This is scene 3 of Tailor, a scene I've had in my head for a while but one I had a difficult time working out on paper. This is the part where Tom comes to Loring's End to discuss his commission, but is stopped by Officer Crier who tells him of Emma's death. This is also when he first meets Alice Loring, Emma's niece. As I said, I had a hard time writing this scene out, making all the elements I wanted in it flow into one another. It's still a little awkward, so I think it will end up requiring some real editing, but here's the first draft.
If you'd like to read the first parts in sequence, here are links to the entries where they're posted:
Scene 1
Scene 2
This one is Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
*Sigh* If only I could write starting at the beginning and ending at the end. Then maybe I wouldn't ruin my own mystery.
SETTING: Estate at Loring’s End
(Sound of birds singing, carriage wheels grinding on gravel roads. Tom’s footsteps approach on the gravel. Click and ticking of his pocket watch. )
TOM: Ten o’clock sharp. My goodness. It’s an even bigger place than I thought.
(Crunching on gravel.)
TOM: That’s quite a wall. Oh, here’s the gate… but it’s locked. How do you suppose you get in?
CRIER: You there, boy!
(Sound of striding up over gravel.)
TOM: Beg your pardon?
CRIER: Yes, you!
(Creaking of wrought iron gate as it swings open.)
TOM: Good morning, officer.
CRIER: What are you skulking around for?
TOM: I’m not skulking.
CRIER: Then state your name and business.
TOM: I’m Tom Barrows. I’m a tailor, I was engaged to make—
CRIER: And when did you arrive on the premises?
TOM: Why, just now! I have an appointment with the lady of the house!
CRIER: Which lady?
TOM: Miss Emma Loring!
CRIER: Jesus Christ. What were you doing?
TOM: Nothing, I’ve just arrived! Ask Miss Loring and she’ll tell you she’s expecting me.
CRIER: Can’t ask her anything, boy. The lady’s dead.
TOM: Dead?
CRIER: Found just this morning, God rest her soul. And what might you know about that?
TOM: Nothing! What’s happened to her?
CRIER: That’s what we’re all trying to discover. Now, if you know anything about that—
ALICE: Officer Crier! Leave that man alone!
(Sound of Alice running up.)
CRIER: I am conducting an investigation here, miss.
ALICE: Yes, and all you’ve accomplished is to terrify the servants and harass the passers-by. You won’t even tell me how my aunt died.
CRIER: That is still a fact to be determined. I understand you’re distraught, miss, but you’ll have to leave us to our work if you expect us to learn anything.
ALICE: I don’t see how accosting our visitors is going to help you learn anything. This gentleman is supposed to be here, he had an appointment with my aunt.
CRIER: You can vouch for that?
ALICE: Yes, I can.
TOM: And you don’t have any information about Miss Loring than just the business you’ve had with her?
TOM: I don’t know anything about it. I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles.
CRIER: Hmm. Duly noted, young man. But mark my words, if I find you’re—
(Crashing sound from the house.)
ALICE: What was that?
TOM: It’s coming from inside the house.
(Sounds of footsteps running up the path to the house, followed by the door being thrown open.)
CRIER: Is everyone all right?
(CONSTANCE stumbles in, her breath coming in sobs. She is followed by the heavy strides of EDMUND and the quick nervous pace of MRS. WARREN.)
CONSTANCE: Oh, God!
ALICE: Aunt Constance!
CONSTANCE: Where is she? What’s happened to her?
EDMUND: Constance! Constance, stop this at once!
CONSTANCE: This can’t be so! (Sobs in the background)
ALICE: Uncle Edmund! What’s going on?
EDMUND: She’s just now heard about Emma and she’s lost her head. Mrs. Warren! Mrs. Warren!
CRIER: Mr. Danbury, does your wife require any assistance?
EDMUND: Thank you, sir, but this is a family matter. Mrs. Warren, where are you?
MRS. WARREN: Right here, Mr. Danbury.
EDMUND: Help me get her back to her room. Then fetch her medicine and see that she takes it!
MRS. WARREN: She’s run out, Mr. Danbury. She’s going through it faster and faster—
EDMUND: Then send the boy to the druggist for more! Come now, Constance, enough of this nonsense!
MRS. WARREN: Come now, madam, let’s get you to bed.
ALICE: Oh, my goodness. Uncle Edmund, perhaps I should—
EDMUND: Not now, Alice. (Sighs) Don’t worry, my dear, the situation is well in hand.
ALICE: …All right.
EDMUND: My apologies for this outburst, Officer Crier. You may return to your work.
CRIER: Right then. My condolences to your family, sir.
EDMUND: Thank you, young man.
(Walking briskly away.)
CRIER: Poor old thing. Well, Miss Alice, if you can vouch for his being here, I’ll for now I’ll take your word. Don’t you go far, Mr. Barrows. You can expect further inquiry later.
TOM: I’ve got nothing to hide, sir.
CRIER: See that you don’t. Now, good day to you.
(Door opens and closes as CRIER leaves.)
ALICE: (Sighs with a sob)
TOM: All you all right, miss?
ALICE: No. My poor Aunt Emma…
TOM: What happened to her?
ALICE: I don’t know! There are policemen like that Officer Crier everywhere and the whole house is in a dither and no one’s told me anything.
TOM: That’s awful, miss. Listen, thank you for speaking up for me.
ALICE: It was nothing, nothing at all.
TOM: It was good of you all the same. So Miss Loring was your aunt?
ALICE: Yes. I’m Alice, by the way. Alice Loring.
TOM: Tom Barrows. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ah, despite the circumstances.
ALICE: Of course. So you’re a tailor?
TOM: Yes, I have a small shop on Riddling Way. I’m so glad she told you I was coming.
ALICE: She didn’t, exactly, I just heard her make your appointment on the telephone. What did she want?
TOM: A commission, miss. I was to make her a ball gown.
ALICE: A ball gown? Why a ball gown?
TOM: I’m afraid I don’t know. I did get the idea that she wanted it for someone else. She never mentioned it to you?
ALICE: No. She… didn’t always tell me things like that. It is strange, though.
TOM: How so?
ALICE: Aunt Emma didn’t really go to parties, or care much about fancy clothes. The last event she attended was Marjorie Hancock’s wedding last spring, and she grew so tired of hearing about the bride’s beautiful dress. It had a skirt with three tiers and beading on the bodice that glittered like diamonds. I thought was the loveliest gown I ever saw.
TOM: Thank you, miss. That’s kind of you to say.
ALICE: What do you mean?
TOM: I made that dress.
ALICE: You? You made it?
TOM: I did.
ALICE: But I thought she ordered it from Madam Vayon’s!
TOM: I sewed in Madam Vayon’s dress shop for years.
ALICE: You did! But they’re the fanciest gown makers in town.
TOM: (Chuckling) I have the honor to say that Madam found me satisfactory.
ALICE: Tell me, do you know who made that spring green frock that Lilah Cromwell had on at her coming out party?
TOM: That was one of mine.
ALICE: Oh, I loved that gown! What about the beautiful silver-gray hostess coat that Eliza Warbeck loves to serve brunch in?
TOM: Mine as well.
ALICE: And that grand crepe ball gown Mrs. Pelham wore to her Golden Jubilee?
TOM: Actually that one was mostly a girl named Joan Holbrook. But I did the blackwork on the trim.
ALICE: You’re very talented, Mr. Barrows. Are you making anything now?
TOM: Gentlemen’s suits, mostly. I don’t do so many dress commissions these days. I left Madam’s employ a year ago.
ALICE: Why did you leave?
TOM: Ah… I wanted to do a different sort of work, after a while. Everyone just wanted whatever they’d heard was fashionable, or saw on some rich important lady. None of them cared to see anything new, or to hear what might have been most beautiful on a woman like her. So I struck out on my own instead, so I could do my own kind of work. My best work. It only seems right, don’t you think? Dresses are meant for making ladies look lovely.
ALICE: I can see why Aunt Emma came to you.
TOM: I suppose. I had a good teacher.
ALICE: Madam Vayon?
TOM: My mother. It’s thanks to her I know something of embroidery. It was her specialty. She did the most beautiful needlework, and her stitches were so small they were almost invisible.
ALICE: Where does she sew?
TOM: She passed a few years back. And I’m afraid her dressmaking days were already behind her. Her eyesight went on her early, and you can’t do all that fine detail work when you can’t see your stitches.
ALICE: That’s very sad.
TOM: It consoled her that she could pass everything on to me. I do my best to live up to all the beautiful things she made.
ALICE: I think you sound like a very decent fellow, Tom Barrows. And a very fine tailor as well.
TOM: That’s very kind of you, miss.
ALICE: I’m sorry my aunt never got to see her dress from you. Have you done much already? I’ll see that you’re paid for any work you’ve already put in.
TOM: I’d hardly started, but thank you. I suppose I should return the bolt of cloth your aunt sent over.
ALICE: Keep it. Perhaps I’ll call on you to make something beautiful for me sometime.
TOM: Anytime, miss. It would be my pleasure.
ALICE: Now… I suppose I should go. Perhaps one of the officers will take pity on me enough to tell me… something. Anything at all. And I ought to look in on my Aunt Constance.
TOM: I understand. I’ll just be on my way then. I’m glad to have met you, miss.
ALICE: You as well.
(She walks to the door and opens it for him.)
TOM: I am very sorry about Miss Emma. If there’s anything I can do…
ALICE: Oh, I’m sure you’ve had far too much to do with our troubles already.
TOM: All right, then.
ALICE: Thank you, Tom. Good afternoon.
(He walks out. She closes the door behind him.)
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