Miss Spennymoor, who was known to her many patronesses as "a little woman who comes to me', was a small and spare spinster, who eked out a precarious livelihood by trotting cheerfully all over London to sew in other people's houses. She called herself a dressmaker, but this was a slight misnomer, only the most unexacting customers employing her in this role. She was an excellent needle-woman, but, as she herself was the first to acknowledge, an indifferent cutter. But her mending was faultless, and not merely could she alter garments to fit their wearers: she would never have dreamed of telling her clients that the task set her would take at least three weeks to perform. Above all - and this was a virtue much extolled by her patronesses - she charged very little for her services. "For," as she frequently pointed out, "I generally get my dinner, which has to be taken into account, and is a great saving. Of course, sometimes I'm unlucky, some of my ladies not having what I should call a proper meal midday, but one has to take the rough with the smooth, dear, and often there's a cup of tea in the morning, which I must say I do appreciate, not that it is a thing I would ever expect, if you understand me."
Miss Spennymoor's life might have been thought to have been as drab as it was lonely, but she would have been greatly surprised at such a mistaken judgment. Not only were the lives of her clients a constant source of interest to her, but her own life had not been without its romance. As a much younger woman, she had been a theatrical dresser, and although she had never risen in this profession above the dressing-room inhabited by the ladies of the chorus, this period in her career was one which she looked back upon with pride and pleasure, and her album, with its faded portraits of forgotten beauties, was a solace that never failed her.
She received the stockings from Beulah with her usual cheerfulness, for she would have thought it quite as shocking as Mrs. Haddington that she should be idle. "Well, it wouldn't be right, would it?" she said. "For she pays me for my time, and it's only to be expected I should be working while I'm here. It was lucky you caught me this morning, Miss Birtley, for I was just about to pop on my things and go to one of my ladies that lives in Hampstead. Oh, dear, what a nasty hole in the toe of this lovely stocking! More like a potato than a hole: it does seem a shame, and quite new, I should say. I never think a darned stocking is the same, do you, dear? I'll lay it by until my regular day next week, for I daresay Miss Cynthia will come in, and I wouldn't like to leave it with the needle stuck in it, as I should have to, because it wouldn't hardly be reasonable to expect Miss Cynthia to wait. Very much surprised she would be if I was to suggest such a thing, which, of course, I shouldn't dream of doing, not for a moment! I'll just be getting on with this little hole in the heel. Is it a big job Mrs. Haddington wants me to do for Miss Cynthia?"
"I don't think so. Apparently, Andre sent home the frock she means to wear tonight with a crease across the back."
"Tut-tut, that's very bad!" said Miss Spennymoor, shaking her grey head. "A firm like that, too! Really, one would hardly credit it, but since the War I don't know how it is but no one seems to care how they do their work as long as they're paid for it. And what they charge! Is it a grand party tonight, dear?"
"Much as usual, I think," Beulah replied, perching on the edge of the table, and lighting a cigarette. "No good offering you one of these, is it?"
"No, dear, thank you. I don't know how it is, but I never seemed to take to it. It isn't my scruples, because I'm very broad-minded, although I'm sure my poor old father would practically have turned me out of the house if he'd have seen me smoking. He was very particular, was my father. He wouldn't have what you might call a risky story told, not in his hearing he wouldn't; and the way he took on when short skirts first came in you wouldn't believe. Yes, he was a very good man, except for the drink, and there I'm bound to say he was a wee bit of a trial to my mother, because as sure as fate she'd have to go and look for him in the public houses as soon as ever he got his wages, and often he wasn't at all willing to go home with her, not at all. But I often say it takes all sorts to make a world, and he was very highly respected, on account of his principles. Is it a dance tonight, dear?"
"No, just a Bridge-party."
"I'm bound to say I've never played Bridge, though I used to be very fond of a rubber of whist. I daresay there will be a lot of celebrities?" Miss Spennymoor said hopefully.
"Yes, quite a lot," said Beulah, knowing that the little dressmaker used this term to describe any titled person. She perceived that more was expected of her, and added: "Lady Floddan - do you know her?"
Miss Spennymoor shook her head. "I don't think she ever got her name in the papers, dear," she said simply.
Realising that she had failed to give satisfaction, Beulah tried again. "Well - Sir Roderick Vickerstown!"
"Now him I do know!" said Miss Spennymoor, pleased. "He was at the races, though which races I don't precisely remember, not at the moment, with the Marquis of Chetwynd and Lady Caroline Ramsbury, smoking a cigar."
"It sounds very probable. Lady Nest Poulton," offered Beulah.
"Ah, now, what a lovely girl she was!" sighed Miss Spennymoor. "She used to be in all the papers. One of the Season's debutantes; that was before she was one of the Leaders of the Younger Set, of course. Sweetly pretty, and such dresses! I remember when she got married she had a wedding-dress of cloth of gold, which created a regular sensation, because it was quite an innovation, as they say, at that time. Anyone else?"
"I don't think so. Except Lord Guisborough."
"Yes, I thought he'd be coming, for I hear he's very sweet on Miss Cynthia, but he's not what I would call a celebrity, dear, if you know what I mean. You see, I knew his mother - oh, ever so well I knew her!"
Since this was by no means the first time Beulah had been the recipient of this confidence, her reply was a trifle nuchaniral. "Really?"
"First line," said Miss Spennymoor cryptically. "Oh, she was a one! Daring! You wouldn't believe! Never till my dying day shall I forget the night she went off to some party with no more money in her bag than would pay for her taxi-fare (for keep twopence together she could not!) and the dress she wore as one of the Guests at the Grand Duke's Reception. Now, what was the name of that show? It'll come back to me. Of course, I should have got into trouble if it had ever been found out, not that I knew anything about it, for she did it when my back was turned, I need hardly say. What a lad! All the other girls used to laugh at her for taking up with Hilary Guisborough the way she did. Hilary! Well, I couldn't help laughing myself: what a name for anyone to have! The funny thing was she was the last girl you'd have thought would have been so soft, but there it was, and, as I've often said, he who laughs last laughs best, for he married her. No one ever thought he would, but he said he wasn't going to have people calling his kids bastards, if you'll pardon the expression, which shows that he was a real gentleman, doesn't it? Not that it did her much good, because what must that Hilary of hers go and do but catch cold and die of a pneumonia when the twins were no more than six years old, if as much. Not that he was ever much use, reely, in spite of his grand relations, but half a loaf is better than no bread, when all's said and done, and there she was, left with two children on her hands, and nothing but a lot of bills to pay. Still, she kept up her spirits, and always enjoyed a joke. I sometimes think what a laugh she'd have if she knew her Lance had come into the title!"
She indulged in a little laughter herself at this reflection, but her mirth was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Haddington, who walked into the room, raising her eyebrows at her secretary, and saying: "So this is where you are!"