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Mercy rushed in. “Who the bleedin’ hell do we know that goes into London from this side of the river? If I could just see St Paul’s Cathedral and say a prayer maybe – to help me through this—”
    “Right. That’s enough, Mercy Carver,” Doreen interrupted her. She wagged her finger an inch from Mercy’s face. “Get that dress off you right now and don’t you dare move.”
    Doreen gave Agnes a sly look and nodded towards the back room. Whispering, they walked towards it and then disappeared inside, leaving Mercy alone. Mercy sighed. Her plan hadn’t worked. Now she’d have to go to London in rags with nice hair. She was going to look stupid!
    Doreen came back out alone. “We’ve discussed it, Mercy. We can’t allow you to wear a bloody wedding dress in the streets of London, and you’re a fool to think we would. Sorry, but it would come back with its hem covered in mud and horse dung, and we’d get shot for allowing it to happen. But …” She stopped speaking just as Agnes appeared carrying a burgundy gown.
    “This was made for a young lady from Knightsbridge.”
    Mercy’s eyes opened wide. “But …”
    “No, don’t ask questions. I may be in Southwark, but I’m quite well known for my work and designs in the highest quarters. I get clients who have titles, but not many people know that, so don’t spread it around. I could close up this shop tomorrow and live a comfortable life, but I’m planning to move to the country. I want a nice cottage where I’ll dress the gentry and feed my face on scones and butter. I’ll be respected and asked to attend dinner parties and local balls. I’ll find myself in with country society and marry a nice man. I’ve got big plans, Mercy, and so should you.
    “Do you really think you’d be here if you were marrying a man who didn’t have Big Joe’s money and position? God almighty, folk from these parts would never be able to afford my gowns, not in a month of Sundays. The only reason I’m here is because my home is upstairs and the rent for this building is cheap.”
    “You’d never be able to afford my hairstyles either,” Agnes piped in.
    “Yes, true,” Doreen said. “Anyway, as I was saying … This dress here was ordered, but the girl is pregnant. She fell pregnant just a couple of months after she got married and told me to keep the dress. She didn’t ask for anything in return, so the gown is mine. She was about the same size as you. Would this do for your big adventure?”
    Mercy stared into the faces of the smiling women. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with joy. She grinned and nodded her head, unable to speak.
    Doreen smiled and held Mercy’s hands. “Now let’s find you a bonnet. You have your day, Mercy Carver. You bloody well deserve it, and you’ll never get another chance, because that old man you’re marrying will never let you out of his sight.”

Chapter Four
     
    Mercy walked gracefully down to the end of the street. She stood for a moment to get her bearings. This was the point where junctions and wider roads began to emerge. These were the roads that led to the bridge and where the new tramlines began.
    Her shoes were pinching just a little, but that wouldn’t deter her from her quest; it would just force her to walk a bit slower. Doreen had told her to walk with her head high, chest out, and waist in. She also added that it wouldn’t do any harm if she were to swing her hips a bit too.
    Her burgundy puff-sleeved gown had a small delicate collar with black velvet piping. It was fastened with black velvet buttons, running in a neat line to her waist and matching the black velvet shawl, which Doreen had insisted she take with her. Her bonnet, a gift from the dressmaker, was also burgundy, trimmed in black with black feather plumes at its crown and a black velvet ribbon tied in a large bow under her chin. She carried a small pink and black silk purse and parasol to match. Mercy, you look like a lady; you do