SCENE 1
(A door opens and closes. A bell tinkles. Click of boots on wood flooring.)
EMMA: Excuse me? Is the tailor in?
TOM: Indeed he is, ma’am.
EMMA: Are you Mr. Tom Barrows?
TOM: Yes, madam. Welcome to my shop. Who might you be?
EMMA: I am Miss Emma Loring, of Loring’s End.
TOM: Ah, everyone knows that name. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. What can I do for you?
EMMA: I hadn't been aware you were in business.
TOM: I’ve only just opened my own establishment. I suppose it’s not well known that I’m here on Riddling Way just yet.
EMMA: Perhaps. I am not much about town these days.
TOM: How can I be of service?
EMMA: I am looking for someone who is able to make a very particular sort of gown.
TOM: I’d be happy to lend my skills. You know, in my time here I’ve yet to have a commission for a gown. I see mostly orders for gentlemen’s suits these days.
EMMA: (Sharply) Are you not equal to the task?
TOM: Quite the contrary, madam. Most of my experience is in dressmaking.
EMMA: So you are knowledgeable in the work.
TOM: Learned at my mother’s knee. You couldn’t find a finer seamstress in a queen’s court.
EMMA: Your mother, you say.
TOM: Indeed. I’m afraid I have no samples of my work on the premises, but I can give the names of a number of satisfied customers if madam requires more than my word—
EMMA: Not at all, Mr. Barrows. I am convinced you are just the man for the job. I have a rather precise and delicate thing to ask of you. I require a dress to be made to very exact specifications.
TOM: Naturally. What sort of thing did you have in mind?
EMMA: I may better show than tell you. You must forgive the quality of the picture. It is quite old.
(Crinkling of newsprint)
TOM: It’s a lovely piece. Silk satin, bias cut?
EMMA: Imported from China. You cannot see in the newsprint, but it was the most vibrant cornflower blue.
TOM: And the beading… all those perfect lily shapes… it was an artist made this.
EMMA: An artist indeed. I would like this dress to be remade.
TOM: Copied, you mean?
EMMA: And here we come to my particular need. The copy must be precise. Identical, in fact.
TOM: Identical? With all respect, madam, with just a clipping from a newspaper… the cut and style I can manage, and I have a rare education in beadwork… but madam, I can find you fine satin, but I don’t know how I’ll match the color.
EMMA: That is no matter. I shall have a bolt of the proper material sent over.
TOM: And what size shall I make it? Is this gown for you, or someone else?
EMMA: You’ll find the measurements written on the reverse.
TOM: But the fitting--
EMMA: There will be no need for that.
TOM: All right, then.
EMMA: I know this is no simple task, Mr. Barrows, but I am certain you will manage despite it all.
TOM: I must tell you now this will come to quite an expense.
EMMA: Cost is no object. Whatever is required, spare no effort.
TOM: Very well, then, madam. I'll do what I can.
EMMA: I am glad to hear it. I am counting on you, young man. This is work of the very highest quality.
TOM: I can see that.
EMMA: I expect no less.
TOM: I’ll do my very best.
EMMA: I am confident that you will. Good day, Mr. Barrows.
TOM: Thank you, ma’am.
(A door opens and closes. A bell tinkles. Click of boots on wood flooring.)
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