“You’re not,” Pleasant returned firmly. “You are the glue that keeps us all together. Besides, you need to retain your strength.”
Aine sighed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter like you.”
Pleasant leaned forward and kissed her stepmother on the cheek. “You gave me love and a home. That’s all I need.”
Later that night, after Aine decided to retire early, the siblings were all seated around the crude table, and the wash was hanging out to dry, Pleasant told the three surrounding faces her news.
Niall frowned and stabbed a potato with his fork. “I wish Mama would just let me work at the docks. I would make so much more money, and not have to inhale that bloody soot anymore.”
“Watch your language,” Pleasant admonished. “And as far as dock work, you think sweeping chimneys is grueling? Not to mention all the fiends that you would encounter down by the river. Perhaps in a few years—”
His fork clattered to his plate. “I’m tired.” With that, he shoved back his chair and stomped up the stairs.
Pleasant sighed at his departure. Since their father’s death, Niall had always felt as if he needed to fill that void. But he took entirely too much responsibility upon his young shoulders, and someday, Pleasant was afraid that would take him down a dark path.
“Did Niall upset you, Pea?” Fiona put her small arms around Pleasant, who smiled at the nickname she’d been given long ago.
“No,” Pleasant said with a smile at the adoring face smothered in freckles. “I just worry about him.”
“He just needs to get the stick out of his arse,” Connor piped up from across the table.
“Connor, really!” Pleasant chided, as she shook her head. “You boys and your language. Remember that you live with three other ladies.”
“Sorry, Pea,” Connor grumbled, as he too, pushed back his chair and excused himself.
“I guess it’s just us now,” Fiona said with a shrug.
Pleasant stood and began to gather up the dirty plates. “If you help me with the dishes tonight, then perhaps I can take you to the park one weekend before it gets too soggy and cold.”
Fiona scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like English weather. I want to go back home to Ireland.”
Pleasant’s heart ached for her sister. “I know you do, but London has a lot more opportunities for us than Ireland did.” She bent down to her level. “But maybe someday, we can go back and visit.”
Fiona’s brown eyes lit up. “Promise, Pea?”
Pleasant touched the tip of her nose with her finger. “I promise.” And in that moment, she told herself that, no matter what it took, she would fulfill that vow.
Chapter 2
When there was a knock at the shop door, Cornell glanced at his pocket watch, which read precisely five minutes to eight, and had to admit that he was impressed. Miss Pleasant Hill had seemed sincere in her desire to become an apprentice, but she was young and likely fanciful, so he wasn’t even sure she’d show up. But truth be told, he was glad she had. It was strange, but there had been something oddly appealing about her, and he wanted to see her again, just to see if that recognition was still there.
As he glanced out the window and saw her hair covered by a wrap, her nose slightly red from the cold, he couldn’t help but smile at her appearance. She looked the epitome of a forlorn waif, if it wasn’t for the sparkle in her green eyes when she spied him. She lifted a tentative hand in greeting, and he nodded in return, as he unlocked the door and let her inside.
She rubbed her arms as she entered, although the threadbare cloak she wore probably wasn’t that much help against the elements. “Thank you.”
“How are you this morning?” He glanced down at her small frame and wondered if she’d even had anything to eat that morning. Not only did the top of her head barely reach his chin, but she was a timid thing, even if she did her best to hide it.
“I’m well, Mr. Reed. And you?”
He nearly snorted at the query. Instead, he replied, “Well enough.” It wasn’t often that anyone asked about his welfare, but then, during his days at sea, he would have likely bit someone’s head off if they’d dared to question his health. However, as the captain of a Royal naval ship, it would have been detrimental to his career if he’d shown any sign of weakness. It might have even caused a mutiny.
He waved a hand toward the back room. “Shall we begin?”
She nodded mutely and followed after him, her footsteps barely making a sound on the hard wood floor. Naturally, he noticed what she was wearing. “Did you make those?” he asked, pointing to her nankeen, half boots.
She glanced down at the simply made, but sturdy blue shoes. “I did.”
“Hmm.” Even he had to admire the craftsmanship. It made him think that, if she was telling the truth, that she could be an asset to his shop after all. “That style is becoming more popular with the ladies of society this season. They find that a burst of color on their feet is rather charming, whereas the white and pastels dresses they are forced to wear are quite de rigueur. Not to mention that they are more comfortable than leather, and not as easily ruined as their delicate kid slippers, although for social events like balls, those are still required, but that’s where pattens come in handy.”
Miss Hill didn’t say anything, just nodded whenever it seemed necessary. While her silence was welcome, for he wasn’t a fan of incessant chattering women, it also unnerved him that she was so quiet. “Do you…have any questions?”
“Do you only design ladies’ footwear?”
He shook his head. “No. I also make men’s and children’s, and I’m not averse to say that people from all over England come to my shop to purchase my work.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I would like to keep my reputation intact.”
She nodded quickly. “Of course.”
He gave her a tour of his work area, which, he noted, would also be hers if he decided to hire her. Various tools were scattered about, along with wood, metal, leather, and plain nankeen that was ready to be dyed. “You said your father was a cobbler, is that right?” At her admission, he held up a pair of pliers. “Can you tell me what these are used for?”
“They stretch the leather.” She walked over and picked up some more instruments. “This is an awl for punching holes, this is a marking wheel that tells where the needle should go through the sole, and this is a size stick to measure the foot.”
This time Cornell couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Indeed. You are correct on all accounts.” He reached into his apron and pulled out a list. “These are the special orders that have priority.”
She took it from his grasp. “Does this mean—?”
“Welcome to my shop, Miss Hill.”
