Victorian San Francisco Stories by M. Louisa Locke

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 Mi nnie 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