The Tailor

The Tailor, Part 1

Part 1

The tailor had stitched suits for clerks since she was 10, before that she fetched and carried for her father when he stitched the suits for clerks. When her father became ill, and could no longer sit cross legged on the bench, bent over sewing for hours at a time, and she became the tailor.

Her story began one very wet afternoon, not long after her 16th birthday. It was summer but the rain had just kept on coming. The city streets looked greasy and slick, the dark sky robbing the day of any cheer that might otherwise have been found.

The bell above the door tinkled. She glanced up from her work and saw her father accept a letter; it was slipped over the table he used to cut the coarse suiting on. She looked away quickly, it had happened before, but it was not her business.

However, on this day, the man spoke.

"Buy more candles, she'll be blind by the time she's grown."

She heard the clatter of coin on the wooden table. Her curiosity overcame her and she looked up, but the man had gone.

The next year her father's bones ached so that he could no longer even stand to cut the cloth and he stayed in his bed. So, she worked in their tiny shop and cared for him. Letters came and letters went, she stitched on. As the years past they had just enough money to pay the rent, feed them, buy cloth and thread.

They lived on in their little workshop, just surviving.

One morning, when the sun was bright, the bell tinkled and the door opened. She put down the cloth, needle and thread, put her glasses on her head and went to the cutting table. She did not look up, she never looked up, took the envelope that was pushed toward her and slid it under the table. But as she laid her hand back it was covered by another, much larger hand.

"You should be certain who I am." The voice was low. She gave a start and looked up for the first time.

"I told your father to buy more candles. He did not." The man sighed as he looked at her spectacles. "You must keep the letters in the kitchen now. This is too public, it is too dangerous, I'll show you where." He came around the cutting table and led her behind the curtain, into the kitchen.

"Up here will do." He lifted an old tin off the top of the dresser and put the letter inside, then placed it back on the high shelf. She wondered if he understood she would need a chair to reach it?

"Have a care when you are getting it down."

She looked closely. He was old, perhaps 30 years? He was tall, eyes indistinct, she could not tell their true colour, his face almost gaunt, hair of a brownish hue, unruly.

He turned to her, face solemn, but urgent. He bent low to speak, hands about her waist. "Remember, things have changed. No one but I will deliver, only the boy will collect. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly. "My father is no longer able to work now. I do not know how long I can afford to pay the rent here. What will you do if the shop is rented to someone new?"

"We will pay you more, to cover the rent." His smile was small and tight. From the saddlebag over his shoulder, he drew a pouch and gave her two gold pieces.

"No, I cannot take gold, silver only. My neighbours will think..." She blushed, "I..." Stuttered, embarrassed.

He laughed. "That you whore?"

This made the little tailor angry, why did he think this was funny? "I hear men pay for any woman, even a poor tailor." She was indignant.

"Oh, aye they will pay, and pay high for the likes of you." He reached out and stroked her cheek with a roughened fingertip.

"I will not lose my character." The gesture gave her pause, but she was resolute, and shrugged. "Silver only."

Still smiling he replaced the gold coin with silver. "As I pay for your services, may I be permitted...?" He leant down and kissed her on the mouth. The only kisses she could remember was her mothers upon her brow as she settled her for sleep. Her father never hugged or kissed, or even touched her, this was something new.

New things did not happen in the tailor's life, only more or less. More work, less work, more heat, less heat. New was unexpected.

"Well?"

"I do not know sir, I do not know what is done." She was not asking him what was done, but telling him she did not know. But she could not look at him, her feet preoccupied her.

He sighed and drew her to him in a clumsy embrace. "And is best to stay thus." He whispered sadly into her hair.

At Micklemass her father died. She spent a whole silver piece on his funeral. The neighbours spoke in hushed tones of the old tailor's secret wealth, wealth that was now his daughter's. She did not respond to the butcher who wanted to sell her more expensive cuts of meat, or the goodwife who supplied her buttons, when she suggested that her son would make a fine husband.

When the Postman came again, for this was how she thought of him, she told him the silver was a curse and she would have copper in its stead.

He chuckled and gave her copper.

As he put the letter into the tin, for he knew she could not reach the high shelf, he pondered the situation. She was vulnerable now, this would make him vulnerable.

"You have need of a protector."