Tailor's Daughter

Foggy Mornings

"It is certainly a foggy day today papa, don't you agree?" A woman's voice echoed through the small cosy store of Whitechapel Road, followed not long after by an older males voice: "It certainly is my dear."

And It certainly was. The cold murky air of London always put a damper on the spirits of those walking through it. It was so bitterly cold that those who walked about hung tightly to their jackets and would ever so often duck under some shelter for a rest from the icy blasting rain. The streets outside the little shop where dusted with wet newspapers and spotted with small but deep puddles, the type of puddles you think nothing of until you are ankle deep in freezing cold water.

However, although it were a gloomy day outside and nothing seemed to be going as it should, the inside atmosphere was much more comfortable. The fire was lit and illuminated the room for which it was placed perfectly, it's wood burnt so gently that the soft crackle made for a peaceful background sound to the pouring rain heard beyond the window pane. It emitted a generous amount of heat for the place it did reside in, but the condensation was becoming a hassle for our heroine. The said heroine was comfortably situated in front of the hearth, mug in hand, and dreamy far-off look fixed to her face as she shifted from one foot to the other and watched the rain pour.

This heroine's name was Jane, Jane Knight to be precise. She was a young lady of eighteen with a wild imagination. She often dreamed up adventures; adventures of such magnitude that her father would scold her if he knew about them. Her appearance was pleasing, with pale skin, brunette hair and a curved body she turned the head of many London men, although there were two things that prevented her from being married off to the next available man; her skin was covered in freckles, from head to toe, and her hair was as wildly curly as her imagination. Well, those two things were merely trivial compared to the very fact her father would never let her leave with any man for he would insist that none of them were ever going to be worthy of her love. And so, with so much time of her hands, Jane often spent her past times coming up with some of the most fantastical stories known to man or working part-time at her father's tailor shop.

Knight's Tailors was the name of the shop and it was renowned for being the best of the best when it came to creating unique and creative pieces. Her father had run the business since Jane could remember and never slowed down for anyone. He was always running up and down London taking and delivering orders, picking up supplies, or even picking up clients for a fitting! When he wasn't out and about he was in his studio making clothes or repairing whatever was on the waiting list. The poor man never once took a break, not once, and Jane was in a constant state of worry for him. Jane helped out wherever she could since she was five. She watched intently as her father would sew dresses and suits up from seemingly nothing but plain old fabric and she knew she could create such splendours too. Before she even turned ten she was creating the underdresses for her father's work and was able to mend anything that came into the shop, and by the age of thirteen, she was creating all sorts of exquisite pieces; she had what her father termed 'the magic touch' of a tailor.

"Jane!" There was suddenly a yell coming from the back room that disturbed the restful peace of the shop. "I need to go and fetch some needles and cloth before opening, do you think you could handle the shop for a while?" A male came clambering into the main floor of the shop with a basket and an umbrella in hand. He was an elderly man, no older than fifty, with a medium length beard and short curly white hair. He had a silver monocle on his left eye and wrinkles covered his pale skin and rosy cheeks. He was a short man, about five foot one, and he was of average build. He had a slight hunch, though it wasn't as noticeable as you may think, and he always wore suit pants, a shirt and a waistcoat no matter the weather.

"At least put on your jacket papa." Jane sighed heavily, placing her mug on the mantle before she walked over to the hooks by the curtain to the back room and picked up his jacket for him. "It's cold outside, you'll catch your death without this."