Page 28 of The Spinster & the Sock

Jo trembles, but her voice is firm. “We’re leaving. Thank you for the lovely meal, but my husband and I must retire. He does, in fact, have to work tomorrow.”

Before her family has the chance to recover from their stupor, Jo drags me out the front door and down the street.

The entire walk home is quiet, but as soon as we reach the top stair of the loft Jo rounds on me.

“I’m sorry. That was a nightmare, and the least I could have done was arrange to have some of the crab packaged to bring back.”

“I swear, if one more person tells me what ‘least you could do’, I’m going to blow a gasket—you included, Josephine.” I’m staring at her, eyebrows raised and hands on my hips, and realize I must look exactly like my father right now. I drop my hands, knowing how intimidating that can be—bet Mom would find that funny.

“You’re upset—truly?” Her brows furrow.

“Why do you let them treat you that way? To talk to you that way?” I ask, voice soft because I’m not mad at her, I ache for her. For the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally to be so judgemental must leave scars.

Her shoulders sag. “It’s not that simple, Blaze.”

“But it is, Jo, did you see how shocked they were when you spoke up? You should say something!”

“No, Blaze. I’m already going to have to grovel at Father’s feet to apologize and have him forget tonight ever happened! You don’t understand!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and holds her breath for a moment.

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” I exhale, reminding myself where–or when–I am. “I’m never going to be able to change anything about it either, am I?”

“This isn’t your time, Blaze,” Jo says softly, grabbing my hand. I squeeze her hand gently before letting go and stepping towards my chaise.

“No, no, it isn’t.” And dammit, don’t I know it.

Albion is testing me.

I’m not sure if he’s trying to test my patience or my skill, but he’s managing both. I’m not familiar with all of these man-powered machines, so it’s taking a little longer than it should to finish the projects he’s already given me, and he keeps placing a new project beside me every half hour, regardless. There’s a physical pile of things I’m meant to handle sitting on the table next to me. I’m desperately attempting to rewire my brain to understand that I can pedal the lathe and hold the chisel to the wood at the same time, and here’s Albion, dumping more shit onto the heap.

If this was 2025, I would say something, but I realize how lucky I am to have this job and that finding a different one in this day and age, especially with my limited street knowledge of 1800s London, would likely be impossible. So, I take another deep breath and count to ten in my head while I finish turning the square in my hand into what will soon be a cane topper.

It appears the backlog has finally run dry, as it’s been over an hour since the last time my elderly boss has even left his seat behind the aged walnut counter. Which both works for me and concerns me.

“Doin’ alright back there, boss?” I call out, breaking the hypnotic thrum of the machine.

“I’m old, but I’m not knocking on death’s door,” Albion grumbles.

I chuckle. “I’m just making sure you’re not bored out of your mind and falling asleep now that we’re all caught up.”

That gets his attention, and he sits straighter. “Well, I’ll be.”

“It took me a bit to adjust to your machines; I’m used to…different models.”

He stands, eyeing the completed projects. “I’m going to be honest with you, son, I wasn’t expecting you to finish even half of those projects today. I wanted to see what you knew compared to any of the previous employees. Well done.”

“Damn, I knew it was a test.” I laugh, my shoulders loosening. “Does that mean I passed?”

“Yeah, you passed.” He steps toward me and claps me on the shoulder. “I really don’t have anything left for you to do today. Why don’t I grab the brooms and we can close up an hour early? I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to that wife of yours,” he teases.

With the two of us and the fact that I had been cleaning up between projects, the shop is closed up in no time. I know Jo isn’t expecting me for a bit still, and that gives me an idea.

“I’ll want one in this pink here, oh, and I must have this yellow–or does this blue look better with my hair?” I hear a nasally sounding woman ask Jo as I step into the modiste.

“What if I used the yellow, but add in a few blue accents?”

“This is why I refuse to allow anyone else tend my wardrobe, Josephine. You truly are the best.”

“I’m so glad you think so, Miss Elizabeth. I’ll need a week to get them finished, and then I’ll send word. I would love for you to stop in afterwards to assure me they’re just right.” The two women step out from the back room and exchange pleasant farewells before the tall brunette sweeps out of the shop, either not noticing me sitting by the window or not caring. As soon as she’s gone, Jo bolts the door and flips the open sign to closed before turning towards me.