“I’m so proud of you,” Lady Eunice whispered. “You’re like our very own Graham Wynchester.”
Sybil beamed at the compliment. Graham Wynchester kept volumes of meticulous notes on every aspect of London life. She yearned to discuss charting and cataloguing methods with him.
“Does a disgruntled past customer make sense?” Philippa asked. “If they’re seen wearing one of the stolen gowns, we’ll know who took them.”
“Maybe they destroyed the gowns instead,” Lady Eunice suggested.
Sybil gasped in horror. “Destroy thousands of pounds’ worth of exquisite artistry!”
“Mayhap it was a current customer, then,” said Gracie. “Someone who decided not to wait a fortnight for her spot in the footlights on center stage… and didn’t want anyone else to have theirs.”
“Lady Carmichael,” several of the bluestockings said in unison.
“The countess wouldn’t care that it was obvious that she took them,” said Lady Eunice. “Lady Carmichael would either offer to pay Madame Blanchet back for the whole lot, or arrange for the other customers’ deliveries to occur after her daughter’s Vauxhall debut, in order to ensure Miss Carmichael shone brighter than her competition.”
“She might even have thought Lady Vanewright’s order was still part of the bundle,” Sybil said. “Mme. Blanchet made that delivery just three days ago.”
“For the sake of her business, Madame can’t let on that the gowns are missing,” Florentia said.
“Right.” Lady Eunice topped up her glass of Madeira. “Of course, that gamble only works if she can recover the gowns in time.”
“She has to,” Sybil said. “We have to. I promised.”
“We’ll find them in time,” Gracie assured her. “It’s not just Mme. Blanchet’s reputation and earnings at risk but her very livelihood. Her future is in our hands.”
“You’re right,” said Philippa. “She has no contingency plan.”
“She has us,” said Sybil. They would not let Mme. Blanchet down.
Florentia tapped her porcelain tea plate against Gracie’s. “The Heist Club to the rescue!”
“We must work quickly,” Sybil warned.
Her stomach churned at the thought of the missing dresses. Sybil’s modiste, Mlle. LaChapelle, was the best Sybil could afford, and if anything happened to her gown, Sybil would have no recourse—and nothing to wear to the Vauxhall ball.
She supposed she’d be given some latitude, as a bluestocking and as a spinster. No one expected Sybil to make a fabulous match.
“So many people are relying on those dresses arriving on time,” Gracie said. “Mme. Blanchet, her aristocratic clients, their daughters…”
“Sybil, who promised our help.”
“Us, since it’s Heist Club who’s meant to retrieve them.”
“Should we be the ones?” Lady Eunice said doubtfully. “Maybe this is a case for the Wynchesters.”
“They can’t start any time soon,” said Philippa. “They’re all in the midst of their own cases. Even I will be busy tomorrow. Tommy and Elizabeth are staging an altercation in the salon of an inn, whilst I sneak in and—anyway, it’s complicated, and a lot is happening at once.”
“We can do this,” Gracie said. “We unmasked a jewelry thief. How hard can missing dresses be?”
“We’ve less than a fortnight to find out.” Sybil held up the calendar she’d sketched onto a piece of foolscap. “The Vauxhall ball is thirteen days away. It’s the event of the Season. All of Madame Blanchet’s clients plan to attend dressed in her newest creations.”
Florentia rolled her eyes. “I thought Miss Vanewright’s debut was supposed to be the event of the Season.”
“Do you think Lady Vanewright stole the gowns? So that no other girl’s beauty could surpass her own daughter’s, even two weeks later?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Sybil said slowly.
Florentia scoffed. “Are you suggesting their butler will let us in if we knock on the door and say, ‘Good afternoon, I’m a stranger with two dozen of my bosom friends. We’ve come to search the viscount’s house for evidence’?”
