Nineteenth Century Woman Tailor

As Christmas approached, the festive atmosphere in New York grew more intense, the city bustling and dense.

Inside the Laxun Law Firm, a faint but somewhat unpleasant smell of ink wafted through the air, mingling with the warmth from the water pipes.

The odor came from the typewriter on Mrs. Romde's desk.

Her hands were stained with black smudges from repairing the ink cartridge, and she carefully pressed the metal keys to avoid further mess.

On the paper was a list of clients Mr. Lawson needed to visit before the New Year. Among them, a few distinguished figures stood out as the most important.

"Sir! Your schedule is ready."

Mrs. Romde spotted Mr. Lawson stepping out of his carriage and entering the lobby. She immediately stood up and retrieved the typed note from the machine.

"Good morning, Mrs. Romde."

Mr. Lawson, still holding a cigar between his lips, took the paper, glanced at it, and frowned.

Mrs. Romde explained the changes.

"Mr. Janertz sent someone yesterday to say he wants to revise his will again, changing the original heir—his niece, Miss Janertz—to a dowry trust."

She added, "Poor Miss Janertz. Her father passed away less than a year ago, and now the Janertz family's businesses, factories, and stocks have all fallen into her uncle's hands."

"Even Miss Janertz herself couldn't escape. She's been engaged to a formidable match. If she doesn't go through with it, she might not get a single penny of her inheritance."

Mr. Lawson had never met Miss Janertz but had visited her family's villa. Curious, he asked, "Engaged? To whom?"

Mrs. Romde wiped her hands, picked up a cup of black tea from the table, added two sugar cubes, and replied nonchalantly,

"Winston Merken."

Hearing this, Mr. Lawson raised an eyebrow. "Is he using his niece as collateral to secure a loan?"

He flicked the ash from his cigar, folded the paper, and thought to himself—there's always a higher class above, and the wealthy always crave more wealth.

Mrs. Romde chuckled at Mr. Lawson's witty remark. After all, everyone knew that the name "Merken" was practically synonymous with "bank" in North America.

Mr. Lawson, in his early thirties, had lost his wife and had not remarried. Thus, even during the New Year, he had no need to set aside much time for family gatherings.

He had no objections to the packed schedule.

After leaving his flat-brimmed top hat at the front desk, he was about to head upstairs when he noticed a small, unfamiliar face.

Thomas was coming down the stairs, carrying a metal bucket.

He dipped a rag into the water, wrung it out with a splash, and crouched to wipe the steps.

Mr. Lawson found him somewhat familiar but couldn't recall where he'd seen him before. He pointed and asked,

"Where did that little mouse come from?"

Mrs. Romde replied, "He's new. Used to be a newspaper boy. I had him sleep in the little room next to the storage closet. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all."

Mr. Lawson nodded, stepped around Thomas, and went upstairs.

...

Eloise sat by the bed, packing two pairs of finished gloves into a paper bag. One pair was made of blue cotton with simple fishbone embroidery, reaching up to the elbow.

The other pair was made from repurposed brown trousers, a short style with ruffles. She had spent the entire day yesterday stitching, nearly exhausting herself to finish them on time.

Eloise watched as her aunt first took Bella to school, then handed the gloves to Louise before heading out herself.

The hotel's Christmas decorations were fully in place. This time, as Eloise changed her clothes in the dressing room, one of the older staff members hurriedly handed her a small, flat box wrapped in colorful paper—an employee New Year's gift.

She took the box and went to the storage room, only to find Amy there, also holding a New Year's gift.

Eloise opened the box and asked curiously, "You're not supposed to be on duty today. Why are you here?"

Amy pulled her to the window, her expression tinged with gossip.

"Someone quit. Mrs. Morrison sent for me yesterday to cover the shift."

Eloise unwrapped the box to find a brown chocolate bar stamped with the name of the Ritz Hotel.

"Guess who quit?"

Eloise wasn't particularly concerned. She broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth.

"Who?"

The chocolate of that era was bitter and sour, and Eloise almost spat it out at first, though it eventually offered a hint of sweetness.

Amy hesitated for a moment before saying, "It was Nasha. She quit yesterday and left with a guest from the sixth floor."

"I told you she'd do something like this. But these rich people don't care about feelings. Having a lover is like having a carriage—it's a status symbol."

"Nasha?" Eloise's heart sank. The girl had likely been deceived.

But she was powerless to help, having already tried to warn her to no avail. All she could do was accept what had happened.

"Everyone has their own fate," she murmured, wrapping the chocolate back up and tucking it into her pocket.

The news of Nasha, the chimney sweeper, leaving the hotel with a wealthy man spread quickly. After finishing her work, Eloise was found by Louise and taken to the linen room next door.

The linen room was located in Warehouse 7, and it was crowded with people preparing to go for the staff meal.

Louise pulled Eloise inside, and as expected, the girls in the room immediately began asking about Nasha.

Eloise said she wasn't close to her, and one of Louise's friends handed her a cup of mulled wine.

She accepted it and added, "I only just found out she left. I don't know who that businessman is."

Some in the room were envious, while others looked disdainful.

Louise, sensing Eloise's reluctance to discuss it, shooed the curious away. "Things like this happen every year. In a place like this, it's unavoidable."

Eloise chatted with them for a while before the conversation turned to her craftsmanship.

The two girls who had received gloves that morning, both close to Louise, proudly showed off their new accessories.

Other girls, whose families weren't as poor and didn't require them to contribute to household expenses, had more disposable income.

Seeing the quality of Eloise's work, they were eager to commission her.

Three or four of them paid her on the spot, asking Louise to bring their old clothes home the next day so Eloise could repurpose them into small items.

Eloise, in desperate need of money, accepted all orders. The payments, ranging from seventy-five cents to a dollar, added up to two or three dollars.

The timing couldn't have been better. Eloise had already made bold claims in a boutique and visited several shops, only to find similar results.

She had been planning to borrow money to buy better materials for more refined pieces.

Now, with this income, she no longer needed to borrow—though it meant she'd have to work even harder to meet the demand.

...