A Lily Among Thorns(38)

Solomon flushed, and it was her turn for his warning glance, but Arthur laughed good-naturedly. “Perhaps I’ll just let you go and speak to Father.”

Solomon offered her his arm. They went through several unoccupied fitting rooms before emerging in the true back of the shop: a low-ceilinged room furnished with two long tables, at which half a dozen men sat and sewed by the light from several enormous windows. At the near end of the right-hand table, a heavyset man in his mid-forties was cutting out a coat. His blond hair was darker than Solomon’s and liberally streaked with gray, but his abstracted frown was very familiar. Serena assumed that his half-glasses were truly necessary. When he looked up, his eyes were brown, not hazel.

“Ah, Solomon,” Mr. Hathaway said in a tone not calculated to reassure. “Just the man I’ve been wanting to see.”

Solomon gulped. “Lady Serena, may I present my uncle, Mr. John Hathaway?”

Mr. Hathaway bowed very politely. “A privilege, my lady.”

“The same, I’m sure.”

He ushered them into a cramped office with only one tiny, high window. “Sol, I’ve had six ladies in since this morning wanting to buy our cloth. I thought I’d need a pair of shears to cut Lady Blakeney loose! You ought to realize that the margin of profit on a length of dyed cloth is much lower than on a finished garment. I was happy to contribute toward a new gown for Lady Serena since she is being so helpful to us, and the hangings for the Ravenshaw Arms are a large enough order to be profitable, but we aren’t a wholesaler, you know.”

Solomon looked hurt, but he stood his ground. “I was meaning to talk to you about that, Uncle. I hate to see a profitable market go to waste. Have you considered going into partnership with Mrs. Cook?”

A deep flush suffused the tailor’s cheeks. Apparently Solomon had got that trait from his father’s side of the family. “Mrs. Cook? Why should you ask? Simply because she comes to dinner occasionally and—and has been so good as to take Clara on as her assistant—”

Serena glanced at Solomon. He was trying to hide a smile. “Of course, Uncle. But surely you’ve noticed that she orders her material through Hyams. Mrs. Cook has a good eye for color and design, but she will never rise to the top of her profession so long as her draper uses such inferior dyes. I worry that Clara’s formative years should be spent in anything less than a truly modish establishment.”

Mr. Hathaway cleared his throat nervously. “Well, when you put it like that—and Mrs. Cook is a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”

“Mrs. Cook is a fine woman,” Solomon agreed gently. “And Arthur and Clara and Jack are very fond of her.” He met his uncle’s sharp eyes guilelessly. “It was just an idea.”

“Mm, well, I’ll think on it.”

“Thank you, Uncle. But my real reason for coming by was to bring you this.” Solomon dipped a hand in his pocket and came up with two hanks of brilliantly colored embroidery thread and a set of pale cream handkerchiefs. Each item had a scrap of like-colored cloth tied round it.

For the first time, Mr. Hathaway broke into a smile. “You matched them perfectly! Clever lad.”

Solomon smiled proudly back. “We match any color. I’ll send the new batches of pearl gray and bottle green round to the warehouse tomorrow. Have you any commissions for me?”

“Actually, we’ll need a large quantity of your black. It looks like Lady M.’s going to stick her spoon in the wall any day now.”

Solomon nodded. “Will do. Is that all?”

Mr. Hathaway’s eyes flickered to Serena. “I’m not sure. Would you mind fetching my orders records from behind the counter?” Solomon hesitated, glancing at Serena. “Solomon?”

“Lady Serena, why don’t you come with me?” Solomon suggested. “I can show you—”

She was tempted to escape, and that decided her. “I’m fine here, thank you.”

Solomon’s lips tightened, and he left the room. Mr. Hathaway regarded Serena over the top of his half-moon glasses. So this was the effect Solomon was going for with his own spectacles. He didn’t come close to his uncle’s mild, shrewd scrutiny. Perhaps in twenty years he’d have managed it. She realized with a pang that she would never know. They were unlikely to still know each other.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Mr. Hathaway said.

She really didn’t need this. “All true.”