The Cedar Cutter (13 page)

And she did, she truly did. Not only would Ruan get to learn and be with other children, it would free her to spend more time working, if and only if, she had something to work on. Well, she'd soon know. What kind of a makeover would Mrs Blackmore require?

‘Carrick will be back soon.'

‘And how do you know that?'

Ruan rolled his eyes and tipped his head to one side, looking for all the world as though he was dealing with someone of limited intelligence. ‘Because it's four weeks since the last time he was here and the bullocky comes through every four weeks.'

‘He also said that he didn't always come with the bullocky. And that he thought it would be at least six weeks before he was through again.' She hadn't forgotten. The date sat lodged in her mind because she was planning to ask him if he'd eat with them. An apology for her ridiculous overreaction the last time he was here. She'd even planned a mutton pie and pickled cabbage. ‘We'll just have to wait and see. If you're going to be at school you might not have as much time to spend with Carrick.'

‘Oh.' His eyes widened. ‘I didn't think of that. Am I allowed to have a holiday from school?'

‘Only when it's holiday time. Mr Blackmore said he and his wife were going to Sydney for a wedding so I expect there might be a day off here or there.'

Ruan edged towards the door.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘To ask Mr Blackmore.'

‘You can't go chasing after him. He's a busy man. Wait until I speak to Mrs Blackmore about her dress. I'll ask her then or you can ask Mr Blackmore when you're at school.' Her stomach clutched in anticipation. This might be the beginning. Mr Blackmore had said his wife had many friends in the area. It wasn't what she'd have asked for, remodelling an old dress, but if she did a decent job surely word would spread.

‘I'll tell you what. Why don't we walk along the brook and call in and see Maisie. She might know when Carrick is next expected through town.'

Roisin's heart caught as she waved from the school gate. In his new corduroy breeches with matching cap perched on his head Ruan seemed so grown up striding towards his future. She wiped the tear trickling down her cheek and smiled at her foolishness as she strolled back up the road. Mrs Blackmore would be calling and she wanted one last chance to check the parlour to make sure she'd left everything in place. A nonsense really because if she'd organised the room once she'd done it a million times. Still, first impressions counted and so did first customers.

‘Morning, Elsie.' She slowed as she approached the General Store, itching to get back inside, but not wanting to appear rude.

‘Taken my boy off to school, have you?'

She nodded. ‘I'm a little miserable. He's not my little boy anymore.'

‘Not such a bad thing. Give you a bit more time to concentrate on that business of yours.'

‘I have my first real customer coming in a moment or two.'

‘Oh, that's exciting. Who would that be?'

‘Really, Elsie, I shouldn't tell you. It's a question of confidentiality.'

‘Con-fi-den-she-who?' Elsie waggled her head from side to side, a wide grin splitting her face, highlighting the gap between her two front teeth.

‘Privacy, Elsie. Have to keep appointments private. My customers might not want everyone in town to know they're calling.'

‘Bit like that place in Sydney you were talking about, Maison Frenchess. Oh look! Here's Mrs Blackmore with her dress all parcelled up ready for the alterations. Off you go now, you don't want to be late.'

‘How did you know?'

Elsie tapped the side of her nose with her finger. ‘It's all a question of con-fi-den-she-who. Get on with you. You have a business to run.'

And didn't she know it. With a quick skip Roisin turned the corner, rushed down the path and yanked open the door. Smoothing her skirt, she cast a glance around the room and then strode back to the door.

‘Good morning, Mrs Blackmore.'

With her curls clustered beneath a dilapidated straw bonnet adorned with a bunch of faded artificial cherries, the schoolmaster's wife took in every inch of the room with her shrewd dark eyes.

‘Good morning, my dear. Mr Blackmore said you were willing to help me out.'

‘I hope I shall be able to do that. Would you like to come inside?'

Mrs Blackmore eased her way through the small front door and into the parlour. ‘Why this is delightful.' Her gaze darted around the room. ‘Mr Blackmore said you had settled in well.'

‘Please, take a seat.' Roisin gestured to the chair by the fire. The small padded seat had seemed quite adequate when Mr Blackmore had visited. As his wife lowered her bulk, Roisin's lips twitched and she sent up a silent prayer that the woman wouldn't end up flat on her back and her legs in the air. She pushed the picture to the back of her mind. ‘Is this the dress you'd like me to look at?'

Mrs Blackmore offered a very large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘Yes this is my gown. I fear it is somewhat outdated and I simply don't have the time to have a new one made. We can be in Sydney for only two days. Mr Blackmore can't leave his charges for any longer. A dress for an occasion such as this is way beyond my limited skills.'

Roisin placed the parcel on the table and unwrapped the brown paper with a strange mixture of apprehension and elation. If she could make a success of this, then more work might follow. Fail and she'd be lucky to see another customer.

The paper fell away to reveal a mound of murky-brown satin. She swallowed and lifted the dress from the shoulders and shook it out. With a rustle of displeasure it settled to reveal wide full sleeves, a scooped neckline and not much else to recommend it. A small sigh escaped her lips. It would take every ounce of her imagination to make this dated day dress into something suitable for a Sydney wedding.

‘Too difficult, my dear? I wouldn't be at all surprised.' Mrs Blackmore's face flushed ember red. ‘A Wollombi schoolteacher's wife has very little need of anything sophisticated.'

It would certainly stretch her imagination; however, she'd no intention of giving up this early in the piece. ‘No, no I have an idea or two. Would you mind slipping the dress on?'

Mrs Blackmore's hand rose to her chest, and her gaze searched the room, and then settled on the glass window.

‘I can draw the curtains and wait outside if you would like some privacy.'

More colour infused the poor woman's cheeks as she checked for any lurking observers.

‘I can also lock the door.' She sent up a silent prayer, thanking Carrick for his help. ‘There's a curtain in the corner there and I could help you with any lacing.'

‘Just tell me what you have in mind, I'm not sure Mr Blackmore would approve of me removing my clothing in your parlour.'

No, he probably wouldn't. This was something that hadn't crossed her mind. Her clients in Sydney were more than happy—used to, in fact—slipping in and out of any garments when they came for a fitting. Perhaps in the country she'd have to consider an alternative.

Instead, Roisin spread the dress out on the table. ‘I could alter the sleeves, make them smaller, even remove them. If you'll be wearing the dress in the evening it would be more suitable. And …' She paused, her mind racing through the options. ‘One moment.'

Inside the trunk there was a length of blushing apricot silk. Placing it against the brown as an overskirt with some ribbon roses, or even bows made from the material in the sleeves … She delved into her trunk.

‘There.' She held the lustrous material aloft. ‘I think perhaps with a drape and a fichu of lace adorned with some roses like these.' She dropped a ribbon rose she'd made for a very pretty corset for one of Aunt Lil's girls into Mrs Blackmore's hand. The possibility of Mrs Blackmore coming into contact with one of Aunt Lil's girls, never mind her corset, was highly unlikely, so no one would be any the wiser.

The colour heightened in Mrs Blackmore's cheeks as she twirled the rose, then fingered the gossamer silk, before clearing her throat and huffing out a sigh. ‘It is very pretty, too pretty for someone like me. Mutton dressed up as lamb.'

‘Not at all, Mrs Blackmore, please, trust me, I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you could carry it off.' The woman was big, more statuesque than oversized. She carried herself well. If only she could get her to put the dress on.

‘Let me show you.' She bunched up the shimmering fabric and held it against the satin, then folded the sleeves away from sight. ‘I think it would be very attractive, especially with your colouring.' The coppery highlights in her hair would lift the dress and the apricot would bring out the bloom in her complexion.

‘What would Mr Blackmore say? I wear colours a little more sedate, befitting a matron of my standing in the community.'

‘I think he'd say you look ravishing. This is for a wedding, Mrs Blackmore, a time for celebration. It is definitely your colour.' What now? What could she do to convince the woman otherwise? If she didn't get the job, then Ruan's schooling would be in the balance and her credibility shot to ribbons.

She picked up her charcoal and sketched a quick design of the dress with the silk overskirt and shortened sleeves. Still, Mrs Blackmore's face displayed a mask of total disbelief. How to make the woman see … ‘Just one moment.'

Roisin skittered down the passage to her bedroom and flung the smaller of her two trunks open and rummaged through the collection of garments until her fingers closed over the hand mirror Aunt Lil had given her. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Call herself a dressmaker? She'd forgotten the most important item. If Mrs Blackmore could see the apricot silk against her skin she'd be swayed.

When she re-entered the room Mrs Blackmore stood at the window, the material resting against her cheek and a dreamy look in her eyes. She
did
like her ideas. She was simply too unsure of herself to take the risk.

Holding up the mirror Roisin edged closer. ‘Mrs Blackmore …'

The piece of material fell from the startled woman's hands and she jumped, her eyes scanning the room as though terrified of being caught with something so frivolous as apricot silk.

‘Please, have a look in the mirror. Remove your hat and hold the material against your cheek again.'

Mrs Blackmore removed two ferocious hatpins from her bonnet and laid it on the table. ‘Are you certain this is absolutely essential? I think perhaps I should wear the dress as it is.'

Roisin blanched. How could she tell Ruan she'd failed, or worse, bear the ignominy of Mrs Blackmore telling her friends that the new dressmaker harboured outlandish, inappropriate ideas? She sucked in a breath. ‘Mr Blackmore will be so disappointed if his wonderful gift to you is a failure.' She held up the mirror.

Mrs Blackmore frowned and took a step closer, held the material to her cheeks and, like the sun coming out after rain, smiled at her reflection. ‘It reminds me of when I was a young girl.'

‘Oh come now, Mrs Blackmore, you are hardly an old woman.' And with the smile on her face, Roisin realised with a start that Mrs Blackmore was indeed far younger than the first impression her dowdy appearance had conjured.

‘Mr Blackmore and I were married eight years ago. I was sixteen. We have four fine children now and I'm well past the age of frivolity.'

‘You are barely older than I am.'

‘Too old for an apricot dress.'

‘This won't be an apricot dress, your dress will simply have some lighter trimming. The contrast of the light and dark materials will be elegant yet refined, an overdress of silk and beneath a skirt of satin. Mrs Blackmore, trust me. If you don't like the alterations I can always put it back to the way it was before. Please.' Now she was beginning to sound desperate. She was desperate.

‘Very well, my dear. It seems I have no alternative.'