The Gilded Lily by Deborah Swift Page B

He was trying not to stare, but he gave the sideways glances that people thought she did not notice.
    He drew her away from the shop. ‘Your sister does not seem cut out for the wig trade. Is it true she lost her position?’
    ‘No, sir, I mean yes, sir,’ she said, amazed that he should have come and asked for her. She clasped her hands and waited, her eyes cast down. It was safest to be quiet and keep her
face blank.
    ‘Tell her to call at my yard tomorrow after noon and I will arrange a new employment for her. Here is a bill with the address. If she points to my signature she’ll gain admittance.
Friargate.’ He pressed a paper into Sadie’s hand. She looked down at it but could not make out any of the words, it was fancy writing.
    Sadie opened her mouth to tell him Ella had gone to the gunpowder factory, but then thought better of it. Instead she gave a little curtsey.
    ‘Make sure to tell her now. I’ll expect her tomorrow.’ He lifted his hat and crammed it back down on his head so that the three pheasant feathers bobbed and shivered. Then he
gave a nod and turned on his heel.
    Sadie hurried into the shop, the folded paper with its torn edge tight in her hand. As she went downstairs she was arrested by Madame Lefevre, who took her by the shoulder and spun her
round.
    ‘What was he after?’
    ‘He was asking after my sister.’
    ‘What did he want to know? Was it about me?’ Madame Lefevre’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and her fingers dug into Sadie’s collarbone.
    ‘No, madame, naught like that.’
    ‘He gave her something,’ piped up Mercy. ‘I saw her stow it in the front of her apron.’
    ‘Show me.’
    She sighed, glared at Mercy and reluctantly brought out the paper.
    ‘I’ll take that,’ said Madame Lefevre, snatching it out of her hand and holding it aloft. ‘Gentlemen are forbidden on these premises unless they are buying, and you will
not conduct personal business in my time. I won’t stand for it, d’ye hear? You are not to leave your bench.’
    ‘Yes, madame.’
    She sat back down. During the rest of the afternoon she wondered about Mr Whitgift and the promise of work for Ella. He had said nothing about offering Sadie a position. She knew why, of course.
It was because Ella was pretty and she was plain; she supposed it was too much to ask that he might find a place for both of them. She sighed. She couldn’t cover the stain. When she was
eleven years old Ella had tried to help by bringing home a powder to try to bleach it out. She’d got it from a travelling man who swore that when mixed with water it would make your skin soft
and white.
    ‘I’ll tip it in and you stir,’ Ella had said.
    Together they peered into the basin whilst Sadie blended the powder into a thick lumpy paste.
    ‘What is it?’ Sadie asked.
    ‘Don’t know. He said just to mix it with water, leave it on. Said it would make anything white, that.’
    ‘Here then, pass us the mirror.’
    Ella held up their ma’s old tin mirror for her to look, and Sadie scooped the mixture out of the bowl and daubed it all over until the livid red stain was completely covered.
    It was a moment before she realized the paste stung and her face and hands were burning. She ran screaming to the pail, but too late.
    The swollen eyes and blisters lasted weeks.
    Just the memory prickled her skin like a nettle. And Pa had leathered them both. Even now her skin was likely to flare up if she put anything on it, so she was wary of soap, and would only wash
with plain water, lest it bring the hives back. It was not Ella’s fault, she’d only tried to help. But that’s Ella all over, isn’t it, Sadie thought. She never stops to
think.
    When her skin had finally healed, the mark was still there, redder than ever. So it was no wonder Mr Whitgift didn’t want her serving in his shop. She would probably have to work in the
wig shop for ever. She tried not to let the idea of Ella’s good fortune bother her, picked up the wig