The Misses Moffet Mend a Marriage

A Victorian San Francisco Story

By M. Louisa Locke

Copyright 2012 by M. Louisa Locke

Cover design Copyright 2012 Michelle Huffaker

Kindle Edition

This short story is based on characters from the full-length novels in Locke's Victorian San Francisco Mystery series, Maids of Misfortune, Uneasy Spirits, and Bloody Lessons.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Millie felt a warm glow of pleasure as her older sister, Minnie, sailed up to the front desk at the Palace, San Francisco’s newest and grandest hotel, and announced, “Miss Minerva and Miss Millicent Moffet, for their appointment with Mrs. Andrew Roberts.”

The desk clerk snapped his fingers at one of the bellmen, who came running over. He bowed and took the large brown-paper parcel from Minnie and her own carpetbag of sewing materials before leading the way to the nearest elevator. This device, the only one that Millie had ever ridden in, was an imposing wood-paneled room that miraculously ascended up to the fifth floor, with just the slightest hiss and jerk when they reached their destination. Even though they had been coming to work for Mrs. Roberts for nearly a year, riding in this odd conveyance never got old for Millie. Neither did the respectful treatment by the staff. As the bellman guided them solicitously down the corridor to Mrs. Roberts’ suite, his dark skin and soft southern accent made her nostalgic for her Natchez home. She and her sister hadn’t been back in the twenty-five years since they and their younger brother were swept up in the golden rush to San Francisco in the early eighteen-fifties.

While her sister continued a stream of questions designed to elicit every detail of the bellman’s history, Millie stepped over to the balcony railing that ran around all four sides of the Grand Court of the Palace Hotel. Noticing how motes of dust drifted in the soft shafts of light slanting down from the glass domed ceiling three stories above, she looked up at the seventh floor, which housed the Conservatory. She hadn’t seen so many marble columns and Greek statues since the doors of polite Natchez society had been slammed in her family’s face when her father went bankrupt. This made her remember the gown she’d made for the cotillion where her engagement was to be announced. It was made of light-blue striped satin and had the large puffed sleeves that were so fashionable back then. The engagement, like the cotillion, had never happened for her. So long ago. I wonder if Percy ever regrets…?

“Millicent!” Minnie’s sharp voice interrupted her melancholy reverie.

Millie obediently returned to stand next to the door to the Roberts’s suite of rooms. The door opened, and Juliette, Mrs. Roberts’s maid, ushered them in. Juliette was wearing a severely tailored dark-blue dress with starched white apron, collar, and cuffs and a white lace cap that the Moffets had made. Millie was particularly proud of the cap, made precisely to Mrs. Roberts’s specifications. Her sister had designed the dress itself, and Mrs. Roberts had confided to them one afternoon during a fitting that she believed that the only reason Juliette stayed in her employ was because of how well she looked in her uniform.

She’d said, with her engaging laugh, “She hates living in the hotel. Our suite is such a long way from the basement where the maids are housed, and Juliette says the matron in charge of the servant dormitory is worse than a prison guard. Of course, I can’t help but wonder what she knows about prison guards.”

Mrs. Roberts, formerly Jewell Darling, a favorite of the vaudeville circuit, was now married to the respected and wealthy Mr. Andrew Roberts, a partner in the Union Ironworks who was at least thirty years her senior. Minnie disapproved of her, but Millie found her lively sense of humor refreshing. Of course, she didn’t tell Minnie that.

Juliette dismissed the bellman as soon as she had relieved him of his burdens and followed the two sisters into the large, elegantly appointed room that served the Roberts as their parlor. Mrs. Roberts, as usual, hadn’t emerged from the adjoining bedroom, so Minnie switched the flow of her conversation to the maid while carefully unwrapping the parcel and laying the three long pieces of a burnt-orange satin fabric out on the table to the left of the fireplace.

Millie silently went over to the brocade-covered armchair where the maid had deposited her carpetbag and pulled out the red pincushion, making sure that there was a threaded needle stuck into the cushion before strapping it onto her left wrist. She laid out the spool of thread and the slender, sharp scissors on the table, close at hand.

The maid, who had been putting another log on the fire, broke into Minnie’s description of how the weather reminded her of Fall in Natchez to ask her if they were ready. Minnie nodded, and Juliette knocked lightly on the door to the bedroom and then went in.

“I hope she is willing to stand still long enough for us to get the waist fitted properly,” Minnie said, sighing.

Millie smiled. Every Wednesday morning, they were scheduled to spend an hour at Mrs. Roberts’s hotel suite for a dress fitting, and almost every Wednesday, they were dismissed after only twenty minutes, the lady professing that she couldn’t remain stationary a single minute more.

“Juliette, serve Miss Minnie and Miss Millie their tea, and then you can go.” Mrs. Roberts, a tall, raven-haired beauty, swept into the parlor. “I will probably have a little rest after they leave, so you don’t need to return until four.”

Juliette bobbed a curtsy and went over to a table covered in burgundy velvet that was located near the door to pour out two cups of tea. She also removed a thick linen napkin, revealing a plate piled high with slices of ham, Swiss cheese, and soft rolls.

Millie sighed, since she knew that even the tea would remain untouched by either her or her sister as long as they were handling the delicate satin material, but she did appreciate the gesture. Thank goodness for the excellent breakfast served at Mrs. Fuller’s boarding house, or I might be tempted to break Minnie’s “no food when working” rule.

Mrs. Roberts went over and began to caress the semi-finished sections of skirt lying spread out on the larger table. “Oh my, that satin is heavenly; the color is just as I imagined. And those pleats!”

Millie’s sister launched into the story of the difficulties in getting the thread dyed to match the shade of the satin while Mrs. Roberts took off the pale-lilac wrapper she wore and handed it to Millie. Her sister had designed this dressing gown last summer for Mrs. Roberts, and she had spent every night for a month sewing on the delicate strips of lace that ran down the front of it. She saw that the seam at the neck was torn, and several of the tiny ivory buttons were loose. Mrs. Roberts was hard on her clothes.

Minnie would say it was because she hadn’t been brought up as a lady. She certainly wasn’t as shy as some of their customers were about standing around in her underthings. Today, she only had on a single petticoat in addition to her chemise and drawers, probably because the dress they were fitting was in the new long cuirass style that went smoothly over the waist and hips. However, the fact that Mrs. Roberts wasn’t wearing her corset was going to make it hard to measure the skirt accurately, which was their task today.

Minnie went over and pulled the sturdy footstool over to the fireplace, and Mrs. Roberts went and stood on it. Then she took the front panel, the one with all the pleats, and held it up to Mrs. Roberts, inside out, while Millie securely pinned the side panels to it at the waist. Mrs. Roberts obligingly held the sides of the skirt up while she and her sister tacked on the back panel. While basting the waistband to the skirt, Minnie chattered about the twisted scarf drapery that they were going to fasten to the back of the outfit. Meanwhile, Millie swiftly pinned the four panels together, seams side out. They had made the skirt go straight down from the hips, only beginning a very slight flair at the knees, so that Mrs. Roberts could actually walk in the outfit when it was completed.

Working so closely to her scantily clothed client, Millie couldn’t help but notice the musky scent that rose from Mrs. Roberts’s warm skin. She wondered if men liked that sort of animal smell. In her youth, she had folded her clothing in lavender, but she had never before considered whether her fiancé would have preferred something stronger. Ladies just didn’t think in those terms fifty years ago. Then, as Minnie would point out, Mrs. Roberts was no lady.

“Miss Minnie, weren’t you going to trim the ends of the skirt with the cashmere you are using on the bodice?” Mrs. Roberts asked.

Her sister stopped in the midst of her description of the new princess-style walking dress she was making for another customer and responded, “Yes, Mrs. Roberts, you are quite correct. Millicent is going to mark where the flounce will attach to the inside of the skirt, and then I will know how deep to make the triangles we talked about. As I always say, ‘Measure twice, cut once.’ I really believe the finished skirt will be very fetching once I have added the cashmere. That was an excellent idea on your part; there won’t be another one like it this season. I wouldn’t be surprised, however, if it catches on and we have requests for it in the future. I promise not to….”

Millie heard the sound of the outer door to the adjoining bedroom open and then close, and she looked up at the clock on the mantle. They had come at noon, and it was now nearly twenty-five past the hour. She quickly knelt down to fold and pin the bottom of the skirt up, automatically calculating how much extra material would be needed to ensure that, when Mrs. Roberts was wearing her shoes with their three-inch heels, there wouldn’t be a whisper of space between the end of the dress and the floor. As their client began to fidget, her sister made a valiant effort to buy Millie a little more time by asking Mrs. Roberts a question about the play they knew she had planned to attend last Saturday.

It was of no use. Mrs. Roberts had evidently heard the door as well, and she said sharply, “Do unpin me! You’ve surely gotten what you need. We can finish fitting the skirt next week.”

Millie rose and quickly repositioned the pins along one of the seams so that the skirt was now open at the side, permitting Mrs. Roberts to extricate herself. Once, she hadn’t moved quickly enough and Mrs. Roberts had pulled two pieces of material apart in her impatience, damaging the material irreparably. As her sister would say, ‘Haste makes waste!’

“Oh dear, I had hoped you would have time to partake of the lunch I had brought up for you. You didn’t even drink your tea,” Mrs. Roberts said, her good humor restored now that she was free.  She stretched and pretended to yawn, saying, “I just don’t know what has come over me. I am suddenly so fatigued. You will excuse me, won’t you? I must insist that you gather up your things and go. I really must retire.”

Mrs. Roberts pulled on the lilac-colored wrapper, not even taking time to button it up, and stood next to the door leading to the hotel hallway.

The habitual smile her sister wore flickered out, and as Minnie hurriedly folded up the skirt, she said, so softly that Millie barely made out the words, “Once again, new dress, new admirer. I wonder who she has gotten into her clutches this time?”

Millie felt sorry for Mrs. Porter, who was obviously finding it difficult to stand while Minnie took her measurements. She knew it was a breach of good manners even to allude to Mrs. Porter’s pregnancy, but she had a strong desire to ask the poor young woman if she was carrying twins. Fortunately, her habit of never saying anything in front of other people protected her from this social solecism.

“Oomph, I am so sorry, Miss Minnie. I know I’m not making this easier on you, but I really must sit again,” the young woman sighed and lowered herself into the straight-backed chair next to the tea table.

Millie’s sister replied, “Oh my dear Mrs. Porter, that is quite all right. My sister will freshen up your cup of tea if you would like. Are you sure you don’t want to pull that chair nearer to the fire? The fog hasn’t burned off yet, and the air feels so cold. Of course, it is not nearly as dangerous as the damp mists of the Mississippi that Miss Millicent and I experienced growing up in Natchez.”

Mrs. Porter shook her head and distractedly flapped her hands in front of her cheeks, where angry red splotches had replaced the soft rose color that usually lent a particular sweetness to this young woman’s face. “Oh my, no, I am so hot. Please, Miss Millie, could you pour me a glass of water? I’m parched.”

Millie started towards the table under the front window that held the tea tray and a pitcher of water, noticing several long orange threads lying on the floor, bright against the dark brown of the carpet. She bent over, picked them up, and began to twist them around her index finger, thinking to herself of the old adage, another of her sister’s favorites, Waste Not, Want Not. She then saw several more of the orange threads, leading like so many breadcrumbs to the door to the bedroom. As she picked these up, she felt a growing unease.

It was unlikely that the threads had come from either her sister or herself, because this morning, as they always did, they had brushed each other down and checked the soles of their shoes before leaving their attic rooms. This was one of Minnie’s rules. They were never to risk bringing the flotsam and jetsam of their craft into the homes of their clients. “We must be neat as a new pin,” she would say. They also tried to make sure that they left behind no bits of thread or cloth, but the orange thread suddenly put her in mind of the way they had been hustled out of Mrs. Roberts’s hotel suite the day before.

Unbidden, Millie had a vision of Mrs. Roberts, her cotton chemise and petticoat catching the small loose threads from the unfinished seams and hem of the skirt they had been working on. But how could these threads have made it across town to the Porter’s home in the Western Addition?

“Mrs. Porter,” Millie blurted out, “do you know a Mrs. Andrew Roberts?”

Lydia Porter stopped fanning herself for a moment and stared at Millie, who felt the old familiar menagerie of panic: the tiny bird that fluttered in her chest, the coils of the snake that squeezed her throat closed and hissed in her ears, and the shaggy brown bear that loomed over her, cutting out the light. She stood still, willing herself not to faint, and slowly the comforting sounds of her sister’s voice chattering on about the benefits of drinking water with lemon penetrated her consciousness and released her from the paralyzing fear. Millie took a deep breath and walked unsteadily over to her sister, who looked questioningly at her. She wordlessly gave her the little pile of orange thread she had accumulated, and then she went and got poor Mrs. Porter her glass of water.

Mrs. Annie Fuller looked across at her two elderly boarders, Miss Minnie and Miss Millie Moffet, and wondered if she would ever learn why they had asked her to join them after dinner. She had been glad to oblige since she didn’t have any clients scheduled for this evening (a widow, she supplemented the income from her boarding house giving business and domestic advice as the clairvoyant Madam Sibyl), and she had a deep affection and respect for these two spinster seamstresses who seemed to embrace life with such good cheer.

However, Miss Minnie, the elder, had been speaking for nearly five minutes about the Christmas tree her family had when she was fifteen and her sister Millie was eleven, and Annie doubted very much if that had been the point of their invitation to join them in the formal front parlor of the boarding house. While Annie rather enjoyed imagining these two women as girls, stringing popped corn and dried cranberries around a fifteen-foot fir tree, her time this evening was limited. She had promised Nate Dawson, the local lawyer who was courting her, that she would be free if he stopped by, and he would not appreciate finding her chaperoned by Miss Minnie and Miss Millie since he had the unreasonable belief that they disapproved of him.

Annie repressed a grin. Miss Minnie did have the habit of talking about the particular charms of the young men of Natchez when Nate was around. He said that this was proof they felt he wasn’t good enough for Annie. She thought that it was more likely that he simply reminded them of the gentlemen of their youth because he was clean-shaven, which had been the fashion back then, and because he treated them with such kind politeness.

“… and that was the Christmas when our older brother brought us back those china dolls from his trip to New Orleans. Don’t you remember, Millicent? And Jasper hid yours in the privy! Jasper was only seven at the time, but he was always getting into trouble. Mrs. Fuller, you remember, Jasper was our baby brother, and we were so used to taking care of him that we came all the way out west, just to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble out here. Of course…”

Annie saw Miss Millie place her hand on her older sister’s arm, and the flow of reminiscences faltered. She found herself holding her breath, waiting to see if Miss Millie would say something. The two women sitting in front of her, in their identical black-silk dresses, were physically so alike they could be twins. They were both tiny, with ramrod straight postures, white hair parted neatly in the center and swept back under identical lace caps, and merry light-blue eyes. Miss Minnie seemed to walk a little more stiffly than her younger sister, and the effects of a lifetime of needlework (slight reddening around the eyes and swollen knuckles) were more prominent in her as well. But one didn’t need to look that closely to determine which of the two women was which, because the difference was unmistakable. The elder, Miss Minnie, never stopped talking, and the younger, Miss Millie, never said a word. Ever. The only reason Annie knew that she could speak was that Kathleen, her maid, had heard them talking to each other up in their attic workroom. Annie had always wondered if Miss Minnie spoke so much because her sister didn’t or if Miss Millie had given up trying to speak around her extremely loquacious older sister.

Annie saw Miss Minnie look quickly at her younger sister, and then she began to speak again. “Mrs. Fuller, Millicent has reminded me that Miss Kathleen mentioned that your nice young man, Mr. Dawson, was stopping by this evening, and we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Of course, back when I was young, it was considered a lady’s prerogative to keep a gentleman waiting.”

Annie took advantage of the brief pause that followed this last statement, and she said, “Please, Miss Minnie, do tell me how I might be of service to you and your sister. Do you need anything to make your rooms more comfortable? Mrs. O’Rourke had mentioned that you could use an additional lamp in your work room now that the days are growing so short.”

“Oh, Mrs. Fuller, no, we are quite comfortable. No one could be more obliging. No, it is your advice we need. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ I always say. We are quite out of our depth, you see. But we feel we must do something. It is our moral responsibility. But sister and I don’t quite agree on how to proceed. Millicent suggested that you might be able to help. Because of Madam Sibyl. She pointed out that you get paid to give advice as Madam Sibyl and that you might actually have run across a similar problem. We would be willing to pay…”

“Oh please, Miss Minnie, there is no need. If I can be of help to you, it is my pleasure. If you could just tell me what the problem is exactly!” Annie broke in, appalled that these two hard-working women would feel the need to spend a single penny for her help.

Miss Minnie again looked at her sister, as if expecting her to speak, but Miss Millie remained mute, so she resumed. “You see, Mrs. Fuller, it concerns two of our clients. One, a young woman, I shall call her Mrs. P, has been married less than a year, and she is expecting a child next month. We believe that her husband has taken up with another of our clients. I shall call her Mrs. J. This second client, a former actress, is married to a much older man to whom, I am sorry to say, she is frequently unfaithful. I believe that it is our duty to tell the first woman that her husband has violated their wedding vows, but my sister says that this would be too unkind, that there must be another way.”

Annie, thoroughly surprised, said the first thing that came to her mind. “Miss Minnie, are you sure of your facts? I mean, could you be mistaken? I would hate to counsel any action if you didn’t have firm proof that there has been any wrong-doing.” She pushed away the absurd thought that these very respectable older women had actually stumbled in on an adulterous couple in flagrante delicto, as it were.

“Mrs. Fuller, I understand your concern. I can assure you that there is no other explanation for what we have found,” Miss Minnie said firmly. “This Thursday morning, we were visiting the first woman, Mrs. P, making adjustments to several of her garments to accommodate the last month leading up to her confinement. My sister discovered some thread on the floor of the upstairs sitting room, near the bedroom door, that could only have come from a dress we are making for the other client. When Millicent showed me the thread, I instantly understood her concern. I asked the young woman if she had ever had an occasion to meet Mrs. J, and she had not. However, she mentioned that her husband had met her for the first time two weeks ago at a dinner party.”

Annie replied, “If I understand you correctly, you believe that the thread had been tracked into the house by the pregnant woman’s husband? My dear Miss Minnie, couldn’t it have been from one of the young woman’s dresses, or perhaps the husband may have simply picked up the thread at the dinner party? Although I suppose that it is odd that it would not have been tidied up by a servant sometime in those two weeks.”

“Oh, Mrs. Fuller, it couldn’t have come from our young mother-to-be. Good heavens, she would never wear that shade, not with her complexion. Anyway, the thread perfectly matched the thread we had specially dyed to match the material for Mrs. J’s dress. In addition, this past Wednesday was the first day we took the material to Mrs. J’s hotel suite, just the day before we found it at Mrs. P’s house. We have a standing appointment on Wednesdays with Mrs. J, since there is usually some sewing that needs to be done, even if we are not actually working on an outfit. But this Wednesday, we had the first fitting of a new dress she had commissioned. The bits of thread, I am afraid, got all over our client in the fitting, and someone came into the adjoining room while we were there so she hurried us off before we could clean it up. The only possible explanation is that the person who entered that room was Mr. P and that he immediately came into such close proximity to Mrs. J that the thread was conveyed to him. He must have then shed the thread in his own sitting room when he returned that evening.”

Annie wondered why the older woman was so sure that there wasn’t any other explanation for the thread’s mysterious trip from one home to the other, and she said, “I still don’t see why you see this as proof of his infidelity. Even if he was the person who came into the room, perhaps there is an innocent explanation. Couldn’t he have dropped by to see her husband and, in the midst of his visit, brushed up against her skirts?”

Miss Minnie tittered, which quite shocked Annie. Then the older woman said, “Well, he certainly brushed up against something, but it wasn’t her skirts. When we left, she wasn’t wearing much beyond her chemise and drawers, and, you see, he wouldn’t have been the first gentleman we have heard surreptitiously enter our client’s bedroom in the middle of the day when her husband was away.”

“Oh my,” replied Annie, quite taken aback by the older woman’s blunt statement.

Miss Minnie again looked over at her sister, who gave her an encouraging smile. “The sad truth is that we have known for some time that our client uses her dress-fitting appointments as an excuse to dismiss her maid for the afternoon so that she can entertain her gentleman friends without detection. My sister has been of the opinion that when she gets a new admirer, she commissions a new outfit, and when she tires of them, she often cancels her appointment with us. She commissioned this newest outfit right after the dinner party where she met our Mr. P. When we realized that her new admirer must be our other client’s young husband, well, you can imagine our distress.”

Annie was speechless. Until now, she had thought of these two elderly ladies as complete innocents, delicately reared in the South, living a narrow sheltered life, and taking care of their bachelor brother until they were forced to support themselves upon his death. She was quickly revising that image.

As if she had read her mind, Miss Minnie said, “Mrs. Fuller, I am sorry if I have shocked you. My sister and I have supported ourselves with our sewing for well over half a century, and you would be amazed at what a dressmaker learns about the families she sews for. We are often the first to know when a child has been conceived, when there is an illness, when there are financial problems, and, unfortunately, when there are difficulties in a marriage. My sister and I long ago decided that if we were unwilling to work for families where there were moral transgressions, we would starve. And we have prided ourselves in our discretion.” Miss Minnie looked directly at Annie.

“This is why we have come to you for advice. We are afraid that the natural distance that comes between a husband and wife as the woman comes close to the time of her confinement, when she is thinking of little more than the coming child, may have made an essentially good man vulnerable to the lures of a very beautiful and charming woman. My sister and I agree that something should be done, but we disagree over what we should do.”

Annie nodded, thinking about a number of the women who had come to Madam Sibyl with similar stories. But what could these two women do that wouldn’t simply make things worse? She certainly didn’t want to advise anything that would damage their livelihood. But giving advice was what she did daily as Madam Sibyl, so she started with what she felt they shouldn’t do.

“Miss Minnie, I am afraid that I must agree with your sister. Telling your young client, particularly now as she nears the birth of her child, would not only be cruel but could actually endanger her health and that of the baby.”

Annie had personal experience with the devastating effects an emotional upheaval could have on a woman’s pregnancy, but she pushed this thought away and continued. “There is the chance he may not have consummated the affair yet, but once his wife learns that he has even been tempted to stray, this could permanently ruin their future together. Have the young couple known each other long?”

Miss Minnie said, “From what our young client has said, they have known each other since childhood, and they are both no more than their early twenties. In my experience, a woman will find comfort in marrying a man she has known for most of her life. For a man, this may produce a negative impression, that he has been too quickly confined into the strict boundaries of married life. As they say, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’”

Annie noticed that Miss Millie stirred at her sister’s words and smiled sadly. Again, she felt that she was seeing unsuspected depths in these two women. Nodding, Annie then asked another question. “Do you think that letting your other client know that this young man has a young wife at home might stir her conscience at all? Could she be persuaded to break off the liaison herself?”

Miss Minnie shook her head emphatically. “I am quite sure she already knows the particulars, and I cannot see her forgoing her own pleasure. She plays the lady, all charm and sweetness, but there is an underlying selfishness that betrays her. She acts as if the world owes her. My sister, who I confess has a softer heart than mine, thinks that something that happened in her past might explain this attitude.”

Annie then said, “Well, it seems to me that there are then only two possible paths for you to take. One is to say nothing, hoping that the young husband will come to his senses on his own and break off the liaison before it irrevocably destroys his marriage. The second path would be to speak to the young man himself, who, if your judgment of his essential goodness is correct, will find the idea that someone else is aware of his transgressions enough to cause him to do the right thing.”

Miss Minnie said, “Oh dear, Mrs. Fuller, we could never speak directly to the young man. Goodness, how could we? A lady should never mention such things to a member of the opposite sex, not even to their male relatives. Oh my, no, that simply is impossible.”

Annie was bemused by Miss Minnie’s sudden switch back to wide-eyed innocent, and she started to apologize for upsetting her so when the younger sister leaned over to Miss Minnie and again placed her hand on her arm and gave her a speaking look.

Miss Minnie nodded and then said, as if her sister had actually spoken to her, “Millicent wondered if you thought it might help if we could find a way to indicate indirectly to the young man that we worked for Mrs. J. It might make him realize how easy it would be for his indiscretions to be discovered.”

Annie nodded and said, “It is possible that this might work, if you can figure out how to do this discreetly.”

Miss Minnie looked over at her sister and then back to Annie, smiled, and said, “I’m sure Millicent will come up with a plan. She always does.”

“Dear Mrs. Porter, we are so grateful you were able to accommodate our request to see you at seven. A terrible imposition, I know, so early in the morning. But one of our other clients has rather an emergency, and she needs our services at nine. We did want to get these outfits to you for their final fittings. I can assure you, you will be much more comfortable in the navy cashmere now that we have taken out the seams again.”

“Dear Miss Minnie,” said Lydia Porter, “no need to apologize. I don’t sleep at all well of late; I just can’t get comfortable. I was glad to have you come this early. At least I had something to anticipate with pleasure; I get so bored with myself. I am sure my husband…oh, listen to me complain. I am confident the cashmere is fine; you have done such a clever job adapting my dresses to my changing state. Although at this point, there is no hiding my condition so I won’t be out in public very much. I suppose it will be good to have the navy for church. Thank heavens the high bustle isn’t in fashion this year. You wouldn’t know whether I was coming or going!” The young woman’s laughter wobbled into a teary smile.

Miss Minnie patted her shoulder consolingly and said in her most cheerful tones, “Sister Millicent, come see how beautiful our Mrs. Porter looks with the pink lace you put around the collar of the dressing gown.” She gently moved the young woman so she could see herself in the mirror over the mantle. She was wearing a wrapper the Moffets had made for her of deep-rose satin, overlaid by pale-pink lace, whose front and back panels fell smoothly from a high yoke to the floor, like a feminine version of a minister’s vestments.

“My dear, you look lovely. Doesn’t she, Millicent? I do declare it is a shame that only your husband is going to see you in it. Oh my, I hope we haven’t disturbed him by coming at this early hour. My dear papa just hated when his morning routine was interrupted. Don’t you remember, Millicent? How he would huff and puff so. Has your husband left for work already?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I believe he must have gone down to breakfast before I…I am sure he will come to say goodbye before he leaves.”

Millie noticed the hesitation in Mrs. Porter’s voice and felt quite a sharp stab of anger at the young man. She did hope that they would be able to show him the error of his ways. Just because her long ago fiancé, Percival, had proven himself unworthy of her esteem, abandoning her when she lost her fortune, didn’t mean that Minnie was correct to say that all men were as frail.

As if summoned by his wife’s words, the door to the sitting room opened and Mr. Porter walked in. He was a tall, wide-shouldered young man, whose glossy black hair was swept back from his forehead, revealing clear gray eyes. He had a well-trimmed mustache and beard, stylishly long side-burns, and the clear complexion of youth. Certainly handsome enough to attract Mrs. Roberts’s fancy.

He looked slightly startled not to find his wife alone and said, “Pardon me, I didn’t know you were engaged. Miss Minnie and Miss Millie, I hope you are well.”

Millie noted that he wasn’t able to look at his wife, and he continued to stand near the door as if to make a quick exit.

Her sister said, “Mr. Porter, how wonderful to see you. You have become quite a stranger, never here when we visit. The other day when we were fitting your mother for a day gown, she told us she had scolded your father for keeping you at the office so long, neglecting your family. I quite agreed with her. My mother always said about a young married couple that it was important that they start out cherishing each other because, ‘Well begun is half done.’”

At this point, Millie judged it time to interrupt her sister by handing her a folded white handkerchief. 

Minnie took the handkerchief and walked rapidly over to Mr. Porter, saying, “This is fortuitous. Somehow, last week, this handkerchief made it into our sewing bag. Millicent has reminded me that we are trying to find its rightful owner. The embroidered initials are so intricate; we were having difficulty determining what they are. I think the initials are R. T. and P, and I said to myself, surely this must belong to Mr. Richard Porter, remembering that your middle name is Thomas. Was I right; is this yours?” Minnie then thrust the square of linen under the young man’s nose, pointing to the initials.

Mr. Porter glanced obligingly down to where Minnie pointed, and then he reared back as if he had just seen a poisonous spider hiding in the folds of white linen. He stuttered out, “No, that’s not mine. I am afraid you are wrong; it belongs to someone else.”

Minnie put the handkerchief up close to her eyes, as if she had grown suddenly nearsighted, and she said, “Oh dear, are you sure? Well, you know Millicent said that she thought I had mistaken the first and last initials. Could that first letter be an A instead of an R? What do you think, Mr. Porter?”

Minnie thrust the offending square in the young man’s face as he again backed away.  Looking closely at the embroidered letters again, she said, “Dear me, if Millicent is correct, and now I see that the initial for the last name could be an R, and the first initial is an A, this must belong to Mr. Andrew Roberts. I do believe his middle name is also Thomas. Surely you must have met him. Mr. Roberts is the owner of the Union Iron Works, and it was my understanding that Mr. Robert’s company supplies most of the iron pieces for the carriages you make in your father’s factory.”

When Mr. Porter made an inarticulate sound, Minnie continued, saying, “And have you made the acquaintance of his charming wife? A woman with such an interesting past. Mr. Roberts just dotes on his lovely wife, nothing but the best for her. Yes, I do believe we must have picked this handkerchief up when we were at their suite at the Palace Hotel last Wednesday. We are there every Wednesday, rain or shine, working on something or another for Mrs. Roberts, one of our best customers. I do believe that new dresses, like new people, are a kind of hobby with her. Although she quickly loses interest, lets one enthusiasm go when she picks up another. Well, well, you have been so helpful, Mr. Porter. We will certainly return this handkerchief to its proper owner. I always say, ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’ Isn’t that right, Mr. Porter?”

With a look that Millie could only characterize as knowing, her sister nodded to Mr. Porter and moved back to hover around Mrs. Porter, who was looking confused by the interchange. Mr. Porter didn’t look confused; he looked stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. He then glanced her way, and Millie shook her head gently and gave him a sad smile. She saw a blush stain his cheeks.

He said gruffly, “Miss Minnie, Miss Millie, your servant. My dear, I must be off. Have a good day,” and then he bowed sharply and left the room.

Millie sighed as she looked at Lydia Porter, radiant with happiness, holding her newborn son in her arms. Young master Augustus, named after his grandfather, looked smug. Thinking perhaps of his grandfather’s carriage business that he would no doubt inherit at some future date, carriages being one of the products that would continue to be built for as long as people needed to be conveyed from one place to another. Mr. Porter stood behind his wife’s chair, his hand resting on her shoulder, his grey eyes wary as her sister Minnie approached.

They had come to deliver a new dress for Mrs. Porter to wear at the christening. They had designed the bodice so that it would not require tight corseting yet would still hide the fact that Mrs. Porter had not yet regained her previous tiny waist.

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Porter, we are so pleased to see you all looking in such good health,” Millie’s sister said, moving up to the young mother to take a closer look at the child. “What a big boy he is. Oh my, I do believe he is going to have his mother’s lovely brown eyes. And his wee little hands. So cunning. We were honored that you asked us to attend the christening, and if you would accept this gown and cap we have made for the occasion, we would be truly grateful.”

Minnie turned to Millie, who walked over to the couple, unwrapping tissue to reveal the white cotton gown covered with Ayrshire lace and delicately embroidered flowers, which they had been working on in their spare moments for most of Mrs. Porter’s confinement. Minnie picked up and handed the mother a small white embroidered cap that Millie had made to go with the christening gown. “Mrs. Porter, I know how you appreciate my sister’s needlework. See how she has cleverly worked the young man’s initials in amongst the flowers.”

Mrs. Porter beamed and then said, “Miss Minnie and Miss Millie, you shouldn’t have. Such exquisite work! I will treasure this, and I can assure you that every child I have will get their chance to wear it. Look, Richard, she has worked his initials into the cap, right there among the flowers.”

Millie was glad to see the fond look on Richard Porter’s face when his wife mentioned future children and the polite way he examined the cap that looked so tiny in his large hands. He returned the cap to his wife and indicated that she and her sister move a little away from his wife, who was busy trying the cap on Master Augustus, who managed to look even more self-satisfied.

“Miss Minnie and Miss Millie,” Mr. Porter said, taking an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit coat, “I just wanted to settle our accounts today. You will notice that there is a little extra as my token of appreciation for all the support you have given my wife during these last difficult months. I know that she sorely felt the lack of company at the end of her confinement, and your visits cheered her up so. The last time I saw you, I was struck by your admonition that I spend more time with my wife. I wanted to assure you that I took your words to heart and that I have changed my ways.”

With a graceful bow, he handed the envelope over to Minnie, who smiled up at him and said, “That is excellent. You know I gave Mr. Andrew Roberts a bit of a scold as well when I returned his missing handkerchief. I was pleased to hear he was planning to take his charming wife on an extended European tour. We spinsters are used to fending for ourselves, but you gentlemen must be careful of your wives. My goodness, me, I don’t mean to chatter on about all of this. As I always say, ‘The least said, the soonest mended.’”

The End

About the Author

M. Louisa Locke, a retired professor of U.S. and Women’s history at San Diego Mesa College, has taken her historical story telling in a new direction with her best-selling Victorian San Francisco Mystery series, Maids of Misfortune, the first in this series, features women's occupations in the late 19th century and is based on Dr. Locke's doctoral research Uneasy Spirits, the sequel, explores women and 19th Spiritualism, and her third book, Bloody Lessons, focuses on teachers working in the San Francisco public schools in 1880.

Go to http://mlouisalocke.com/ for more about M. Louisa Locke and her work, including information about her short stories, Dandy Detects and The Misses Moffet Mend a Marriage, which are based on characters from the novels. If you are interested in the historical research behind these books, Locke writes about this here.

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