Page 94 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Dickson gathered his documents. The complaint against Margaret Cooper disappeared into his coat. Peter took Master Dickson’s proffered hand with the brisk efficiency of a man who knew he’d got the better end of a bargain.

“You’ll need to apologize to Miss Cooper.”

“Well, I… No need for…”

Peter squeezed the hand with a firmness that spoke his resolve. “I want her to hear it from you that the guild will no longer be a threat and regrets having imposed upon her.”

Master Dickson sighed. “Alright, then. I’ll visit now.”

When the door closed, Peter stood alone in his office. The dyehouse door remained open, its smell reaching him. He walked inside, untied his apron from its hook, and held it in his hands. The leather was soft from years of use, stained in colors his grandfather would have recognized. He laced it around his neck and centered it over his body, then reached for a large vat of dye and dragged it into the measuring room.

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Meg scribbled a note to James regarding Master Dickson’s visit. Thoughts scattered and knotted like thread tangled in cat’s-paws until she hardly knew what to ask him. His help came whenever she needed it, that she had learned, but she did not like being a burden. In the end, she merely informed him of the guild’s threat, deciding it best to discuss options in person.

Someone thwacked at the door. She froze, hoping whoever it was would leave. Another knock, more persistent. Leaving her letter unsealed, she opened the door and found Master Dickson.

She did not invite him in but raised her chin and settled her hands on her hips.

“I came to inform you that your mentor and I have reached an agreement,” he said. “The guild will allow your noxious presence without threat and hereby drop any charges owing to your dishonest behavior.”

She understood every word, but together the statement made no sense. “An agreement?”

Master Dickson rocked on his heel and took hold of his lapels. “It appears he is now a dyer and has agreed to supply us with chintz and teach Gloucestershire dyers Turkey red. A fine bargain, for we tailors will be sought after by all. The situation could not be more beneficial. Good day, Miss Cooper.” A few steps down the road, he turned. “I beg your pardon for the inconvenience.” Then he rounded a corner and disappeared.

Meg closed the door and leaned against it, trying to unravel what had happened. Peter had decided to share his secret and become a dyer. While she supported the decision, had advocated for it, she had never wished to push him into a change of craft for her sake.

It was all wrong. He must follow his heart, not sacrifice on her account. She had seen his little thumbprint beside his grandfather’s and learned it held a promise kept for a beloved grandfather.

She sank onto the settee, a tufted salmon-colored Queen Anne piece that elevated her shop into something special. The Golden Thimble was not a mess of tables littered with partially finished clothes, bits of thread, and frayed strips of cloth. Over the gleaming parquet floor stood white tables covered with artfully displayed gloves, pattern books, and fashion dolls. Three full-length mirrors stood in the corners of the room, and a toilette table strewn with cosmetics had been pushed against one wall. The room appeared an elaborate dressing room. Meg, Louisa, and Matilde had imagined it together as a gathering place for women, a space for tea and gossip, and most importantly, an outlet for collaboration over gowns, petticoats, stomachers, and stockings.

A steady, dragging pressure fell over Meg’s shoulders like a gown constructed of chain mail. The cost was too high. Meg’s ambitions had pushed Peter onto a path he did not choose, one against his principles that forced him to break a sacred promise. If Samuel had ever truly depended on her earnings, there would be some dignity in what she’d done. But he did not. His school was paid for, his future secured. She had cheated Peter out of his loyalty.

She pulled a shawl from its peg and rushed toward the Michaelmas festival, praying James and Louisa were still there. Once on the green she elbowed her way through crowds, asking anyone she knew if they had seen the earl, desperation expanding in her throat.

On a platform meant for performers, she surveyed the throng until she spotted Louisa and Samuel and rushed toward them. Meg greeted Louisa and opened her arms to her younger brother, but he looked at the friend who stood beside him and rolled his eyes before giving her a half-hearted squeeze around her waist. The gesture compounded Meg’s already tangled emotions.

Louisa took Meg’s elbow and led her away from the crowd. “What has happened?”

“Master Dickson visited me. He wishes me gone, seeks to take legal action against me for breaking my indenture. Mr. Sloan intervened.” Meg tried to find the words to explain, but they scattered like autumn leaves. “Mr. Sloan should not be obliged to sacrifice on my account.”

“Go to him. Explain everything.”

Louisa’s urgency somehow calmed Meg enough to gather her words. “I am in his way. I’ve taken his livelihood, forced this change.” Her head felt light, her legs weak. “I cannot bear the consequences of my ambition. I’ve ruined a man I deeply admire.”

“It is because you love him that you cannot remain silent.”

Love? The word hit Meg’s center and tumbled through her body.

Louisa shook Meg’s arm, her brow creasing. “Find him now. There is too much at stake.”

But Peter had begged her to desist. He did not wish to speak with her. His message rang with new clarity. He was asking her to stop taking his customers and close her shop. And so she must. Suddenly, what had taken a year to build seemed impossibly easy to unwind.

She glanced at Samuel, whose head bent close to his companion’s, some scheming taking place, no doubt. He no longer required her to remain near him. He had James and Louisa and his school chums. It was time to let go.

“I must go to London.”

“Listen to me, Meg, as your sister and one who knows the pain of reckless decisions. Take a moment to reflect on what you leave behind—all your efforts. Consider your Mr. Sloan.”