Read Online The Vespertine by Saundra Mitchell - Free Book Online
Authors: Saundra Mitchell
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age. She nodded to Zora and me, but welcomed Mrs. Stewart with wide, gracious arms. The woman was no fool. She knew
we
were nothing but the mannequins to be dressed.
Her voice lilted, a marvel of an accent not quite French, but not quite Maryland, either. "What a day for necessaries, mm?"
"And one just started," Mrs. Stewart agreed, walking with her toward the back of the shop. "You got my note about our cousin Amelia?"
Mlle. Thierry nodded, pulling a huge book from beneath her counter. It landed on her cutting board with a thump, splitting open to the middle-most pages without bidding. "
Mais
yes, and I marked out these on your budget. It's the lace that troubles me."
"I have two yards besides on reserve," Mrs. Stewart said, which put that strange conversation to rest.
"Then all I need is my tape and"—Mile. Thierry's voice rose, plainly intended to draw my attention—"this little
missié
to come to the back room. 'Zelle Stewart, you've kept that seal cape fine as the day it left my hands."
Warmed by the compliment, Zora nodded. "Always and always, mademoiselle. I treasure it. May I sit for the measurements?"
Mlle. Thierry waved us both back. "Hurry up. You heard your mother. A long day ahead, and I won't be the one to keep her. Hup, hup, faster,
s'il vous plaît.
"
So faster we went, and Mlle. Thierry left us alone in the back to do the business work while I undressed. Slowly, I hung my muff and cape on hooks. Dawdling, I folded my gloves, then finally stepped onto the measuring block.
"She's from New Orleans," Zora told me, working the endless string of buttons on my polonaise.
"I admit, I wondered."
Lowering to a whisper, Zora said, "I heard she held a salon there so exquisite that people clamored for invitations. Ambassadors and barons and every fine family in the city came. If she would see you, you were all but royalty!"
"How did she come to own a dress shop in Baltimore, then?" I asked.
"She doesn't speak of it." Zora stepped onto the block to help me and whispered in my ear, "But when she raises the measure over your head, look into her cuffs. Scars, awful ones."
I blinked at Zora. "Truly?"
"Oh, yes," she murmured, then shut her mouth before she was caught gossiping.
Something shadowed and uncertain prickled along my skin as we bared it, bit by bit. Trying to put thoughts of dark secrets and hidden scars from my mind, I sadly reminded myself that I was stripping off in public. Shivering, I clapped my hands together and gazed at the ceiling in a quiet sort of terror.
True, no one could see into the back room, but I felt unnatural. And cold—my skin tightened everywhere, a rush of chill on it. That made me feel all the more wanton and obvious! I tried to distract myself with my surroundings.
The stove in the corner threw off little heat, though the room was cheery in its own way. Pinned to the wall, fluttering scraps added color between big sheets of patterns marked in oil pencil.
I felt no small measure of envy that Mile. Thierry had a sewing machine—a black, glorious monster worked by a foot pedal beneath it. Lizzy and I kept Oakhaven in clothes and linens by hand. My stitches were good—even and tight—but I guessed that an entire gown could come out of a machine like that in days, not the weeks it took me.
Appearing with a knotted rope, Mile. Thierry circled the block, measuring first with her eyes. She hummed and
ahhed
, sounds meant for herself that nonetheless set my nerves alight. Did she find me lacking? Was I too tall to be fashionable? And on top of it, I felt like a gawker, constantly trying to peer into her sleeves.
She made a noise at me, which I took to mean I should raise my arms, and I did.
"Mm," she said, looping the rope around my waist, then quick as a sparrow, she raised it to span my bust. "Is Your corset as tight as it goes?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, cutting a plaintive look in Zora's direction. She answered with a shrug.
Mlle. Thierry hummed again, spanning my hips
we
were nothing but the mannequins to be dressed.
Her voice lilted, a marvel of an accent not quite French, but not quite Maryland, either. "What a day for necessaries, mm?"
"And one just started," Mrs. Stewart agreed, walking with her toward the back of the shop. "You got my note about our cousin Amelia?"
Mlle. Thierry nodded, pulling a huge book from beneath her counter. It landed on her cutting board with a thump, splitting open to the middle-most pages without bidding. "
Mais
yes, and I marked out these on your budget. It's the lace that troubles me."
"I have two yards besides on reserve," Mrs. Stewart said, which put that strange conversation to rest.
"Then all I need is my tape and"—Mile. Thierry's voice rose, plainly intended to draw my attention—"this little
missié
to come to the back room. 'Zelle Stewart, you've kept that seal cape fine as the day it left my hands."
Warmed by the compliment, Zora nodded. "Always and always, mademoiselle. I treasure it. May I sit for the measurements?"
Mlle. Thierry waved us both back. "Hurry up. You heard your mother. A long day ahead, and I won't be the one to keep her. Hup, hup, faster,
s'il vous plaît.
"
So faster we went, and Mlle. Thierry left us alone in the back to do the business work while I undressed. Slowly, I hung my muff and cape on hooks. Dawdling, I folded my gloves, then finally stepped onto the measuring block.
"She's from New Orleans," Zora told me, working the endless string of buttons on my polonaise.
"I admit, I wondered."
Lowering to a whisper, Zora said, "I heard she held a salon there so exquisite that people clamored for invitations. Ambassadors and barons and every fine family in the city came. If she would see you, you were all but royalty!"
"How did she come to own a dress shop in Baltimore, then?" I asked.
"She doesn't speak of it." Zora stepped onto the block to help me and whispered in my ear, "But when she raises the measure over your head, look into her cuffs. Scars, awful ones."
I blinked at Zora. "Truly?"
"Oh, yes," she murmured, then shut her mouth before she was caught gossiping.
Something shadowed and uncertain prickled along my skin as we bared it, bit by bit. Trying to put thoughts of dark secrets and hidden scars from my mind, I sadly reminded myself that I was stripping off in public. Shivering, I clapped my hands together and gazed at the ceiling in a quiet sort of terror.
True, no one could see into the back room, but I felt unnatural. And cold—my skin tightened everywhere, a rush of chill on it. That made me feel all the more wanton and obvious! I tried to distract myself with my surroundings.
The stove in the corner threw off little heat, though the room was cheery in its own way. Pinned to the wall, fluttering scraps added color between big sheets of patterns marked in oil pencil.
I felt no small measure of envy that Mile. Thierry had a sewing machine—a black, glorious monster worked by a foot pedal beneath it. Lizzy and I kept Oakhaven in clothes and linens by hand. My stitches were good—even and tight—but I guessed that an entire gown could come out of a machine like that in days, not the weeks it took me.
Appearing with a knotted rope, Mile. Thierry circled the block, measuring first with her eyes. She hummed and
ahhed
, sounds meant for herself that nonetheless set my nerves alight. Did she find me lacking? Was I too tall to be fashionable? And on top of it, I felt like a gawker, constantly trying to peer into her sleeves.
She made a noise at me, which I took to mean I should raise my arms, and I did.
"Mm," she said, looping the rope around my waist, then quick as a sparrow, she raised it to span my bust. "Is Your corset as tight as it goes?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, cutting a plaintive look in Zora's direction. She answered with a shrug.
Mlle. Thierry hummed again, spanning my hips
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