Philippa turned to Sybil. “I think you’d better give it.”
Sybil reached into her basket and pulled out the small wooden whistle Jacob Wynchester had given her. She placed it to her lips and gave a light blow.
A melodious chirp trilled from the whistle. Hundreds of sparrows rose from the tree branches and took flight at once, blanketing the sky with waves of brown feathers.
Two dozen bluestockings stepped out from behind various trees down the street, and headed toward Mlle. LaChapelle’s shop en masse. Each wore her oldest shoes and simplest dress, with a crisp white mobcap upon her head and an odd-shaped wooden board bearing sewing supplies like thread and pincushions.
As they flowed past her, Sybil closed her parasol and donned an oversized mobcap of her own, then melted into their numbers. Each of the women had been given a sheet of foolscap containing illustrations of the stolen dresses. Sybil’s page was folded next to the wooden whistle in her basket. She did not take it out to give it one last look. She’d memorized the list long before Marjorie had provided the sketches.
Great-Uncle Wynchester rapped at the shop door.
It took only a moment for Anne to appear.
Sybil kept her eyes lowered beneath her veil.
“Uh,” Anne stammered. “What…”
“We’re the night crew,” Gracie said brightly. “Are you the day manager?”
“Um,” said Anne. “I’m Mlle. LaChapelle’s assistant, yes.”
“The day assistant,” Gracie clarified. “I’m the night assistant. My grandparents are here to supervise. This is my first post as assistant. Have you been the day assistant for long?”
“No,” Anne admitted. “This is my first week.”
“Well, I’m sure Mlle. LaChapelle told you all about me,” Gracie said with confidence.
“Uh,” said Anne. “She said she was going to hire a night shift.”
“Exactly. And here we are.” Gracie motioned at the two dozen mobcapped bluestockings behind her.
The entire reading circle waved their fingers.
Anne waved back reflexively, then caught herself. “Mlle. LaChapelle didn’t say you’d be starting tonight. This is highly irregular. Perhaps I should wait for her to return before you come in.”
“Our shift starts at sundown.” Gracie sent a meaningful look at the darkening sky. “Will she be back shortly?”
“Probably not,” Anne admitted. “She went to Mayfair with a client.”
“Well,” barked Great-Aunt Wynchester. “I wouldn’t wish to be the day assistant who got the sack for putting Mlle. LaChapelle behind schedule.”
“Can you imagine, dear?” Great-Uncle Wynchester shook his bushy sideburned head. “Do you think she’d dismiss the entire day crew, or just the assistant?”
Great-Aunt Wynchester brightened. “Maybe we’ll get the day shift. I do prefer daytime to nighttime.”
Great-Uncle Wynchester wiggled his hairy gray brows and cackled, “That’s not what you said last night.”
“All right,” Anne said quickly. “Come on in. You can wait in the reception area, at least.”
“Won’t the sewing girls be finished with their shift soon?” Gracie asked as they piled into the shop.
“Mlle. LaChapelle is paying us by the hour,” Anne said apologetically. “They won’t leave until it is impossible to see another stitch.”
“Is that right,” Great-Aunt Wynchester murmured. Her eyes said, We’ll see.
“We brought candles,” added Great-Uncle Wynchester. “It’s our shift now.”
“I’ll check on the others.” Anne crossed over to the stairway door. She unlocked it with her key and peered inside.
