Nineteenth Century Woman Tailor

During breakfast, sleet pattered against the window outside, the sky gloomy and dim.

The pancake, speckled with toasted marks, became chewier after being warmed up in the cast-iron pan compared to when it was freshly made the night before.

Cracking an egg, its shell frosted with ice, into the pan, it soon sizzled and formed a thin white film.

Eloise loved her eggs like this—lightly crisped at the edges with a runny yolk in the middle. When she first woke up, she had assumed the bad weather would mean missing out.

But after washing up, the rich, toasty aroma reached her nose, and she spotted the straw hat dripping by the door.

Her aunt must have gone out to get breakfast for her.

Eloise felt a pang of guilt. This woman, unrelated by blood, had been the kindest family she’d ever had in both her lifetimes.

“What are you standing around for, Eloise? It’s your turn to take Bella to school today.” Louise climbed down from the top bunk, glanced out the window, and added in a dramatic tone, “Oh~ poor Ellie, seems luck’s not on your side today.”

Snapped out of her sentimental thoughts, Eloise shot her a mock glare before quickly getting dressed and slipping into her shoes.

Louise, her slender fingers running a comb through her hair, offered, “If you’re willing to pay me fifty cents, I’ll come with you to drop Bella off.”

“No money to give, and I’m not handing over my life either,” Eloise retorted, stuffing a bite of the fragrant pancake into her mouth.

Ten minutes later, the three sisters set off together, straw hats and scarves in place, heading toward Bella’s girls' school.

After dropping her off, the two older sisters were met with an even fiercer wind, turning the streets of New York into a murky, chaotic swirl. They clung to each other as they dashed down the sidewalk, utterly disheveled.

By the time they reached the hotel, they parted ways. Eloise arrived later than usual, barely finishing changing into her uniform before Mrs. Morrison made her entrance.

The staff tensed as if facing a formidable enemy. Eloise stood at the back of the crowd, hands folded, listening as Mrs. Morrison cleared her throat.

“Who was on duty cleaning the fireplaces yesterday?” Mrs. Morrison’s face was unreadable, betraying neither anger nor amusement.

Eloise hadn’t been on shift, so she exhaled in relief, almost smugly watching as Laura and Ryan stepped forward.

Laura had been cutting corners—her shifts weren’t fixed, and she often worked part-time at the restaurant for extra cash.

Mrs. Morrison gave a cold chuckle, her eyes locked onto Laura, whose fingers clenched nervously at her skirt.

“I received a complaint from a guest on the sixth floor. They named you specifically, saying you didn’t clean the fireplace properly yesterday.”

“Yes, that was my mistake. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Laura replied.

To Eloise’s surprise, Mrs. Morrison simply nodded and moved on without further reprimand, shifting to other matters.

Confused, Eloise couldn’t fathom why Mrs. Morrison had called them out in front of everyone only to let it go so lightly.

As the group dispersed, Eloise headed to the storage room for supplies. Before she could leave, Amy—who wasn’t on duty today—found her.

Amy, who lived in the kitchen’s back quarters, had come upstairs easily despite her exhaustion. She was already in uniform but looked worn out.

“What are you doing up here today?” Eloise asked, puzzled.

“Eloise, I’ll cover for you today if you can clock in for me tomorrow and handle some of my work,” Amy said, her voice listless.

Her mother had fallen ill. She’d heard about it from her brother and suddenly wanted to go home to check on her.

Her parents lived in a self-built farmhouse in Brooklyn, quite a distance from the city. If she left in the afternoon, she’d have to stay the night and wouldn’t make it back early the next day.

Eloise agreed without hesitation, then brought up Nasha.

“Did you see her yesterday? Where’s she staying now? Her family came by the hotel asking about her. Someone said she ran off with a rich man—they even threatened to report it to the police.”

“Really?”

Eloise didn’t reveal Nasha’s whereabouts, only saying vaguely that she’d run into her outside and that she was doing alright, her appearance completely changed.

When Laura and Ryan entered, the two fell silent, resuming their conversation only after stepping outside.

Ryan’s expression darkened as she watched them leave, her brow furrowed.

“Were they talking about Nasha just now?”

Laura was in no mood. “Who cares?”

“What do we do? Do you think Mrs. Morrison will punish you?” Ryan shifted uncomfortably—she’d been keeping watch while Laura did what she did.

Laura regretted it now. Nasha’s example had tempted her, but she’d ended up with nothing but trouble.

Now, she was sure to be the laughingstock of the staff.

Still, Laura thought, Mrs. Morrison might seem strict, but she had a soft spot for her employees. Even when Nasha’s family came looking for her, she hadn’t badmouthed her. Surely she wouldn’t fire Laura over this.

Eloise and Amy made their way upstairs, and Eloise recounted the morning’s incident. Amy scoffed, pulling Eloise close on the staircase to whisper the truth in her ear.

Eloise finally understood.

Once again, she realized how little she knew about the unspoken rules of this era, despite being a transmigrator.

Back in her past life, she’d heard of similar things in the corporate world—young women easily swayed by temptation.

If some managed to gain something from it, Eloise would admit they had skill. But most ended up with nothing but loss—their jobs, their reputations, and no way to recover.

Eloise thought bitterly, *I’m so broke I can’t afford to take risks. One misstep, and I’m ruined.*

“She should’ve looked in the mirror first. At least Nasha’s got a pretty face,” Amy sneered.

Eloise felt a wave of sorrow. These days, women who wanted to be lawyers or doctors—respectable professions—had no way in.

Being a governess, a seamstress, or a housekeeper was as good as it got in the eyes of society.

With no room to climb, no wonder so many girls took desperate measures.

“These days, being pretty might be worse than being plain,” Eloise murmured.

They finished cleaning the fifth and sixth floors quickly, wrapping up before noon. Amy took the streetcar outside the hotel, paying twenty cents for the ride out of the city.

Eloise had planned to rest in the storage room, but on the stairs, she ran into a coworker who’d once asked her to alter a dress. After exchanging pleasantries, the woman begged Eloise to help change a carpet on the seventh floor.

The guest in the Opal Suite had spilled coffee and needed it cleaned, but with only one person on duty near midday, she was swamped.

Eloise agreed—it didn’t seem like much trouble.

“Thank you so much,” the coworker said as Eloise went downstairs to fetch a bucket.

Not far away, Laura emerged from around the corner, watching Eloise chatting and laughing with others, her heart simmering with disdain.

Eloise set down the bucket and turned back upstairs, entering the Opal Suite with another person.

Inside the suite, the fireplace crackled with fierce flames, stacks of manuscripts lay piled on the study desk, and the window was left slightly ajar. Eloise and a servant worked together to lift an expensive Persian cashmere carpet.

"Did Mr. Merken not go to the bank today?"

The servant shook his head at the maid sweeping the floor. "No, he met with someone from the newspaper in the parlor this morning. No idea where he is now."

Every object in this room was costly, and Eloise dared not let her eyes wander. Once the carpet was replaced with a new one, she excused herself and left.

She headed toward the stairwell.

The seventh floor had a chaotic layout—aside from the suites, there was a garden terrace, and to preserve its scenic view, the staff passageway twisted and turned unpredictably.

Eloise glanced around as she walked, and just before reaching the terrace entrance, she encountered someone standing with arms crossed, clearly waiting for her.

Laura.

Contrary to Amy’s mockery, Laura wasn’t entirely unremarkable—her chin was sharp, her cheeks hollow, but her long hair gleamed with a glossy sheen, giving her a shrewd appearance. Yet Eloise couldn’t help feeling she hadn’t accomplished anything particularly impressive.

"Eloise, did you tell Amy today that you saw Nasha outside?"

Laura looked down on this simple-minded Eloise, who only knew how to toil away silently, considering her dull.

Eloise didn’t deny it.

"Yes, I saw her. But only for a moment."

"Oh? Is she living with some rich man now, eating and drinking well?"

Eloise shook her head. "My eyesight’s not great. She was too far away—I couldn’t tell if anyone was with her."

"What about her clothes, then? Was she wearing Qing Dynasty silk?"

Eloise gave a wry smile. "I’ve never worn fine clothes myself—how would I know silk from satin?"

Laura instantly felt she was being brushed off. She scrutinized Eloise again, finding her earnest expression puzzling.

"You alter clothes, don’t you? How can you not recognize fabrics?"

"The clothes I alter are all linen or cotton—I don’t even get to touch wool. Laura, do you need something mended? I can give you a discount."

Eloise deftly steered the conversation elsewhere.

Laura hesitated, as if unwilling to waste more words on her. With a cold snort, she said, "Just keep stitching away for the rest of your life, then. Clueless as ever..."

Eloise swallowed the insult, flashing a bright, eight-tooth smile.

"Of course! Being a seamstress is my dream. Thanks to you, I’ll work even harder!"

Her expression was serene, her smile genuine—if Laura hadn’t known she was being mocked, she might’ve mistaken it for gratitude.

Left speechless, Laura stalked off with a look of disgust.

Only once the hem of Laura’s dress vanished around the corner did Eloise turn toward the terrace entrance.

In an instant, her smile faded, piece by piece.

The arched, carved wooden door stood open. Outside, the weather was brutal—snow fell heavily, and icy winds rushed in, stinging faces like needles.

A tall figure leaned against the doorway, slender and elegant, a half-smoked pipe between his fingers. He stood half-hidden behind a bust, his profile tilted slightly in her direction.

His gaze was indifferent, the distance between them making it unclear whether he’d overheard anything.

Eloise paid it no mind. She scratched her nose lightly, then cheerfully headed downstairs to clock out.

Time to go home!

…