Sunday is payday! Five weekends in October, so ten shillings for me (or half a pound). I’m eager to spend it, but it’s already getting dark by the end of the shift, so Lottie just brings me to a shop that sells clothes. While I managed to buy three fabrics for about two shillings last time, clothes start around one shilling (for a shirt, or trousers) and two shillings (for a dress).

Coats are fairly long, coming down to at least mid-thigh, and are made of treated wool. Rather than waterproof, they’re highly water resistant. The weave is smooth to encourage the water to run off and there’s something like gum or sap rubbed into it (not really sure). Wool itself is decently good with water to begin with, a bit hard for sheep to buy an umbrella, and it’s rather warm as long as I don’t get utterly drenched.

All of those add to the price, the one I end up buying two shillings (with a tuppence change). It’s the same colour as my umbrella and gloves, a sort of dark grey that’s not quite black. The gloves were cheap, a few pence, the umbrella nine. The cloth it’s made of is just as cheap, but it’s been coated in a sort of wax, and it has some wood and metal for the folding part.

And this reminds me of Len and her fiancé’s boots. For boots, there’s no leather. Soft linens are put around a mould and soaked in a special glue for the shape (I think that’s right). Then they’re attached to thin wooden soles that have been coated in a gum—for better grip. You can get shoes that are just cloth (slippers), but they don’t last long on the paved roads of towns and cities.

What this means is that good shoes aren’t cheap. If her fiancé’s shoes are leaking, the glue has probably broken down or worn thin or something, but it probably can’t just be waxed over. Without the glue, it’s just a sock and will probably tear.

It’s not easy being poor.

I mean, I’d give her the money, but she has her pride, doesn’t she? Like, do I really think they can’t manage their finances? She has the money for it, she just wanted to complain to someone. My wedding, well, I certainly won’t have to work to pay for it. However, I can understand it must be upsetting to save for it only to have to give up a couple of weeks’ wages due to poor luck. Not the end of the world, but it sucks.

Anyway, she told me today she made up with Rob, so I shouldn’t worry about this needlessly. Rather than dwell on the unfortunate things that happened, let’s make our futures a little brighter.

Or something less corny.

Dressed in my coat and gloves, the cold isn’t a bother on the walk back to school. I try to tell Lottie she need not bring me to the gate, but she won’t hear a word of it. It’s dusk, even though we didn’t dawdle, so I do feel bad about it. At least it’s not an ongoing problem as (from next week onwards until spring) my work hours will shift from nine to three.

Tomorrow comes quickly, breezing through the bland lessons of Monday while lost in thoughts of my next dress. All that really soaks in is that it’s nearly time for the end-of-term exams. With how the weeks align, we have five left (including this one), so two weeks of lessons, one week of exams, two weeks for teachers to mark them.

That’s for later, though, embroidery club for now! I excuse myself and tell Evan to go ahead while I pick up the fabric from my room. It’s not a big delay, but it’s enough for me to be the last one to the room.

Well, I say that, but I’m stood outside and peeking in through the little glass window. You see, Lady Horsham is also here. Or rather, in there. She and Evan are doing their best not to look at each other, fidgeting, ears red.

It’s pretty hilarious.

Not one to drag things out, I only watch for a handful of seconds before opening the door. “Good to see you all,” I say on the way to my seat.

“And you,” Lady Horsham says, while Evan sort of politely grunts.

Shouldn’t you be warming up to her by now? It only took a week or two with me…. Well, I did rather put him through a crash course.

Lady Horsham has her braided strip of hair that has become part of her style. I know she can do more than that, but I guess it’s hard for someone as (seemingly) shy as her to just up and change. “How are you finding the Dutch braid?” I ask.

On Friday, she’d got the style I’d first done for her somewhat down—a side Dutch braid to match her usual side ponytail. It was a little rough, but she surely practised over the weekend.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“A touch difficult, yet I am getting the hang of it,” she softly says.

“Then, is there something you want me to go over?”

She brings a hand to her shoulder, idly fiddling with the end of her hair. A complicated expression takes over her face. “That is, I have been wondering if you perhaps knew Lady Dover?”

A cold tingle runs down my spine, but I don’t show it, still smiling politely. “She’s in our class and I attended the same finishing school as her,” I say.

“No, that is, not in that sense,” she mumbles, talking down to her lap. “You see, Lady Dover mentioned that a friend did that braid for her as a child, and it seems like you have much experience braiding, so I thought….”

She trails off, still not looking at me. That’s probably better for me, unsure what kind of face I’m making right now. “A lot of girls learn to braid. I would say I am hardly the only one,” I say, trying to keep my tone level.

“Ah, of course. How silly of me,” she says, followed by a nervous giggle. “It’s just… strange she wouldn’t say who, and strange she so often talks of you. I thought, perhaps, something had happened.”

Geez, why does she have to be so perceptive? Is it a shy-person superpower, being overly conscious of every little thing? Probably not.

“If she doesn’t wish to say, I hardly can, but I’m not aware of any incident in particular between us.”

Lady Horsham gently nods. “I see, my imagination simply got the better of me.”

To be honest, I’d say it rather got the better of me.

From there, we settle into a more normal mood as I help her with the parts she found difficult, practising for a bit before she takes her leave. That’s a little relieving for me. I wear a uniform when working at the café, but she could see me in the dormitory or in town. Seeing me cut out the dress would certainly leave an impression on her, wouldn’t it?

Well, she’s not here, and Evan hasn’t mentioned going into town before, so I’m not as worried. The only time he could see me is walking from the dormitory to the gate. Ah, my coat will help, making me stand out less and hiding most of the embroidery.

Anyway, he doesn’t say anything about the dress as I start cutting to the pattern. I wasn’t thinking about it last time, but this time I have some other patterns drawn onto the fabric—posies for Gwen. I don’t have as much practise with handicrafts, but I did some in the old club at Queen Anne’s when I wasn’t just embroidering. The pink’s a better colour for flowers too, even if the green matches her eye colour and hair highlights.

What he does eventually have to say surprises me.

“Say, Lady Kent?”

“Yes?”

He doesn’t look up from his sewing, speaks softly. “You told me before that you stood out for the wrong reasons, back in your old school, is that right?”

Look what you’ve done, Lady Horsham. How are you going to compensate me for this awkward conversation?

“That is correct.”

“Would you, um, if you don’t mind, tell me more?”

This precious thing would probably accept no as an answer. But, you know, as much as I don’t want his pity, I don’t particularly have a reason to keep things secret. “It’s nothing, really. I talked nonsense as a young child, and I wasn’t that sociable, so I pretty much had no friends yet many rumours when my schooling started.”

“Is that really it?” he asks, not demanding nor outraged, but… measured.

I suppose I could give him some insight. “Say, one thing I imagined is a machine that sees, and it can send what it sees through the air, and then another machine that’s like a painting copies what the other machine sees. That way, you can see what’s happening far away.”

It’s really hard to explain television when radios don’t even exist yet.

He hums to himself for a moment, and then says, “That does sound interesting.”

Giggling, I cover my mouth, lower my gaze. “Interesting and strange aren’t all that far apart. So the girls would tease me, ask me about these things I came up with and then walk away laughing.”

Those words hang in the air, while a memory comes back to me.

“Ah, actually, a funny story. For Reading class, the teacher left out a sheet where you could volunteer to read. Well, some of the girls decided to write my name down, filling the whole page with it. The teacher got upset with me for it, and punished me by having me do all the reading for the term. But I read so well that, after the first week, she decided I didn’t need the practise and picked other girls at random instead.”

Huh, is that actually funny? It’s funny to me, but, for Evan (and Ms Berks, if she’s listening), isn’t that just a story of me being bullied?

I guess you had to be there.

All he says is, “I see.” I guess he wasn’t there. It would be worrying if he was, considering it was an all-girls school.

By the end of the club period, I finish most of the cutting. Evan goes ahead while I stay back (since Ms Berks doesn’t budge). Now that I think about it, it was after I first told Evan about the bullying that she showed me (what would have been) her wedding dress. I don’t think anything as dramatic will happen today, sure she’s just letting me finish up.

About ten minutes later, I pack up and say my thanks, shuffling out the room. My life is going to be a lot of embroidering from now on. I mean, not like it wasn’t before.

In the short hallway, I pause, thinking if I have any homework I want to do, the library right here. Though it’s a little dark out, the school has decent lighting around the buildings and along the main paths.

I guess I’d rather not be out in the dark.

Pace brisk, I head back to the dormitory, snuggling up in my room. Ah, it would be nice if I was better with fire magic. I mean, I can sort of make some mild warmth, but it doesn’t last. Drying my hair is fine since it only needs to get hot and breezy for a short while.

Maybe a hot water bottle is the answer. There is the hot tap in the bathroom, after all.

Now, where do I get one?