Page 80 of A Much Maligned Miss

“I…yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “There was some gold gauze wrapped about one of the boxes. I thought I would use that for a veil.”

“A gold veil,” Gervaise mused. “Miss Pomfrey really does not do things by halves, does she?” Caroline was not sure if he was referring to her as a seamstress or to Teddy’s little doll by this point. She turned, inexplicably tongue-tied, lowering her gaze. “I want you to rest easy for the rest of the day,” he said firmly. “If your sore head becomes a headache, you must dismiss Bailey. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she murmured. One long finger tipped up her chin.

“Promise me you will,” he insisted, “or I’ll send him away now.”

“No, Gervaise!” she objected with alarm. “Don’t do that!” Poor Mr. Bailey had to finish his painting in time for the opening. Knowing this would hold no sway with him, she added hurriedly, “I will sit quietly with my sewing. I promise if my head grows worse, I will send him away.”

“That’s better,” he said, dropping a kiss onto the tip of her nose. He frowned. “Your nose feels cold. Have you got a pair of my thick socks on?” She poked out one foot so he could see the woolen sock. Today’s were brown with orange flecks. “Good. Now where is your cashmere shawl?”

He refused to leave until Caroline was warmly bundled up and seated once more with her sewing box in her lap. “Whose is this?” he said gazing critically at the small, plain box.

“Mine,” she answered. “It’s the one I used to have at school. My other workbox was too large to bring with me.”

“Why did you not tell me you needed a new one?”

“I do not—” she began but Ralph was calling his name again, and Gervaise leaned down to brush yet another hurried kiss to her brow.

“I’ll order you a new one and have it sent around.”

She rather wondered that he did not buy her some warm socks instead. He must surely be getting tired of her pinching all of his.

31

“Gervaise? Did you hear what I said?” Ralph buzzed in his ear like an annoying fly.

Gervaise looked up from the burr walnut sewing box he was examining. “You said Hollingsford seemed interested,” he replied blandly. He wished Ralph had not insisted on accompanying him on his errand to Bond Street.

He had almost forgotten that after more than two hours straight, his old schoolfriend’s company began to pall. They had just spent four hours together touring the many gentleman’s clubs of their vast acquaintances. Gervaise had twice suggested splitting up but Ralph would not hear of it.

“He and Samuels gave no assurance they would attend on the opening night,” Ralph fretted, looking anguished. “And I particularly wanted to get some assurances today from those who favor deep play. Should we have pressed them harder, do you suppose? Given them more inducement to attend?”

“Certainly not!” Gervaise answered, shutting the glass lid of the case with a click. “Do you have one lined with silk?” he asked the assistant before turning back to his friend. “If anything, you should have politely tried to put them off, as I did Palmer. Told them it was unlikely they would get into our establishment in the opening week. Played up its exclusivity. Palmer was champing at the bit by the end of my spiel.”

“Oh, so that’s what you were doing!” Ralph exclaimed, his pained expression clearing. He clapped Gervaise on the back. “I wronged you, old chap. For a minute you had me worried you had lost interest in our project altogether. Ha-ha.” His laugh was unconvincing. Gervaise wondered if that was why Ralph had hovered next to him all morning, anxious and clinging. Had he suspected Gervaise would shirk his duties? It was rather insulting when you came to think of it.

He did not bother to answer, for the assistant had reappeared with another sewing case, tiered this time and built on altogether grander lines. “Ah, this is more the type of thing I had in mind,” he murmured, examining the many compartments punctuated with mother-of-pearl buttons. A French gilded pincushion sat in the center in the shape of a rosy red apple. “Yes, this is the one,” he decided, handing over his card. “Have it sent to this address.”

“Present for your mother?” Ralph enquired. “It’s a handsome piece.”

“It’s for Caroline.”

“Ah,” Ralph said, adopting an expression that said I am the soul of discretion. Gervaise felt even more irritated if that was even possible. A change of subject was in order. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal for all female bar staff,” he said, turning away from the counter. Ralph trailed along behind him as they walked out into the street.

“Oh, yes?”

“I think on the whole, it is a good idea and Ewell agrees. My only concern would be their safe journey home after working such late hours.” Ralph blinked, such a thing clearly never having occurred to him. “What do you think to turning the dormitory room over for their use?”

“Offering them bed and board?” Ralph said with surprise. When Gervaise gazed steadily back at him, he cleared his throat. “Ah… Well, yes, we could certainly offer such a provision, why not?” He chewed the side of his mouth. “Might the proximity not impinge on your own space?” He hesitated, “Or…is your arrangement there coming to an end?”

Gervaise leveled a look upon him which made Ralph shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Did he imagine the sewing box was a farewell gift for his mistress? “No,” he answered coolly. He had no intention of discussing his private situation with Ralph. “And in any case, a corridor separates the two areas, providing ample privacy.”

“Of course, of course,” Ralph blustered. “Ahem! In any case, how many beds do you suppose could be accommodated in there?”

“Caroline says twelve. How many barmaids did you envision us employing?”

“As many perhaps as ten,” Ralph ventured enthusiastically. “There are only a few booths in the saloon to encourage standing space only. That way we can pack more in, and it is a very long bar as you know. We should be serving a lot of drinks.”