Sybil had frozen as well, but not out of any wish to make a particular impression. The young lady was wearing a gown almost identical to a unique creation from Mme. Blanchet’s illustrated catalogue of the missing Vauxhall designs.
Almost identical. If Mme. Blanchet’s designs were a crystal chandelier, it was as though someone had blown out every fourth candle. The glass still sparkled, but something was missing. It shone, but not as bright. Though still impressive and magnificent.
The butler escorted the ladies down the corridor to the open doors of the ballroom and announced their arrival in a loud, clear voice. “Mrs. and Miss Overton!”
Only then did Sybil realize this must be a pause between the sets of dancing, because there was no music playing to drown out the reactions of the other guests.
A scream rent the air.
Lord Vanewright and Sybil both raced toward the open doorway.
Miss Heloise Vanewright was flushed purple, her index finger outstretched toward the new arrival. “That gown is a Blanchet! Mama, she’s wearing a Blanchet! You said I would be the first, and no one else would have theirs for a fortnight! Not until Vauxhall, you said. And look!”
Everyone was looking.
Miss Overton, for her part, seemed to soak up the attention, without paying any heed to the implied scandal.
Sybil stared at her in consternation. If it weren’t for having studied the minutely detailed sketches in her basket, Sybil would have believed this gown to be a Blanchet, too.
What could it mean? Besides her being wrong about the Vanewrights. They might be a family of villains, but they weren’t the culprits. They would never upstage themselves.
Sybil had assumed if anyone other than the Vanewrights were behind the theft, the culprit would have to be Lady Vanewright’s bitterest enemy, her outbid sister Lady Carmichael.
But what would the countess have to gain by altering one of the dresses and giving it to yet another rival debutante? Nothing. If Lady Carmichael had stolen the frocks, it would be to outfit her own daughters, not perform sartorial favors for someone else’s children.
Nonetheless, the gown was here. Lady Vanewright looked positively apoplectic. Heloise Vanewright appeared torn between throwing up and bursting into tears.
Miss Overton and her mother looked nothing short of triumphant.
Sybil’s eyes narrowed. She was fully on board with taking the horrid Vanewright family down a peg or three, but stealing a modiste’s livelihood in order to ruin other people’s opportunities was not the way to do it. Even horrible people like the Vanewrights. They had played by Madame Blanchet’s rules and paid for their place properly, if obnoxiously.
And as for the Overtons, had they not thought this moment through beyond their grand entrance? Wearing a stolen frock to a ballroom packed with witnesses was not the cleverest way to get away with a crime.
Yet the two women acted as though nothing but good fortune could smile upon them now. Miss Overton was curtseying and accepting names on her dance card, whilst her mother beamed with pride a demure arm’s length away. One could be forgiven for believing these two had no idea they were flagrantly displaying stolen contraband.
The incongruence gave Sybil an unsettled feeling.
Miss Vanewright gestured to her brother. “Orville, come at once. The most terrible thing has happened, and I need you to remedy the matter posthaste.”
More likely lured by the sea of pretty faces than his sister’s sartorial concerns, Orville rushed into the ballroom, the recently sacked maid and her basket forgotten.
Nonetheless, Sybil did not dare reenter the salon, dressed as a maid or otherwise. She raked her gaze across the crowd, so intent on seeking out Damaris and Lady Eunice that she almost didn’t hear the knocker thump on the main door behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the butler admit another mother and daughter pair, the Pughs. To Sybil’s shock, the dress this young woman wore was yet another almost match to one of Mme. Blanchet’s unique creations! Both frocks were absolutely gorgeous, and a little bit wrong in exactly the same way.
Sybil touched her hand to her face. She now knew exactly what had happened.
After all, both Miss Pugh and Miss Overton’s names were on Sybil’s lists.
Chapter 9
Early the next afternoon, Sybil presented herself on the Overtons’ doorstep. After this meeting, she would be heading straight to Mlle. LaChapelle’s shop to return the borrowed trimmings adorning her dress.
“If you’ll follow me,” said the butler, after peering over Sybil’s shoulders to see if a maid or footman had materialized to accompany her.
They had not. Sybil’s family employed a single maid-of-all-work, who could not be spared to spirit Sybil about town as she stocked charity libraries and poked into other people’s business.
The butler turned down a narrow corridor. Sybil hurried to keep pace with him.
