Young, blond Lavender waved a wicked pair of sharp sheers. “I’d like to see anyone get past me!”
Gleefully, Vivien laid aside the gown and picked up another pair. Damien grabbed both their wrists and twisted. Both pair of shears hit the floor, crudely proving their uselessness. He dodged tables, mirrors, and dress forms to throw the bolt to the stairs.
“Rafe is locking the downstairs door?” Kate asked worriedly.
She didn’t feel relief at Damien’s nod. They could simply be locking the madman inside.
“How are we to look at that shop space we talked about if we can’t go out?” Lavender protested, unconcerned by the weapon lesson. “Why would a lunatic come here?” She thought about that a second. “Don’t answer that.”
That forced a smile out of Damien. “Mad men don’t think logically. He’s no doubt taking his insane grievance to the magistrate.”
Which would be Captain Huntley, who could be almost anywhere.
“If Hugh is wounded, he can’t be much danger, can he?” Kate looked for a bright side as she picked up the silks. “Finish hemming, Miss Jameson. This is not your concern.” She shooed Vivien back to the ballroom, empty-handed.
“She’s a gossip, that one,” Lavender said, taking up one of the silks to examine it. “Does this mean we can’t get the muslin either?”
“I’ll find Rafe and let you know when it’s safe to walk into the village.” Appearing as if he regretted bolting the office door, Damien took himself back through the twittering ballroom.
After his departure, Lavender exchanged glances and a smirk with Kate. “Now that Arnaud has turned the turret into his studio and abandoned us, the gentlemen are reluctant to visit.” Which explained the excited twittering. Kate’s brother-in-law was a handsome man.
“Having the gentlemen gone is rather a good thing, isn’t it? Your workers are less distracted and accomplish more.” Kate certainly hadn’t missed the disruption of men wandering in and out. She gestured at the silk-draped dress form. “Are you ready for me to start cutting?”
“Not yet. I need to think what will most flatter older ladies, be fashionable, and still suit their preferences. I’ll draw a few sketches first. Take a look at those fashion plates and tell me which colors and ribbons will be most acceptable for our shop, far from the wicked preferences of Paris.” She said that with amusement, not disdain.
Fretting over a madman did no one any good. The manor gentlemen would take care of him. Reasonably certain that a nodcock like Hugh Morgan couldn’t breach solid stone walls, Kate allowed herself to enjoy the pretty pictures in the dream book of finery she could never afford. Adding stylish sleeves and kerchiefs to sensible round gowns with drawstring bodices was far more practical for women without maids.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.” Lavender returned to her pinning. “About having one of our older ladies work in the shop with you? I can’t imagine we’ll be terribly busy, but it’s best to have two people available. Since she took that fall last winter, Mrs. Young has been having difficulty walking. She only works on buttons, though. Would she be useful in a shop?”
Holding a length of lace, Vivien returned and waited until Lavender finished speaking before intruding. “I have an idea for buttons, if you’d like to see it.”
“Put some sketches together and I’ll look at them later.” Lavender took the lace and waved dismissively. “We need Thea’s order finished today, please.”
Lavender waited until the young woman had flounced out before continuing their conversation. “She is eager. We need to give her credit for that I suppose.”
Kate shrugged off the interruption. She was more interested in the shop scheme. “Mrs. Young will be perfect in a shop. The village women are far more likely to come in for new buttons than a new dress. Then she can persuade them into looking at new or refurbished gowns, and I’ll talk to them.”
“We’ll need to stock a few inexpensive fabrics for you to show,” Lavender acknowledged. “I wonder if Henri might bring us extra second-hand finds to keep in stock. He’s not been going into town so much since his son was born.”
“Doting father.” Kate smiled at the French tavern owner’s paternal instincts. “He could start his own shop of castoffs, so he needn’t go to town as frequently.”
“Competition for me,” Lavender pointed out.
Fletch chose that moment to stride in, glowering blackly. To be fair, Kate admitted, he pretty much always appeared as menacing as a wild animal prepared to ravage. Only half-civilized, he belonged in a jungle, not a parlor of silk and lace.
“The madman is attempting to see the captain! I’m pressing charges so Rafe can lock him up. Hunt needs you to do the same. The b. . . brute broke your door lock and trespassed.”
Nice of him to hold back his first choice of word. Kate set down the dream book. “Unless Hugh can be hauled to assizes, what good will that do? He needs a physician.”
“Good. We’ll lock him up, let him rot until he dies—” Fletch grabbed her elbow to steer her off.
Recalling her need to practice defense, Kate picked up the shears and stabbed his good hand with the point. “Don’t touch.”
He dropped her like a hot coal but didn’t budge. “Fine. Are you coming?”
“Does it mean we’ll be safe to walk into the village if I do?” She already regretted hurting him, but she’d endured enough manhandling for a lifetime.
He grunted. “Maybe. Depends on Hunt’s mood. If you ask that he lock up Morgan, he’ll listen.”
