The tailor was a sallow man with a monocle, a wisp of a mustache, and blackly shining, harshly parted hair. He read Mr. Olderglough’s letter of introduction and instruction with a serene detachment, elbow akimbo, one eye—the non-monocled—gently shut. After folding the letter away, he looked Lucy up and down and said the word: “Fine.” Lucy was made to disrobe to the essentials and stand upon a dais surrounded by tall, gleaming mirrors. Regarding his reflection, and being unused to such events and attentions, he felt self-conscious, this made all the more pronounced by the sorry state of his undergarments. His shirt was pitiable; his shorts, grievous. The tailor must have had an opinion regarding these unsavory articles but kept it hidden, throwing himself headlong into his work. Tape in hand, he fairly crawled all over Lucy, calling out measurements to an assistant who remained out of sight and who in fact never made any sound whatsoever.
Afterward, Lucy dressed and rejoined the tailor in the front of the shop, where he was told the suit would be ready in two weeks’ time, and that it would be sent by train to the castle. Lucy thanked the man and was on his way out the door when he caught sight of a richly blue three-quarter-length cape hanging from the wall. He pointed.
“And how much is the cape, there?”
“That is a ladies’ cape.”
“Yes. How much does it cost?”
The tailor named a figure amounting to nearly twice the price of the suit.
“So much as that?” said Lucy. But in inspecting the cape he could see that it was of the highest quality: double-stitched and lined in silk, with fox fur ringing its hood. In a breezy tone of voice, as though it were half an afterthought, he told the tailor, “We will put that on the bill as well.”
The tailor hesitated. “Mr. Olderglough makes no mention of this in the letter.”
Lucy waved his hand. “It’s nothing to him, I wouldn’t think.”
“I’m certain that’s so. But I should like to ask him first, if you don’t mind.”
“As a matter of fact I do mind,” said Lucy.
“I’d be glad to hold it for you until I receive his reply,” the tailor told him.
Lucy shook his head. “You will either hand over the cape now, and make a nice profit in the bargain, or forget it altogether, and content yourself with the few modest coins earned on the suit.”
Long moments passed with the tailor staring up at the cape. Lucy knew the only way his attitude would prevail was if the man was a merchant at heart, rather than someone idling in a temporary position. As it happened, the tailor had been raised in the shop. It was his father’s before him, and before that, his grandfather’s. The world of commerce was all he knew, and all he wanted to know; and while his not confirming the purchase with Mr. Olderglough was a clear breach of protocol, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to unload the cape, and so he took his chance, acknowledging the coup with a curious, twirling twist of his forefinger, followed by a birdlike, trilling whistle. Lucy did not believe these gestures were meant to pinpoint any one specific emotion, but rather were meant to celebrate, in the round, another fruitful day on earth. And so it was.
While the cape was being wrapped by the same invisible assistant, the tailor and Lucy were toasting brandies in the upstairs office, chatting about any little thing, as though they were old friends with shared histories and attitudes. Lucy felt very worldly and pleased with himself. He managed to drink his brandy without gagging, and what a relief this was, for it would have ruined the entire adventure had it happened otherwise.