Part 6 (2/2)
Lady Maccon would not have thought to be curious, of course, had her husband not been so insistent she visit the establishment. The rest of the shop was quite unsuspicious, being the height of la mode, with hats appealing enough to hold even her her unstylish awareness. But with the sc.r.a.pes and the hidden k.n.o.b, Alexia became curious, both about the shop and its owner. Lady Maccon might be soulless, but the liveliness of her mind was never in question. unstylish awareness. But with the sc.r.a.pes and the hidden k.n.o.b, Alexia became curious, both about the shop and its owner. Lady Maccon might be soulless, but the liveliness of her mind was never in question.
She wandered over to where Madame Lefoux had actually persuaded Miss Hisselpenny to don a becoming little straw bonnet with upturned front, decorated about the crown with a few cla.s.sy cream flowers and one graceful blue feather.
”Ivy, that looks remarkably well on you,” she praised.
”Thank you, Alexia, but don't you find it a tad reserved? I'm not convinced it quite suits.”
Lady Maccon and Madame Lefoux exchanged a look. look.
”No, I do not. It is nothing like that horrible yellow thing at the back you insisted on at first. I went to take a closer look, you know, and it really is quite ghastly.”
Madame Lefoux glanced at Alexia, her beautiful face suddenly sharp and her dimples gone.
Alexia smiled, all teeth and not nicely. One couldn't live around werewolves and not pick up a few of their mannerisms. ”It cannot possibly be your design?” she said mildly to the proprietress.
”The work of an apprentice, I do a.s.sure you,” replied Madame Lefoux with a tiny French shrug. She put a new hat onto Ivy's head, one with a few more flowers.
Miss Hisselpenny preened.
”Are there any more... like it?” wondered Alexia, still talking about the ugly yellow hat.
”Well, there is that riding hat.” The proprietress's voice was wary.
Lady Maccon nodded. Madame Lefoux was naming the hat nearest to the sc.r.a.pe marks Alexia had observed on the floor. They understood one another.
There came a pause in conversation while Ivy expressed interest in a frosted pink confection with feather toggles. Alexia spun her closed parasol between two gloved hands.
”You seem to be having problems with some of your gas lighting as well,” said Alexia, all mildness and sugar.
”Indeed.” A flicker of firm acknowledgment crossed Madame Lefoux's face at that. ”And, of course, there is the door handle. But you know how it goes-there are always kinks to work out after opening a new establishment.”
Lady Maccon cursed herself. The door handle-how had she missed that? She wandered over casually, leaning on her parasol to look down at it.
Ivy, all insensible of the underpinnings to their conversation, went on to try the next hat.
The handle on the inside of the front door was far larger than it ought to be and seemed to be comprised of a complicated series of cogs and bolts, far more security than any ordinary hat shop required.
Alexia wondered if Madame Lefoux was a French spy.
”Well,” Ivy was telling Madame Lefoux in a chatty manner when Alexia rejoined them, ”Alexia always says my taste is abysmal, but I can hardly see how she has much ground. Her choices are so often ba.n.a.l.”
”I lack imagination,” admitted Alexia. ”Which is why I keep a highly creative French maid.”
Madame Lefoux looked mildly interested at that. Her dimples showed in a little half-smile.
”And the eccentricity of carrying a parasol even at night? I take it I am being honored by a visit from Lady Maccon?”
”Alexia,” Miss Hisselpenny asked, scandalized, ”you never introduced yourself?”
”Well I-” Alexia was grappling for an excuse, when...
Boom!
And the world about them exploded into darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Proper Use of Parasols
An enormous noise shook the structure around them. All of the hats on the ends of their long chains swung about violently. Ivy let out the most milk-curdling scream. Someone else yelled, rather soberly by comparison. The gas lighting went out, and the shop descended into darkness.
It took a moment for Lady Maccon to realize that the explosion had not, in fact, been intended to kill her. her. Given her experiences over the past year, this was a novel change of pace. But it also made her wonder if the explosion had been intended to kill someone else. Given her experiences over the past year, this was a novel change of pace. But it also made her wonder if the explosion had been intended to kill someone else.
”Ivy?” Alexia asked the darkness.
Silence.
”Madame Lefoux?”
Further silence.
Alexia crouched down, as much as her corset would allow, and felt about, willing her eyes to acclimatize to the black. She felt taffeta: the ruffles attached to Ivy's p.r.o.ne form.
Alexia's heart sank.
She patted Ivy all about for injury, but Miss Hisselpenny seemed unscathed. Light puffs of breath hit the back of Lady Maccon's hand when she pa.s.sed it under Ivy's nose, and there was a pulse-shallow but solid. Apparently, Miss Hisselpenny had simply fainted.
”Ivy!” she hissed.
Nothing.
”Ivy, please!”
Miss Hisselpenny s.h.i.+fted slightly and murmured, ”Yes, Mr. Tunstell?” under her breath.
Oh dear, thought Alexia. What a terribly unsuitable match, and Ivy already engaged to someone else. Lady Maccon had no idea that things had progressed so far as to involve murmurings murmurings in times of distress. Then she felt a stab of pity. Better to let Ivy have her dreams while she could. in times of distress. Then she felt a stab of pity. Better to let Ivy have her dreams while she could.
So Lady Maccon left her friend as she lay and did not reach for the smelling salts.
Madame Lefoux, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. She had apparently vanished into the blackness. Perhaps seeking the source of the explosion. Or perhaps being the source of the explosion.
Alexia could guess as to where the Frenchwoman had disappeared. Her eyes now partly adjusted to the gloom, she made her way along the wall toward the back of the shop, where the sc.r.a.pe marks were located.
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