Chapter One
May, 1909
'8:10 am
There was no way I could walk into work like this. Absolutely no way. I knew that Victor would ask questions. Mr Selfridge probably would too. I lay this morning, just before I got up, and wondered where our dad had went; mine and George's. My purse was dumped out, all the money I had earned to get us through the month was gone in barely a moment. I heard the rustling just before the birds started to tweet. Wasn't that long ago.
It was too sore to sleep and it was far too scary to sleep. George snored like pig, nearly knocking the roof off if he tried any harder. With a beamer the size of a small orange on my face and barely the powder to conceal it, I tried my best to at least cover the redness...'
Agnes worked through the stock in the stockroom well into her lunch hour. There were whispers on the floor of where she was, why she had left her job. Agnes herself heard the gossip as Miss Hawkins and Miss Miller cackled their way past the stock-room door and out to the street for their tea-and-cake lunch. Agnes could see everything from the little room just off in the darker corner of Selfridges. Mr Leclair had a moment with what appeared to be a friend and left Agnes puzzled. Miss Love was in again, racking up a huge bill from every department. It was near three when Agnes decided to step out onto the shop-floor, to track down Mr Grove and take her lunch. The final few boxes were tallied through the shudder of Mr Selfridges bracing tone from the opposite side of the store. He laughed, clapped his hands together and proceeded to the Palm Court. Agnes laid her pencil and paper down to snap up her coat and hat from a lone chair in the corner when the door was chapped. Her heart dropped and she almost let go of her coat in fright. It was Mr Leclair. He asked calmly, "Are you busy, Ms Towler?"
She struggled for words but came to just simply shake her head. She gathered the stock room keys and gently swung her coat over her shoulders,
"What can I do for you? I was just on my way out for a cup of tea," Her head was kept low and she inched her way past the taller man in the door way. Henri let the door fall shut behind him; the latch unlocked out of pure forget. He spoke low and quiet to Ms Towler, walking with his hands behind his back. It felt like seconds though they had wandered through most of the ground-floor, winding up in Henri's office which was full of empty glass bottles and different flowers and multicoloured ribbons. The walls were covered in sketches and diagrams and scraps of fabrics on mood-boards; sections of each wall were designed for every window in the store. Agnes was mesmerised by it all. There was so much artistic ability which seemed to just radiate from Mr Leclair and it showed in the sketches on his desk. The room was brightly lit, large windows adjacent to the door. He gestured for her hat and coat which were slowly taken off after a gander to the other loose sketches on the scattered tables.
"We have a new counter; general perfume. But, Mr Selfridge is looking for a house-scent; an every-day perfume, available to the every-day-woman. Do you... wear a scent, Miss Towler? Any particular...?"
"Oh, er, I wear Yardley Lavender. Sometimes the daisy one, I don't really bother with it all-"
"Could you help me in designing a new perfume for the store?" Mr Leclair was abrupt and upfront about it which didn't surprise Agnes all that much. She knew what he was like. Forgetting about the dull ache in her face and head, she looked at him kindly and gave a smile, accepting the offer with a chuckle. This was the biggest thing that she had ever been a part of; designing the house perfume with the best creative director this side of the Atlantic. "It doesn't have to be overly exciting like some of the brands on the counter; simple, clean, appealing, and, of course, affordable." He continued whilst lighting a cigarette which he flounced around in his hand explaining more of the ideas that he had thought up. Agnes was hesitant to pick up the bottle that had already been produced. It was quite heavy and very cold to the touch. With the cigarette in his mouth, Mr Leclair gathered up some of the sketches from his desk and brought them to the empty table underneath the large window, pushing aside empty teacups and saucers. "Come... come; some label designs," He invited Agnes over with a gentle hand. She held onto the glass bottle firmly with both hands and glanced down at the work he proudly produced. The colouring seemed too bright for her taste but she bit her tongue. Obviously Mr Leclair knew what he was talking about and knew his own ideas when he coloured. But he read her face and straightened up.
"What is the matter? You seem uncomfortable..."
Though his hands rested on his hips and the smoke burned slowly, she didn't feel intimidated. Agnes hesitated before asking,
"Can I suggest something, Mister Leclair?" Inside, her heart was racing and she started to panic. What if he went mad? What if he shouted?! But he didn't. Mr Leclair shrugged and nodded, taking a draw of the cigarette and bringing his chair over to the table, offering it to Agnes before she declined. "It seems quite busy. The colours, there's too many colours... if you want it to be simple and clean, maybe stay with one colour. Like the blue. The blue of the label is fine just as it is. It doesn't need the flares around the neck of the bottle. If you were to keep the flares... maybe keep them in the same colour scheme or family or whatever it's called!" Agnes was flustered that Mr Leclair was actually listening to her ideas and started to ramble and use more gestures but from the chair, he smiled. Agnes was confused at his relaxed approach to the situation.
"Okay." Was all Henri said and he picked up a rubber from one of the corners of the room he must've thrown in a fit of frustration, Agnes thought. The bright colours were removed from the thick sheet of paper and he blew the shavings from the page. He laughed slightly and nodded. "Better."
As Agnes gathered her coat and hat to leave for her long overdue lunch-break, she paused by the door,
"Why do you want my help, Mr Leclair?"
He laughed and stubbed out his third cigarette, coming to meet her by the door. He sniffed and adjusted the hat on her head,
"You think you are undetected. Nobody notices the way you display brooches and scarves and gloves. Miss Hawkins, Miss Mardle... all very neat. All very straight-edged and clean-cut. You choose angles and you're aware of the way sunlight reflects off of the jewels. An eye for detail." He smiled politely and nodded, leaving his answer to linger with Agnes. The door was opened for her and she brushed past his arm, strangely feeling comforted by his kind words despite everything that had been going on around them.