua-maker’s shop. It was devilishly tempting to enter under some pretext, if only to see her again. Perhaps confirm the color of her eyes or admire the curve of her mouth.
He squashed the thought.
As if summoned, Annie Greer emerged from the shop, a broad smile lighting her face. William felt a brief jolt of surprise—had he misread her sorrow earlier? She looked quite smart, her hair neatly plaited with a scarlet ribbon.
“Enjoying your day, Annie?”
She beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “It is a wonderful day, Mr. Jackson! I am to be a seamstress!” she proclaimed, then skipped off down the street in a flutter of skirts.
William stared after her in surprise. Had the new shopkeeper hired Annie? That would certainly be good news for Mrs. Greer. He had only just heard, while about town, that the poor woman was unwell.
Everywhere he had gone that day, the women of Chatternwell had spoken with admiration of the new dressmaker and her elegant shop. If Mrs. Brown had indeed offered Annie employment, it was commendable—something William might have done himself had he known of their need.
He ought to return home. He had no business lingering. Annie was clearly well. Yet he found himself still standing at the door.
Go home, William.
But something about the shop—the woman within—held him in place.
This is absurd. Leave it alone.
He took a steadying breath and turned toward the smithy.
It was late afternoon, almost closing time, when the shop door opened and closed with the gentle tinkle of the bell.
Caroline was mid-counting spools of thread, her pencil moving swiftly across the page as she scratched a number down on the notebook.
She swiveled with a welcoming smile, prepared to greet the late-day visitor.
To her surprise, one of the blacksmiths from down the street stood just inside the doorway.
She had never seen him up close before. He was usually a distant figure standing in front of the smithy.
Now, standing in the soft light of her shop, he seemed even larger, his shoulders wide enough to fill the frame of the doorway.
His presence commanded the room, and she found herself straightening instinctively.
Caroline had not been aware of how solidly built the man was, with thick shoulders and a height that easily surpassed six feet.
The parcels tucked under his arm looked almost comically small compared to the breadth of his chest and the sturdy lines of his arms, clearly used to hard work.
His dark hair was cropped neatly, his beard trimmed close to his jaw, giving him an air of rugged respectability.
His eyes—strikingly blue—were sharp and observant, the sort that seemed to take in everything with quiet assessment.
For the briefest of moments, she had the oddest sensation that those eyes were searching her soul, though she brushed off the thought as fanciful nonsense.
She had sworn off all men after the events at Baydon Hall, vowing to keep her heart and her ambitions firmly under her own control.
But standing so close to someone so unmistakably capable, she found it unexpectedly difficult to recall the reasons for her vow.
He seemed to radiate confidence and strength—traits she had learned to mistrust, but here they were accompanied by a quiet stillness that unsettled her far more than she liked to admit.
Caroline’s hands smoothed over her skirts as she tried to maintain her composure, aware of the odd flutter that had taken up residence in her chest.
The man was scrupulously clean, dressed in sturdy buckskins, well-made black boots, a crisp linen shirt, and a waistcoat that fit him well.
His clothing, though simple, was well-tailored and spoke of a man who valued neatness despite his laborious work.
But his expression was severe, his square jaw set with determination.
He was not the sort given to idle chatter or unnecessary smiles; she imagined him to be direct and to the point, with little patience for frivolities.