The discordant clicks and clacks of several telegraph machines filled the air.
“I need to send word to Paddington Division,” he replied. “Instruct them to locate Stephen Decamp of Cowper Fields and bring him into custody.”
Chapter Eleven
Gleason’s Department Store rose three imposing stories above Oxford Street near Prince Theatre and occupied nearly half the block. As Leo caught sight of herself in one of the flawlessly clean glass display windows, she came to a stuttering stop on the pavement. A beautiful gown of blush pink silk—a color she would have never considered for herself—was draped upon a dress mannequin, situated an inch or two away from the glass. At street level, as it was, Leo’s reflection was aligned perfectly with the dress, so that her head and neck floated right above the ruffled collar. In the reflection, she looked to be wearing the gown. A pretty pink lace parasol lay propped on a silk-covered table beside the mannequin, as were a pair of heeled shoes, silk gloves, and a wide-brimmed Gainsborough hat.
It was a clever display, surely meant to show ladies passing by what a gown like this might look like on them, tempting them to enter the store and seek out a shop clerk. The pink was far too girlish for Leo, but she did appreciate the way the color brought out a similar glow on her usually pale cheeks.
She kept on toward the front doors to the store, the idea of such a gown ridiculously impractical. Where could she possibly wear it? Not to mention, the cost would be enough to drop her jaw.
As a young doorman in smart livery graciously opened the door for her, his eyes flickered disapprovingly over her attire: a sensible cotton twill skirt of dark blue, a matching blue-and-white-pinstriped shirtwaist with a stiff, upright collar, and a black, double-breasted wool coat. The only adornment that might be considered fashionable was her hat, a dark blue trilby adorned with a white silk ribbon bow and a flounce of black tulle. Dita had picked it out for her the previous autumn when Leo had tried to purchase a plain bonnet.
Leo was grateful for the hat now as she entered Gleason’s front lobby. The scent of perfume wafted lightly up her nose, though not in an overbearing way. It was pleasant and clean, which was something the regular London air could not hope to offer. The faint strains of a violin playing reached her ears, and though she looked around the space of the ground floor, she could not see the musician.
This first space of the store’s ground floor was devoted to home furnishings and decoration, with carefully arranged sitting areas staged to appear like a dining room, a tearoom or a sitting room. Rugs, furniture, fabrics, pillows, trinkets, china and porcelain, glass and silver were all on display here, the styles so modern, Leo couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. The furniture inside her home on Duke Street was decades old, probably purchased secondhand even then, and while it was all well maintained, none of it was fashionable.
She wandered toward a glass case, where lidded urns and shapely vases that looked to be from the Orient were displayed. They were painted with small yellow flowers, or cherry blossoms, or herons with their long beaks and wings.
“May I assist you, madam?”
Leo turned to find a wiry man with a thin face and pencil mustache stepping briskly toward her. His upper body leaned slightly back, as if he wanted to put some distance between them. She was not their usual breed of customer, to be sure, and he would know it.
“I’m looking for the ladies’ department,” she answered, assuming that was where Dita would have been placed.
He formed a patronizing, close-lipped smile and gestured with his hand toward the main staircase. “That is on the first level. I’m sure one of our shop assistants will help you with…whatever it is you require.”
Like the doorman had, he swept her with an assessing glance, though he was not as furtive about it. Most likely, he questioned whether she could afford even a pair of gloves in the ladies’ department, but that wasn’t for her to concern herself with.
Leo took the stairs and entered a world of feminine delight. There were ready-made dresses of rippling velvet and heavy India silk displayed on dressmaker mannequins in winter hues of crimson, emerald, and sapphire. There were lighter colors and fabrics for the spring too: pale linen, pink lace, vibrant green satin, and robin’s-egg blue taffeta. Racks of gloves, shelves upon shelves of hats, and an area of what looked to be women’s undergarments filled the airy floor. Several shoppers were roaming the displays and viewing cases, all of whom were being waited on by at least one shop assistant. The young women wore the blue-and-yellow-striped dress Dita had been wearing—and Lydia Hailson too.
“Good afternoon, miss.”
Leo nearly jumped as a young woman popped up at her shoulder. A shop assistant, who appeared younger than Dita, turned a welcoming smile on Leo, one much warmer than what she’d received so far.
“May I assist you?” she asked.
Before Leo could respond by asking if she could speak to Miss Nivedita Brooks, she caught sight of her friend in the corner of the shop floor. Dita stood at the ribbons counter, listening intently as an older woman spoke to her.
“I’m here to speak to my friend, and I’ve just spotted her, thank you,” Leo told the assistant, then started toward the ribbons counter.
“You’re a friend of Susan?” the assistant asked quickly, sticking to Leo’s side and lowering her voice. “You may want to wait a moment if you’re here to see her. Mrs. Gleason doesn’t like being interrupted.”
The older woman must have been Mrs. Gleason, perhaps the owner of the store, and she did appear serious about whatever it was she was discussing. But Leo boggled over why the assistant would have called DitaSusan. Had this young woman misremembered her name?
As though able to feel her stare, Dita’s dark brown eyes shifted away from Mrs. Gleason and found Leo. Dita startled, and her eyes went wide with panic. Darting her attention back to her employer, Dita nodded obediently to what the woman was saying, and then her shoulders dropped in relief as Mrs. Gleason turned and left the counter.
“There,” the shop assistant at Leo’s shoulder said. “Now, it should be safe.”
Dita motioned impatiently for Leo to approach the ribbons counter, carefully watching the back of her retreating employer.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered harshly the moment Leo reached her. No longer startled, Dita glared at her as if Leo had wronged her somehow.
“I’ve come to ask you something about a case,” she replied, “but I’m more interested in why that other assistant called youSusan.”
“Shhh!” she hissed, throwing another harassed look over Leo’s shoulder. “This isn’t what you think.”
“I’m not sure what I think at all,” Leo replied, growing more concerned by the moment. “Are you using a different name here?”
