The Shipmaster's Daughter (24 page)

She had no choice.

A week and a half passed before she found a position. She supposed it could have been worse, but that week and a half felt like hell. She slept on a bench in the park, her head cushioned by the carpetbag, and she ate only when needed. The few coins she had would go fast, otherwise. But every day she crowded the streets of Eastbourne, knocking on every shop door. She got a door in the face each time.

Until she knocked on the door of Sam’s Dresses. A simple name for a simple shop owned by a simple man. He was old—old enough to be her grandfather—and he said his eyesight was failing, which was why he was in need of both an assistant and a live-in shopkeeper. He gave the job to Luciana on the spot. In his words, she had been the only one to inquire since he’d put the sign in the window weeks before and he was willing to take anyone—even an Italian.

He gave her a key to the cramped room above the store and said he would give her details about the job during supper,
after
she bathed. After mounting a thin, wobbly staircase, she found the door to her room at the top of the stairs. The room was long, but not wide. A bed was pushed against the left wall, over which hung a painting of the Virgin Mother. The floorboards creaked under her feet and her hip connected with the corner of a small table to her right. Two chairs were positioned at the table. There was a square window, curtains drawn, on the wall before her. It smelled of fresh linen and mothballs, an odd scent she would have to learn to get used to.

She dropped her bag on the floor and sighed. She’d made it. By the skin of her teeth, she’d made it. In a twisted way she was thankful for her week on the streets. She wasn’t able to think of Reed or Yellow Brook while she was canvassing the town. Her mind was preoccupied and she was glad for it; it kept the sadness away. She just hoped she could keep her mind preoccupied enough with this new job.

After scrubbing her skin raw in the wooden tub, she changed and found Sam in the back of the shop. He was setting one of the worktables with two plates when she walked in.

He smiled a toothless grin. “Ah, fit as a fiddle now, are ye?”

Luciana shook her head, smiling. “I don’t really know what that means,
signore
.”

“‘Cause you’re foreign?” She nodded and he waved his hand. “Me too. I’m from Lincolnshire.” At her blank look, he shrugged. “East England. Forget it. Would you like to sit?”

She sat and folded her arms together on the worktable. The edge came above her breasts so it was uncomfortable, but she made do. When Sam placed a roll on her plate and a bowl of stew before her, she said, “You’re very kind to do this,
signore
.”

He scoffed and took the seat across from her. “You might not be sayin’ that when you taste the stew. It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

Luciana picked up her spoon. “I know how to cook pasta—sort of.”

His eyes widened from behind their circular frames. “Do you? I might take you up on that one day. Dig in, girl, dig in.”

Luciana glanced down. The stew smelled good. She could see a piece of potato skin floating near the top and the meat looked undercooked but she ate it anyway. She hadn’t eaten a full meal in a week and a half and, even if the meat was more bloody than she liked, it tasted just fine that evening.

“Tell me about yourself,” Sam said.

He had a red cloth wrapped around his long white beard to keep away the stew that dribbled out of his lips. It looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care. When she first met him, he was wearing a straw hat and pants two sizes too big with a shirt one size too small. He carried with him a shepherd’s cane and checked the pocket-watch attached to his breast pocket every few minutes. For a man who created and tailored clothes, he could use his skills to refashion his own one day.

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “There’s not much to say.”

“Pah!” he barked, slamming his spoon against the table. Luciana jumped. “Not much to say? You’re a bloody Italian in bloody Eastbourne. What in the hell are you doin’ here, girl?”

“My ship wrecked several months ago. I was living at Yellow Brook until my circumstances changed.” Luciana wasn’t eager to spill her story to the old man. She was tired—tired of talking and tired of listening. In a perfect world, Sam would give her the tasks he needed completed and leave her alone. But it wasn’t a perfect world. Far from it. She would leave her story at the bare minimum for the time being.

“Did you see that Reed Hargrave?” he asked. “I’ve never seen him myself but he’s the talk of Main Street most days. The girlies say he’s handsome, like me.” Sam tugged on his beard, his eyes twinkling.

Luciana laughed—her first real laugh in days. “
Si
, I’ve seen him, but you are much more handsome,
signore
.”

“Good answer! And no more calling me sir. That was me father. Call me Sam.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “What about you, then, Sam? What is your story?”

When he leaned back in his chair, it creaked. “I’ve got my shop and that’s about it. Well, I guess I’ve got you now.” He tapped the corner of his left eye. “My eyes are quitting on me. I find that rather rude, don’t you? My eyes are what let me do my work and put bread on the table. It ain’t right they’re failing now. Selfish little buggers.”

“Have you any family?” she asked.

“What family I did have died years ago. Though I do have a nasty old wife somewhere in Lincolnshire. We don’t get on very well, which is why I came here.” He pointed to her bowl. “Are you finished?”

She nodded. When he rose to take the plates and empty bowls, she stood. “Let me. If I’m to be your eyes, I might as well start now.”

“Ah, I like a lass with determination.”

“I’ve got plenty,
signore—
Sam
.
”

She cleared the table and washed the dishes in the basin beside the small stove. When she was through, Sam lead her out into the main room of the shop.

“Here is where most of the work gets done,” he said, leaning his slim weight against the front counter. “The dresses are sewn and tailored on those tables in the back, but here is where the customer picks her fabric and what-not.”

He walked down the center aisle of the room, pointing to the shelves filled with different bolts of cloth. “Your main job is to tend to this part of the store. You’ll help the ladies find whatever they need, take measurements, and then report back to me. I’ll do the rest.”

Luciana looked away from the array of fabrics. “But what about your eyes?”

He snorted. “My eyes ain’t completely failed me yet. As long as I can do what I love, I will. Sound simple enough?”

Luciana nodded, throwing an apprehensive look around the room. “I suppose so,
si
.”

He clapped his hands together. “Good. Now I’m knackered, so I’m off.” He pointed out one of the front windows. “I live just down the road if you should need anything. Please don’t need anything. I need my beauty sleep.”

“I think I’ll be able to find everything I need,” Luciana said, following him to the door.

He picked up his cane, which came to his shoulder, and taped it twice against the floor. “I think we’ll make a good pair, Miss Luciana.”

“As do I.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying as a flood of emotions hit her square in the chest. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I would have starved without you.”

A weary smile crossed his face and he touched his nose. “I know more than you think. More than you think.” He opened the door and the bell above her head jingled. “See you in the morning, bright and early!” As he walked away, he hummed loudly. A dog barked next door and he stopped for a moment before continuing, humming louder and louder as he went.

Luciana shook her head, closed the door, and locked it. She drew the curtains on the windows before returning to her bedroom. It was still early. The sun wasn’t completely set, still casting an orange glow across the world outside. She tugged off her shoes and sat in a chair before the window. She had to lean down to get the best view, but was content to do so.

Eastbourne was a quaint town. It was busy, filling with new people each and every day, but somehow it managed to keep its charm. Benches dotted the sidewalk and large oak trees covered the grassy areas. In the far off distance, where it sat on a large hill, Luciana could see Yellow Brook. Her heart lurched.

She was loath to admit she missed him. He and his stubborn pride had ruined it all. She wanted to hate him, but could not. She wanted to forget him but she knew she couldn’t do that either. So she resolved to bury her her pain and her anger deep in her chest. She would move on, find someone new…

No. She wouldn’t find anyone else. There could be no one else. Reed was the man that she loved whole-heartily; she always would. Despite his pride, she loved him. If she couldn’t have Reed, she wouldn’t have anybody.

Still, he had wounded her. His insistence that she was the one to spew foul words about his family hurt. Did he not know her better than that? She had held her tongue when Esther had caused problems on more than one occasion and she’d never had any reason to doubt Katherine’s virtue. If he was so sure she was a scoundrel, she didn’t need him.

She didn’t need him. She was better off without him.

So if she was better off without him, why did she feel so much like crying?

The next morning, Luciana rose early. A knot in the mattress had dug into her back the entire night and every time she moved, the bed let loose a shrill squeak. Thus, she woke with a sore limbs and tired eyes. Not the best way to begin her first day on the job.

She dressed in her skirt and shirtwaist and pulled her hair back in a long braid. Satisfied with her appearance, she descended the stairs and greeted Sam in the workroom.

“Good mornin’,” he said, pausing in his work. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough.” She picked an apple out of a bowl filled with fruits. “When would you like me to start?”

“Now would be fine. You looked tired yesterday so I thought I would let you rest a wee bit more before opening the shop. On normal days I’d like you to be up earlier.” He raised his shaggy eyebrows, but wore a cheerful smile.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded. “Of course,
signore
.” He held up a finger. “Sam.”

From his pocket, he drew out a ring of keys. He laid them in the palm of her hand. “These are yours, wear them on your hip at all times. You’re an official employee now, Miss Renaldi.”

She touched the worn keys and grinned. A shock of excitement zipped through her. “It might sound strange but this is what I’ve dreamed of since coming here to Eastbourne.”

Sam shook his head like he didn’t understand. “That is the strangest dream I’ve ever heard of. But it’s flattering, especially if I’m more attractive than Mr. Hargrave.” He narrowed his eyes and his voice grew serious, more weighted. “What happened over there?”

Luciana hooked the keys to a loop on her skirt and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “One day, I promise to tell you all. That day is not today nor is it tomorrow, so please don’t ask.”

He huffed. “Women.” Waving his hand toward the door, he said, “Go open up!”

Luciana spun on her heel and rushed out of the room. She flipped the sign on the floor door from “Closed” to “Open” and then unlocked the door. She considered leaving the door open, but summer was quickly turning to fall. A chill wouldn’t do her or Sam any good.

Then she waited.

It was a silly clerk position for a silly old man, but Luciana couldn’t keep away the first-day jitters. She had made it at last, found something she could call her own. This was exactly what she wanted.

Her palms were soon moist and her chest tight. She kept wiping her hands on her skirt and throwing quick glances to the front window. It was long waiting, but finally, her first customers arrived.

Her tongue felt heavy as the two women—both a year or two her senior—walked in. They were dressed in fine, expensive clothes and they looked around the shop with holier-than-thou eyes.

Luciana cleared her throat. “Good morning. Can I help you find anything?”