The Seamstress of Hulda Street(8-Chapter Challenge for @justwriteit)

Chapter One

From the doorway of her shop, Rose stared out into the grim city, the long winter clogging it with the smell of putrid smoke. But there was another stench in the air. Piss. The piss of vile and monstrous creatures. And in the dimly lit street before her, the suspicious, the downtrodden and the hapless walked past. 

'Perchance sparing a few pennies for a weary traveler?' limped an old beggar caked with grot. Drool poured from his mouth and snot bubbled from his nose. 

'Mr Fry,' furrowed Rose, not at all taken aback by the sight, 'when was the last time you traveled?' 

The beggar painfully widened his eyes and slurred, 'You know my name?' 

In slight annoyance, Rose pursed her lips this time. 'I've known you for two years, Mr Fry.' 

'Have you now? Isn't that interesting. Are we lovers?' 

A brief grin escaped Rose. 'No, Mr Fry. And you really shouldn't be asking a young woman twenty-one years of age such a thing. In fact, you shouldn't be asking anyone such a thing. It's not proper.' 

'Not lovers then. Shame. So, any chance of those pennies?' 

With a nod, Rose took several coins from the pocket of her dress and placed them in the beggar's outstretched and knobbly hand. 

'You're a dear.' Mr Fry stared at the donation, counting every copper, before staggering in disbelief at such the large sum. 'My word. Are you sure we're not lovers?' 

Shaking her head, Rose pursed her lips again and replied, 'I'm sure.' 

Stumbling off, the old man replied, 'Unlucky. For both.' 

Though one of the more skilled tailors in the city, a skill that could afford her a bigger shop in the best location, Rose chose Hulda Street. She liked the grittiness, being hidden away. 

An angelic whistle soon wound down the lane before a bright smile from a girl with matted red hair skipped over and stopped. 

'Having a good night, Miss?' the girl asked. 

Smiling back, Rose replied, 'Not bad. Not Bad. You, Emma?' 

'Could be better, Miss.' 

'So, what brings you this way?' 

'Shit, Miss.' Emma said it with much determination. 

'Excuse me?' Now Rose had widened her eyes. 

'People's shit, Miss. I heard farmers in the country pay money for it. They say it helps their vegetables grow.' 

'Is that so?' 

'It's true, Miss. You must believe me.' 

'I believe you.' Although she already knew the answer, Rose then asked, 'And how is the – uh – shit-collecting faring?' 

Emma slumped, her enthusiasm waning ever so. 'Not too well. People are surprisingly unwilling to hand theirs over. I've had a few chase me with brooms, Miss. Almost got my hide swatted real good. One even threw a bottle at me and another got the attention of a police officer, who gave me a proper telling off.' 

'Well, none of that is very nice, is it?' 

'No, Miss. People can be real twits.' 

'They sure can. How about I give you something to tide you over until things pick up? Maybe you can go home and get some rest. Start fresh tomorrow. I'm sure things will turn around.' 

Rose moved her hand towards her pocket but Emma snapped, 'I don't want your charity, Miss. I want to make my own way just like you've done.' 

Rose beamed but worried for the girl. 'You know, if I was to take on an apprentice, would you consider–'