Nineteenth Century Woman Tailor

That night, Louise was preoccupied with the thought of wearing gloves to work. Worried that they wouldn't dry by the window, she anxiously took them down and hung them near the stove to dry.

The better-quality charcoal burned longer, and when Aunt got up in the middle of the night, she added another piece. By the time Eloise woke up, she didn’t feel cold at all. The room had some warmth, and the window was covered with a layer of steam from the melting frost. Outside, the chaotic snowfall almost blurred the view.

Eloise had to go to work today, and she reluctantly crawled out of bed, throwing on her clothes without even brushing her hair, letting it hang loose.

Louise, meanwhile, was brushing her teeth with a bristle toothbrush dipped in tooth powder from a tin box. She glanced sideways at Eloise, who was wiping her face with her hair disheveled, and thought to herself how unkempt she looked.

“Why don’t you comb your hair?” she asked.

“My neck’s cold. It feels better with my hair down. I’ll comb it in the dressing room later,” Eloise replied, deciding that after work, she’d explore the market for a new scarf or something similar.

Before leaving, Eloise buried a few raw potatoes in the still-glowing embers of the stove. By the time they were ready to leave the house, Louise was already shivering from the biting wind and snow. She didn’t have a scarf either, and after glancing at Eloise, she undid her braided hair to let it cover her neck.

“This awful weather!”

“I’m planning to buy a scarf this afternoon,” Eloise said, unsure of where the best second-hand markets in New York were. The original owner of her body hadn’t been interested in such things, so she thought she’d ask Louise for advice.

Hearing this, Louise perked up naturally: “Go to the Ramberton Mill on 23rd Street. The vendors there sell cheap and practical items. You might even find some fabric scraps to practice sewing with.”

“Alright. Should I get one for you too?”

Louise nodded. She took off her gloves and pulled out three dimes and a nickel from her skirt pocket, handing them to Eloise. “Since you’re going, pick up a few more things for me. I’d like a scarf, two cotton handkerchiefs, and if there’s a second-hand bonnet with a stiff brim, grab one of those too.”

Eloise noted it down and nodded. Without a hat, the weather was unbearable. Aunt and Bella had tied scarves around their heads to block the snow today, and they’d urged Eloise and Louise to do the same, but both sisters thought the scarves looked too old-fashioned.

Louise calculated that her weekly allowance was almost gone, and her face immediately fell into a frown.

When they arrived near the Ritz Hotel, they had to take a detour to enter through the back door. From a distance, they could see a brand-new Victor Tourer parked at the hotel entrance, alongside a sleek, traditional two-horse carriage. The coachman was busy brushing the snow off these two symbols of different eras.

After clocking in and entering the dressing room, Eloise got dressed, braided her hair into a plait, and pinned it up with a soft cap. Her work partner today was Laura again, along with another girl named Amy, who had gray eyes.

Amy Apria’s brother, Anthony Apria, had recently been promoted to assistant head chef in the kitchen. Thanks to this connection, Amy now had a bunk in the women’s dormitory for kitchen staff, making it easier for her to arrive early.

When Eloise entered Warehouse 11, Laura’s face looked grim. She was sitting on a stool by the window, seemingly in a standoff with Amy.

As soon as Eloise walked in, Amy forced a faint smile and looked at Laura, her tone cool: “It’s your turn to clean the fifth and sixth floors today. Don’t talk about convenience—when I was on my period, I didn’t see you offering to switch with me.”

“We’re here to work, not to be guests. Isn’t that what you said?”

Laura had no defense. She had indeed said that when Amy was on her period last time, and according to the rotation, it was her turn to clean the fifth and sixth floors today. Usually, she’d swap with someone else.

Sensing the tension in the room but not knowing the details, Eloise hesitated whether to make small talk to ease the mood. Seeing Laura’s sullen face, Amy felt a surge of satisfaction. When the bell rang, Amy stood up and pulled Eloise along with her.

“What’s going on? Why does Laura look so upset?” Eloise asked in a low voice, remembering that the original owner of her body had been on decent terms with Amy.

“She said she’s on her period and doesn’t feel well. She wants to switch to the seventh and eighth floors for an easier job, but this whole week, she hasn’t worked anywhere else.”

Eloise vaguely remembered something about this. Last time Amy had wanted to switch to an easier floor, Laura had called her out for being overly sensitive.

“Don’t you dare switch with her today. She’s always like this. I’m going to make sure she gets a taste of her own medicine. She’ll do what she’s supposed to do.”

Everyone knew Laura had connections in the accounting office. The only one who dared to challenge this seasoned player was Amy, who also had her own connections. Eloise kept quiet, thinking to herself that even cleaning a stove could lead to so much drama. In her mind, it didn’t matter where you worked—it was all the same.

“Where am I supposed to go today?”

Eloise asked Amy, who pulled her into the crowd waiting for Mrs. Morrison’s briefing. “The top and bottom floors,” Amy replied.

After Mrs. Morrison’s morning meeting, Eloise avoided Laura’s gloomy face and, carrying an empty bucket, made her way up to the eighth floor.

The manager wasn’t in at this hour, so the door was opened by a few office workers on the eighth floor. They had a large fireplace with an iron grate. Eloise moved the grate aside, cleaned out the ashes, and replaced the charcoal.

She was a nobody, unfamiliar with the well-dressed, haughty office workers busy brewing coffee and fiddling with their brass pocket watches. After cleaning the fireplace, she left without a word and headed down to the seventh floor.

The seventh floor had three VIP suites, but only the largest one, named “Opal,” was occupied.

Outside the suite stood two male colleagues dressed in French tailcoats and tight trousers, standing like tin soldiers, ready to take orders at any moment.

As Eloise approached, one of the attendants asked her a few questions. Upon learning that she had come from the eighth floor, he frowned and said,

“You’ll need to come earlier next time. Mr. Merken has been up for a quarter of an hour already.”

Realizing she might have messed up, Eloise quickly entered the suite’s living room, keeping her head down and avoiding looking around. She moved the iron grate aside to clean the fireplace and started a fire.

The suite had two bedrooms, a study, a dressing room, a wine cellar, a living room with a piano, a dining room, a sitting room, and a bathroom.

The door to the study next door was open, and the sound of a pen scratching on paper and pages being turned could be heard.

Eloise had no experience as a cleaner, and she could only pray that Mr. Merken wouldn’t complain to the management about her being fifteen minutes late.

But what wealthy person staying at the Ritz Hotel would be up and working at this hour?

The orange flames danced in the fireplace, and the rhythmic sound of pages turning continued from the study. Eloise glanced toward the open door but only saw the hotel’s elegant wallpaper and wainscoting.

She pondered for a moment. Mr. Merken.

Could it be the Merken Bank? She had even opened an account with them in her previous life.