Page 48 of Ghost in the Garden
“Oh, you can manage a politegood evening. And ayes, no, excuse me, or, when all else fails,indeed!Keep smiling and everyone will approve of your good manners and modesty.”
Angela laughed, a rare, pleasant sound that made Constance smile in return. “How do you know these things?”
Constance, who’d had little to do with respectable ladies and much to do with their husbands, said vaguely, “Several gentlemen have explained it to me.”
Constance had her own, discreet dressmaker, largely unfrequented by the rich and fashionable of Society, but any fears she harbored over accompanying Angela there were quickly laid to rest.
They traveled by coach, an old-fashioned but comfortable affair, with Bert clinging to the back. He waited outside the dressmaker’s, leaning against the vehicle, eyeing the passing shop girls and exchanging appreciative remarks with the coachman.
Angela’s dressmaker, no doubt chosen by Lambert, was a thoroughly fashionable shop run by a smart, middle-aged woman purporting to be from Paris and clearly used to catering to the rich and powerful women of London.
Lambert was indeed aiming high. And his wife’s discomfort in such an establishment was palpable. The assistants, and Madame Bouvier herself, were only too aware that Angela did not belong there.
“Bonjour, madame,” Madame Bouvier greeted her, smiling graciously. “May we help you?”
“Yes, I want an evening gown. Something like that one with—”
“When does madame require the gown?”
“Next Tuesday at the latest.”
Madame Bouvier shook her sleek head. “But no, madame, that is not possible!”
“It is, if you begin now.”
“We cannot possibly! The first appointment I have available is on Monday.”
“There are no other customers here now,” Angela pointed out.
“But I expect Lady Gilbert and her three daughters any moment, madame. I do not have time to attend you!”
Angela, who no doubt had faced down villains who would have caused madame to faint from terror, turned away chagrinned, but with no idea how to deal with one snobbish dressmaker.
Constance stepped forward. “What a pity,” she said. “You cannot truly believe that Lady Gilbert will attend at nine o’clock in the morning! If she has breakfasted by eleven, I shall be surprised. Never mind. Mrs. Lambert will go next door, as everyone advises.”
Madame’s eyebrows flew up.
Constance smiled and lowered her voice. “Perhaps you have forgotten that Mrs. Lambert pays promptly. Unlike your aristocratic clientele, who are—er…fashionably late. If they pay at all. Goodbye, madame.”
“Wait,” Madame Bouvier said, brushing past Constance to get at Angela. “It is true that Lady Gilbert is not the most punctual of my customers! I’m sure we have time to choose something suitable…”
Since Angela seemed to draw strength from Constance’s presence, she lingered in the shop, bored and anxious on her own account. She really needed to use this time at her own establishment. What she wanted to do was go to the Silver and Grey office and confront Solomon.
Talk to Solomon.
She should not have stormed off, shutting the door in his face. She could not believe he would end their partnership over such a silly quarrel, but he had always been one of the few men she could not read. She had hoped to be able to report any cellar discovery, or lack thereof, when next she saw him—it would at least have been an excuse to meet him before this evening. If he even intended to come this evening. But she had fallen asleep last night and not wakened until dawn. There had been no time and no opportunity to break into the cellar again. Angela was behaving as though last night had never been and that everything was fine between them.
In the meantime, Constance gave her advice on the new gown—fewer flounces and a softer-colored fabric. The dusky-pink silk was perfect, with modest yet exquisite lace trim around the neckline and hem.
“If madame is able to come for a fitting on Monday morning, we will try to finish all by Tuesday.”
“Thank you,” Angela said, and left the shop with incomparable dignity—an impression she spoiled by casting a wicked grin of triumph at Constance. “I wish I’d had you around last year.”
“Where now, ma’am?” Constance asked.
“You can go home,” Angela said. “I won’t need you. Bert, you come with me.”
Constance was disappointed. She had hoped to find out exactly where Angela went during her outings. But at least if she went back to the house, she could ask questions that might lead to the identity of the ghost.
