Free The White Empress by Lyn Andrews

material possessions was
     perilous. But she could dream. ‘Dreams cost nothing’ she’d always said to herself, but her dream was becoming consolidated.
     It was becoming, even if she didn’t fully realise it, the foundation of what she expected from the future; what she would,
     in time, demand of life – demand and expect realisation.
    Between herself and Joe there had developed a close friendship. He had never tried to kiss her again, but she often caught
     him watching her with a strange look in his dark eyes and sometimes she wondered if he did consider her to be more than just
     a friend. She had filled out and even in the plain, dark working dresses Mrs Travis had given her, she knew she had a good
     figure. Her waist was small, as were her hips, and her legs beneath the calf-length skirt, were slender and well-formed. Her
     breasts had developed and were firm. Her cheeks had filled out and gone was the pinched, half-starved little waif with the
     mane of unruly hair. She had followed Shelagh’s example and had had it cut to just below her ears. She had no need to waste
     money on a Marcel Wave for it curled naturally.
    After completing her second month, Mrs Travis had two dresses ‘made over’ for her by a local dressmaker. One was of cornflower-blue
     linen. The hemline had been shortened, the full skirt had been tapered in, with two inverted pleats set into the front and
     back. The collarwas cut into reveres and edged with white piping, as were the sleeves that had been shortened to just above the elbow. The
     other dress was of a heavy, navy blue crêpe, embossed with a fretwork pattern. The skirt of this had been left full but recut
     in a semicircle. The sleeves were puffed at the shoulder but narrowed into a cuff, again at elbow length. The stiff, high
     collar was fashioned into a soft, round one and a belt – made from the cut-off material – was tied in a sash around the waist.
     A row of shiny navy buttons added detail to the front.
    She was ecstatic as she tried on the completed garments, twisting and turning in front of the long peer-glass that Mrs Travis
     had had Joe bring downstairs. The words tumbled from her lips as she gabbled her thanks at such generosity. At last she had
     some ‘new’ things of her own. There was her brush and comb set, the little china trinket box, bought at Great Homer Street
     Market and as yet empty of trinkets. They were all hers, and now these two beautiful dresses. Although the material wasn’t
     new they had been especially made for her. No one else. And she had never known anyone who had their clothes made for them.
    ‘Now you need a hat and a decent pair of shoes,’ the dressmaker remarked, well pleased with her handiwork for which she had
     been amply rewarded.
    ‘And a pair of gloves,’ Mrs Travis added.
    ‘Gloves? Sure, whatever will I need gloves for, it’s not winter?’
    ‘All respectable girls wear gloves and a hat!’ came the tart reply. ‘That is what makes them instantly recognisableas respectable and ladylike. I know you turn up most of your wages to your mother, to use a colloquialism. So I have put something
     extra in your wages this week.’ The old lady nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think we’ll suit each other very well, Catherine Cleary.
     You work hard, you don’t chatter idly all day long and you seem to appreciate all the things my Dear Departed collected over
     the years and that’s something I’m impressed with. Take yourself off into town and get a hat and a pair of gloves and then
     tomorrow you can go home and look down your nose at that slut of a sister of yours!’
    Cat knew that Joe had told her mistress all about Shelagh, for she had heard the old lady quizzing him one day when they thought
     she was still out. Impulsively she bent down and kissed the withered cheek.
    ‘God bless you! No one has ever been this good to me!’
    ‘Oh, get off with you, girl! I can’t stand being fussed and kissed, not at my age!