Nineteenth Century Woman Tailor

Nasha Flamir’s grandfather was from Moscow, and her parents, former gold miners in Alaska, later moved to New York State and worked in a textile mill.

She had two older brothers and a younger sister. As the middle child, she was often treated harshly.

While working at the Ritz Hotel, she met a speculative businessman surnamed Daram.

What Mr. Daram did for a living, Nasha didn’t know.

But during his courtship of Nasha, he took her to theaters, operas, and fine dining restaurants.

He was courteous, generous, and tender.

A few days ago, he had Nasha resign from her job, fearing her parents might discover their secret relationship. He rented her a discreet two-room apartment with a bathroom in a narrow alley bustling with people.

He also bought her new clothes, furnishings, and hired a maid to attend to her, enabling her to flee home with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Now, Nasha stood frozen on the staircase, her expression stunned.

She wore a brand-new blue velvet round-neck coat over a satin-striped skirt that draped past her feet.

A string of pearls adorned her neck, her hair was slicked with pomade, and she wore a warm hat adorned with handmade flowers.

Her fingers were sheathed in silk gloves, clutching a dainty metal purse.

Naturally tall and slender, the elegant attire lent her an air of newfound vitality.

Nasha’s fair complexion, dark auburn hair, and delicate features were now accentuated with powder, shaped brows, and a touch of lip rouge, giving her an unexpectedly alluring charm.

Had Eloise not trusted her own eyes, she might not have recognized her.

“Eloise? What are you doing here?” Nasha snapped out of her daze, flustered at first.

Relieved to see no trace of disdain on Eloise’s face, she relaxed slightly.

“I came to see the apartment,” Eloise replied.

The landlady knew Nasha was a merchant’s kept mistress. The room she occupied cost ten dollars a week, and her lover had prepaid six months’ rent.

“You know each other? Since you’re acquainted with Miss Flamir, take the keys and inspect the place yourself.”

With that, the landlady handed the keys to Eloise trustingly and headed downstairs to rest her weary legs.

“Alright.”

Eloise took the keys and climbed a few steps, equally astonished.

First by surprise, then by Nasha’s striking transformation.

“Do you live here alone now?” Eloise asked.

Nasha had intended to buy scented ointments but abandoned the idea, opting instead to accompany Eloise on the apartment tour.

“Yes. Mr. Daram seldom visits. Only the maid stays with me.”

Eloise stepped into the five-dollar-a-week room, Nasha trailing a few steps behind.

“It seems he treats you well?” Eloise’s gaze lingered on the peeling window frames.

The apartment was barely larger than their old place on 33rd Street, with worse lighting and a tiny balcony.

The floor bore mildew stains, uncarpeted, and Nasha lifted her skirt delicately to avoid soiling it. “Yes, he’s very generous.”

“That’s good. I’d heard about your situation at the hotel and worried Mr. Daram might be a swindler.”

Eloise smiled faintly, lightening the mood with a jest.

Seeing Nasha better off than before, Eloise bit back her warnings—they’d sound resentful, as if she begrudged Nasha’s happiness.

Like Amy said, at least this man provided tangible comforts, freeing her from her parents’ harshness.

“Thank you for worrying about me. I’m doing alright now.” Nasha invited Eloise to her place for tea.

After surveying the dilapidated room, Eloise dismissed any thought of moving in.

She mentioned searching elsewhere, but Nasha, starved for company after being cooped up with her taciturn maid, persuaded her to stay and chat.

With daylight to spare, Eloise agreed.

Nasha’s apartment, perched higher and less damp, boasted two rooms, a flush toilet, and tasteful new furnishings.

A man’s felt hat hung in the hallway closet.

They sat at the round table by the window. The maid, stout and dark-skinned, served Eloise milky tea and a silver tray of sugar-dusted biscuits.

Eloise sipped the tea but left the biscuits untouched.

Former colleagues at the Ritz, they reminisced amiably, with Eloise sharing hotel gossip.

Nasha asked, “What are they saying about me behind my back? That I’m a gold-digger? Shameless?”

Eloise knew worse was said, but she shook her head.

“I’m usually too busy working to eavesdrop. Even if they gossip, it can’t touch you now. Don’t let it bother you.”

“Exactly. I’ll live well, no matter what they say.” Nasha’s expression darkened briefly.

Eloise steered the conversation to winter’s chill and the approaching Christmas.

They vented about the ever-overbearing Laura, sharing a wry laugh.

Nasha inquired about Eloise’s sewing work.

“Steady enough,” Eloise admitted.

Nasha sent the maid to fetch two spools of fine silk thread from her vanity, gifting them to Eloise as an early Christmas present.

Eloise accepted—she could use the thread.

“I can’t take these for nothing. Do you have fabric? I’ll sew you a morning robe.”

Nasha nearly refused but recognized Eloise’s pride—this was no pity offer, just fair exchange.

She agreed, producing three yards of cotton for a housecoat.

Their camaraderie warmed, and they agreed to meet again after Christmas.

Leaving, Eloise borrowed a basket from the maid to carry her gifts.

Returning the keys to the landlady, she said, “I’ll discuss it with my family before deciding. Thank you for your time.”

The old woman nodded. “Don’t dawdle. Those rooms won’t stay vacant beyond three days.”

Eloise headed home, basket in hand.

Her day had begun with deliveries, segued into chores, then apartment-hunting and social calls.

By dusk, her family had all returned from work and school.

She was exhausted, so she put away her basket and lay on the bed for a while, chatting with Louise and Bella about what she had done that day and the rooms she had seen.

Before long, Louise brought over a bucket of steaming hot water, and the three sisters soaked their feet together.

“I don’t think that place is any good—it’s worse than where we live now.”

“In that area, finding a decent house is probably impossible.”

Terry was handling the freshly learned naan bread in her hands. When she heard Eloise had visited the narrow alley, she shook her head with a smile.

“That place is only home to some idle workers from the glassblowing factories or the mistresses kept by factory managers and owners.”

“Just the other day, the papers reported a crime there—a merchant rented an empty room to meet his lover, but instead of his mistress, he got a sack over his head and a club to the skull, leaving him lifeless.”

Auntie, who was usually fond of gossip, added, “Our family has too many girls. We can’t live in a place like that. Eloise, you should stay away from there in the future.”

Eloise hadn’t told them about Nasha. Hearing her aunt’s words, she fell into thought.

That Mr. Daram had settled Nasha in such a place, yet provided her with fine food and clothing—what exactly was his intention?

No wonder the old lady had told her that three rooms had just become available.

It seemed cheap things truly had no value. Eloise dried her feet and got up to check on the bread Auntie was making.

“Then tomorrow, after my shift, I’ll go look around other neighborhoods.”

Auntie nodded, using a thick cast-iron pan to fry a batch of flatbreads, their surfaces golden and fragrant, speckled with leopard-like spots.

Eloise was impressed and praised them repeatedly.

Terry, somewhat embarrassed, said, “This is nothing special. Any woman with a bit of skill should know how to make this.”

“Oh, come now,” Eloise retorted playfully. “If everyone could do it, why would wealthy families pay their cooks so handsomely?”

She added with a sharp tongue, “Knowing how to cook is a hundred times better than other crafts. It benefits you personally and can even earn you money.”

“Auntie, look at me—I’ve sewn so many dresses for others, yet I don’t even have a decent skirt of my own. God, it’s so unfair.”

Terry, amused by her words, promised to buy some eggs the next morning to fry and roll into the bread.

That night, Eloise sorted out her silk threads and cotton fabric, sighing as she decided to work on them slowly over the next few days.

She couldn’t shake the thought that if she hadn’t arrived in this world and altered the original host’s fate, the destined tragedy in the book wouldn’t have befallen Nasha.

The protagonist of the original story was a rookie actress at the theater.

Meanwhile, the original host, appearing as a side character, had already become a forgotten, washed-up performer—someone who, even after abandoning her dignity, barely drew an audience.

The book described her: *“She drowned herself in alcohol, wallowing in despair, and after yet another heartbreak, set the theater ablaze in a fit of hopelessness, her life extinguished on the stage.”*

The side character’s ending had little impact in the original story.

Eloise thought again of Nasha as she had seen her that day—radiant and full of life. The idea of such a fate for her was unbearable.

Tossing and turning in bed, she found no rest.

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