Merrigan's "dwarves" learned to search for news of the weavers, the amazing cloth, and Gilbrick's order of clothes. Every evening the weavers announced the progress that had been made on the clothes. Empty dressmaker forms stood in the windows of the shop. According to the weavers, the most amazing, elegant clothes the world had ever seen covered them.
As the suits of clothes neared completion, Aubrey and Merrigan discussed how to deal with the impending embarrassment for Gilbrick and Gilda. Preventing King Auberg from putting on the non-existent clothes was another task entirely, and Aubrey assured Merrigan they wouldn't have to deal with that crisis unless they failed in stopping father and daughter from displaying their invisible clothes, and their utter gullibility.
"If I'm right, King Auberg will never receive those clothes. Rather, the charade of receiving them," he said, when she continued to press him for the strategy to protect the king.
She supposed he was right. After all, no one ever saw King Auberg. Between the constant search for the lost prince and running the country, the king was fully occupied. She supposed some of the king's ministers were honest enough, humble enough, wise enough, to look at the miraculous suit of clothes and admit nothing was there. The question was if they were brave enough to say so, and face the ridicule and censure of those without the courage to be as honest.
The day the weavers announced the clothes were ready to be delivered to Gilbrick's home, Merrigan went to visit Gilda. Her seven dwarves accompanied her, dressed in new clothes, which she had guided them in making. Merrigan was quite proud of them. Maybe her girls weren't dressed in matching outfits, but they were clean and neat, their hair braided, shoes and stockings in good condition, and walked with their heads high and shoulders back. She had also given them lessons in deportment.
Gilda was just coming back from her father's warehouse when Merrigan and her entourage arrived. The young woman stared for several seconds as Merrigan approached, her face pale. For a second or two, Merrigan feared the silly girl would faint. Then Gilda let out a sob and hugged her hard. At least she had enough self-control not to soak her clothes. In short order, they were all invited into the parlor for tea. Gilda wanted to hear how she was, where she had gone, how she was doing. She claimed she felt awful when she learned Merrigan had left the house, and terrified that something awful had happened to her, because Gilbrick had sent all over the city to find Mistress Mara, but she had vanished.
"After all, Papa said you were very wise to refuse to make the clothes for us. The weavers are the only ones who know how to handle the magical cloth without damaging its miraculous properties." Gilda paused as one of the housemaids stepped into the parlor with a long tray holding the teapot and cups and a wide assortment of pastries.
Merrigan's two oldest girls hopped to their feet to take the tray and served for all of them. She was very proud of them. They would make splendid serving maids in grand houses, if they couldn't apprentice with a seamstress and set up shops of their own someday.
"Where have you been for the last moon?" Gilda said, her voice tending toward a wail.
"Did you know Aubrey helps to support an orphanage on the wages your father paid—or rather, used to pay him?"
"Orphanage?" Gilda glanced over the girls. Her eyes widened. "But—they don't look like orphans."
"What do orphans look like?" Merrigan smiled when Gilda slowly shook her head. "You expect all orphans to be dirty and ragged and thin, and live in ditches or in trees? Thanks to Aubrey and his friends, nearly one hundred of this city's orphans are fed and sheltered, clothed, kept clean, and educated. I'm delighted that he asked me to help teach the children a useful trade. I may not be designing for royalty, but this work is more than satisfying."
She wasn't ashamed to admit she felt a certain bit of satisfaction in twisting the knife, metaphorically. Gilbrick had spoken so many times about Merrigan being a seamstress to royalty, she knew that was the main reason he wanted to work with her. Gilda flushed and bowed her head a moment. Yes, the girl did have some common sense. Not much more than her father, but enough that Merrigan wanted to protect her.
"I hear you are to put on the clothes tomorrow, and display them for all the elite of the city," she said.
"Oh, yes. Papa insists."
"You don't sound very excited."
"I'm just ... it feels wrong, somehow." Gilda shuddered delicately. "Is it ... is it right to so very blatantly point out the flaws in our peers? To rub their noses in the proof that they are unworthy of their positions? Is that fair?"
Three of Merrigan's girls giggled into their cups of tea.
"I'm not so much concerned about fair as I am about ... embarrassment," Merrigan said.
"Oh, yes, Absolutely. We wouldn't want to embarrass anyone." Gilda's pink cheeks darkened for several seconds.
"I'm talking about your embarrassment."
"Mine?" She went pale, so that the smears of sleeplessness under her eyes stood out against the alabaster of her cheeks, as if someone had punched her in both eyes.
"Gilda, please, for your father's sake if you don't care about yourself or about me. Because I have become quite fond of you. Truly." Merrigan stopped for dramatic effect and delicately licked her lips. "Consider how many people will come to the unveiling tomorrow, who may be unworthy of
