dismissed.”
Lydia shook her head. “She brings in too many customers. Mrs. Clarkson will never let her go.”
“She’ll let her go if there is a scandal that causes the customers to stay away,” Felicia mused.
“But what kind of scandal? Catherine never goes anywhere but church and the park. And now with the season upon us, she rarely goes out but to church on Sunday.”
“I’m sure we can find something, but it will mean spending time in search of that something. I will need your help, Lydia.”
The girl fingered her coiled braid and bobbed back and forth on one foot, then the other. She often did this when nervous, and Felicia had come to detest it. “Oh, for pity’s sake, stand still.
You bounce about like Mrs. Davidson’s stupid dog.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“And you won’t—if you do exactly as I say.” Felicia’s voice took on a tone of confidence. “I have some ideas and feel certain we can have matters under control—if not by Christmas, then shortly thereafter.”
Felicia went to her table and surveyed the gown she’d been working on for the last week. “Come and sit here. I’ll show you how to properly create bouillons. They can be quite tricky.” She held up one of the puffed-out pieces of tulle and smiled. “And we can discuss my plan without being overheard.”
Lydia looked at the closed door and moved away quickly as if their conversation had already been revealed. She sat down beside Felicia and twisted her hands together. “Are you sure we should do anything at all? I mean, well, Catherine is usually very nice. I know she’s in charge and sometimes makes me redo my work, but it’s only because I’ve done it poorly to begin with.”
“Bah. She likes her authority too much. She loves to pick apart perfectly good pieces and make you rework them, because it makes her feel that she has control over you—over all of us. She may act one way and fool you into believing her considerate, but believe me, I know better. She has threatened me more times than I care to remember.”
Lydia’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “She threatened you?”
“Yes,” Felicia said, trying to sound as ominous as possible.
“And she’ll threaten you as soon as she sees how good you are at this job. Anyone who shows skills to match her own constitutes a problem for Catherine Shay. She’s afraid we’ll remove her from her throne.”
“But Mrs. Clarkson said we should all strive to do a job of which we might be proud. She says that one day we’ll all be so accomplished that every one of us will be a Second Hand and—”
“And you can hardly believe that,” Felicia said, jerking an unworked piece of tulle to the table. “How can everyone be a Second Hand? It’s a position of authority. We can’t all be in charge.”
“Well, I know that, but Mrs. Clarkson said that she’d like to have a house with several people who are able to work at the Second Hand level and then have additional girls hired under them. She wants to create the largest, most popular sewing house in the city.”
“Lofty dreams, to be sure, but they aren’t realistic. She also said she’d like to see each of us master our skills and start our own sewing houses in other cities. I don’t think Mrs. Clarkson truly knows what she wants. But I do. I want Catherine Shay gone from this place before she can hurt anyone else I care about.”
Lydia’s brows drew together. “She hurt someone you cared about?”
Felicia did her best to put on a face of grave sorrow. “Yes. I don’t like to talk about it.”
Pushing the tulle away from her, Lydia leaned forward on the smooth wooden table. “Can you not tell me?”
“I’m not certain I can. It’s very painful.” Felicia put aside the material and looked past Lydia to the window. She hoped her faraway expression would stir deep sympathy from the young girl. “I had a friend here. An older friend. When I first started with
Lydia shook her head. “She brings in too many customers. Mrs. Clarkson will never let her go.”
“She’ll let her go if there is a scandal that causes the customers to stay away,” Felicia mused.
“But what kind of scandal? Catherine never goes anywhere but church and the park. And now with the season upon us, she rarely goes out but to church on Sunday.”
“I’m sure we can find something, but it will mean spending time in search of that something. I will need your help, Lydia.”
The girl fingered her coiled braid and bobbed back and forth on one foot, then the other. She often did this when nervous, and Felicia had come to detest it. “Oh, for pity’s sake, stand still.
You bounce about like Mrs. Davidson’s stupid dog.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“And you won’t—if you do exactly as I say.” Felicia’s voice took on a tone of confidence. “I have some ideas and feel certain we can have matters under control—if not by Christmas, then shortly thereafter.”
Felicia went to her table and surveyed the gown she’d been working on for the last week. “Come and sit here. I’ll show you how to properly create bouillons. They can be quite tricky.” She held up one of the puffed-out pieces of tulle and smiled. “And we can discuss my plan without being overheard.”
Lydia looked at the closed door and moved away quickly as if their conversation had already been revealed. She sat down beside Felicia and twisted her hands together. “Are you sure we should do anything at all? I mean, well, Catherine is usually very nice. I know she’s in charge and sometimes makes me redo my work, but it’s only because I’ve done it poorly to begin with.”
“Bah. She likes her authority too much. She loves to pick apart perfectly good pieces and make you rework them, because it makes her feel that she has control over you—over all of us. She may act one way and fool you into believing her considerate, but believe me, I know better. She has threatened me more times than I care to remember.”
Lydia’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “She threatened you?”
“Yes,” Felicia said, trying to sound as ominous as possible.
“And she’ll threaten you as soon as she sees how good you are at this job. Anyone who shows skills to match her own constitutes a problem for Catherine Shay. She’s afraid we’ll remove her from her throne.”
“But Mrs. Clarkson said we should all strive to do a job of which we might be proud. She says that one day we’ll all be so accomplished that every one of us will be a Second Hand and—”
“And you can hardly believe that,” Felicia said, jerking an unworked piece of tulle to the table. “How can everyone be a Second Hand? It’s a position of authority. We can’t all be in charge.”
“Well, I know that, but Mrs. Clarkson said that she’d like to have a house with several people who are able to work at the Second Hand level and then have additional girls hired under them. She wants to create the largest, most popular sewing house in the city.”
“Lofty dreams, to be sure, but they aren’t realistic. She also said she’d like to see each of us master our skills and start our own sewing houses in other cities. I don’t think Mrs. Clarkson truly knows what she wants. But I do. I want Catherine Shay gone from this place before she can hurt anyone else I care about.”
Lydia’s brows drew together. “She hurt someone you cared about?”
Felicia did her best to put on a face of grave sorrow. “Yes. I don’t like to talk about it.”
Pushing the tulle away from her, Lydia leaned forward on the smooth wooden table. “Can you not tell me?”
“I’m not certain I can. It’s very painful.” Felicia put aside the material and looked past Lydia to the window. She hoped her faraway expression would stir deep sympathy from the young girl. “I had a friend here. An older friend. When I first started with
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