Anne hesitated, then inched through the sea of bluestockings toward Sybil.
As soon as the day assistant reached the fitting room, Sybil tossed her whistle to Elizabeth and shouted, “Run!”
Elizabeth sounded the whistle and the reading circle spilt out onto the pavement.
Sparrows took to the sky, swirling like huge whirlpools of feathers. On cue, a string of hackney carriages raced up from where they had been waiting on the next street. The men loaded the trunks of stolen dresses into the first carriage whilst the bluestockings climbed into the others.
“Wait!” Anne raced to the street.
Sybil tried to run toward the carriages, but Anne tackled her, dragging Sybil to the dirt by her elbow.
Anne panted, “You’re not going anywhere without my say-so.”
Steel glinted in moonlight as a sharp sword sliced the air between them, its sharp point coming to rest less than an inch from where Anne’s hand gripped Sybil’s arm.
“Then you’d better give your permission fast,” Elizabeth drawled. “Or someone’s about to lose her head.”
Chapter 15
Tears glistened in Mme. Blanchet’s brown eyes as Jacob and Graham Wynchester carried the cedar trunks full of stolen frocks into her dress shop, with Sybil right behind.
The rest of the Wynchesters and the reading circle had returned to their homes, so as not to cause greater commotion.
“Thank you so much.” Mme. Blanchet pressed her hands to her chest. “You have saved my reputation and my business, and improved the lives of several innocent debutantes who would not have had a Season without your cunning intervention.”
“That’s what we do,” said Graham. “You’re welcome.”
Sybil opened the puzzle boxes.
Madame sank to her knees and ran her fingers over the missing dresses. “I cannot believe they are really back, and on time for their scheduled delivery. How can I ever repay you?”
“No payment necessary,” said Jacob. “It was our pleasure.”
It was Sybil’s pleasure too, but… She was not a wealthy Wynchester. She did not have a sprawling four-story residence in Islington, or a dozen servants, or even a spare ribbon to spruce up an old gown.
She stared longingly at the folded dresses in the trunk and hoped the items’ owners realized just how lucky they were to be able to afford such luxury.
“And you, Miss Stamper?” Mme. Blanchet said softly. “Might I give you some coin for your effort?”
Sybil wanted to say yes, but at last she shook her head. If anything, this adventure had shown her she had no interest in being part of the cutthroat beau monde. Sybil had enough money to live a life she enjoyed, which was more than many could say. Besides, even if Sybil’s pockets magically filled with guineas, there still wouldn’t be time to put together a gown as extravagant as these before the Vauxhall ball on Saturday night.
“I don’t need a reward,” she replied. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“I’m ecstatic,” Mme. Blanchet said with feeling. She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m also a bit skittish about leaving the gowns overnight again. I’ve replaced the broken window and hired a lad to keep guard at night, but it’s difficult to breathe easy.”
“Do you want us to deliver the dresses for you?” Jacob asked.
Madame’s face lit up. “Could I go with you?”
“Of course,” said Graham.
Mme. Blanchet gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I doubt anyone will be paying for the privilege to be the first to unveil my new designs next year.”
“Maybe you need a flashy new client,” Sybil suggested. “I read in the Times that Princess Mechtilda of Balcovia’s boat has been docked at our port all week. Perhaps she’s here to do a bit of shopping.”
“C’est parfait.” Mme. Blanchet closed the lids to the trunks. “What if the princess is here for a royal wedding? I should love to make a bridal trousseau for royalty.”
“Graham would love to be the princess’s groom,” teased Jacob.
