Murder, Magic, and What We Wore by Kelly Jones

Author:Kelly Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2017-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

When I reached the pieces of shredded lilac muslin that were to have become Millie’s shop dress, I stopped. The dress had been a mess from the beginning. Now the fabric was so torn I wasn’t certain I could make it whole again, let alone as lovely as Millie deserved. But my anger filled me with purpose. She would not lose the one bit of beauty I could give her to that horrid young man’s fit of pique and destruction. I set the pieces carefully down on the table, folded my arms (noting that I had not padded Madame’s bosom anything like as evenly as Millie always did), and gave them a long, thorough glare.

That they reminded me of my father’s slashed handkerchiefs only made me angrier.

Without letting myself think about it for too long, I picked up the scraps and a handful of pins, and began tacking them to the dress form. I tacked longer shreds to the form’s shoulders, letting them drape down over the arm stubs for now. When I had no more strips left, and no areas left to cover, I picked up my needle, threaded it with a long length of silk, and examined the feathery effect of the overlapping fabric. I needed it to grow a bit in width, or Millie wouldn’t be able to bend at the waist. I needed it to look less like a ragbag and more like a gown as well. I breathed in, breathed out, not allowing myself to doubt. I slipped the needle through the top edge of the neckline and began.

One stitch flowed into another, silk thread sliding through cotton muslin, muslin blending into something thicker, more textured, more elegant. The needle slipped through the next tear, into the next strip. Another stitch. Another. Fraying threads brushed against each other, held, fused. I blinked. Was it my eyes, or was the fabric growing darker? I didn’t dare take my eyes off the gown, for fear it would drift back into fraying chaos. I took the next stitch, following the neckline, watching the fabric shift and change as the thread pulled through the weave.

When the neckline was stable, I ran a thread down the back, then began again at the waist. The neckline was solidly aubergine, but the bodice was mottled with lilac, the fabric a mishmash of textures. As I stitched around the high waist, I willed the gown to pull itself together, and watched the color shift and the texture thicken as I sewed my way around.

What if one could sew one’s way out of a dreadful situation in this manner? Not only sew a disguise, but transform it: repair damage, even cover wounds—could I repair skin with my stitches? Or only fabric? (It would be useful for a spy, no doubt, but I did hope I could put that lesson off for a while.)

As I pulled the thread through the darkening fabric, I pictured Millie confidently facing down her horrid attacker, with no hint of the fear that haunted her now.

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