Pascale Auber & the Ruritanian Riddle

XV Wardrobe - 1

If you walk down to the end of the long corridor in the second sub-basement, you will find a staircase. At the top of this staircase is a door that leads to a huge open space, something like an underground market hall or a gymnasium. Unlike a gymnasium, however, the Wardrobe Office's sanctum sanctorum is crowded with fabric remnants, old hats, swatches of trim, and rack upon rack upon rack of clothing.

This clothing reflects all regions of the world, but there is a special emphasis on those classes and ethnicities common in the Metropolis. There are clothes in all sizes, and in styles raging from those popular half a century ago to the most modern in healthful dressing. There are so many racks that the floor space is insufficient to hold them all; instead, they are arranged on huge, carousel-like structures that extend up into the cobwebby darkness. Hanging chains descend from above, terminating in ivory-coloured celluloid handles. When pulled in various combinations, the handles and chains trigger some unseen machinery overhead to turn the great wheels, bringing the clothing or fabric up or down as needed. It is a clever feature, and one which I wish shops would consider employing, instead of hiding many of the best items "in the back".

I, of course, was not permitted to touch the handles or chains. That was the work solely of those employed in the department, and woe betide any mere agent who thought otherwise!

On this particular occasion, I entered to the rhythmic thunk and whir of a treadle sewing machine. At first glance, the cavernous space appeared empty, but I followed the sound along the narrow corridors among the clothes-wheels. I soon found myself facing a young woman in a blue dress, sewing madly.

"Joanna!" I exclaimed, happily. I do not have many friends in the Department. One is only introduced to people if necessary, and I am still considered new. I have not even been introduced to the colleagues in my own area of specialty. I have, however, ruined a surprisingly high number of modish dresses. Joanna Wells always treats me kindly no matter how often I have destroyed her work.