Several well-dressed ladies, a few with maids, browsed the shop where mannequins were draped with fabric as well as partially sewn gowns. The modiste must bequite popular.
“Good afternoon.” A woman greeted them from behind a counter with a friendly smile. “We will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you.” Amelia was happy to browse and watch the ladies who worked there to better understand their level of friendliness—and who might be encouraged to chatter.
“Mrs. Greystone.” Yvette tipped her head toward a mannequin draped with an attractive gown in cinnamon silk. “Isn’t that something?”
“Oh my.” Amelia walked toward it, unable to resist touching it, even through her gloves. “What a lovely color.”
“It would look even lovelier on you, madam,” Yvette advised as she looked between Amelia and the gown with a critical eye. “In fact, I think the color would be perfect.”
Pleasure took hold as Amelia considered its fitted bodice and pleated skirts. “You may be right.”
She couldn’t help but glance down at her purple gown. While a nice change from gray, she was quickly growing weary of the color. Cinnamon might be a nice change of pace and still be respectful of her widowhood.
“Thank you for your patience,” a young woman said as she approached. “What may we help you with today?”
“I’m considering a new gown,” Amelia began, wondering how expensive it might be. If Dr. Thorne frequented the place, her modest budget might not be sufficient.
“Something like this one?” The woman gestured toward the gown they’d been admiring. “An excellent choice. The color would be so flattering on you. Why don’t we take some measurements and discuss the design options?”
Before Amelia knew it, she was in a curtained room in the back with a young woman and a tape measure.
“My name’s Sally, madam, the measurements won’t take but a moment.” Already, the woman was helping Amelia remove her gown. “We keep these on file so next time you require a gown, we’ll already have everything we need.”
“Is the shop always this busy?” Amelia asked politely as she was turned and repositioned.
“Madame Fortier is very popular and has many returning customers.” The woman paused to jot down measurements before reaching for the tape measure again.
Another attempt was clearly needed. “I received her name from Dr. Thorne when I admired one of her gowns. Are you familiar with her?”
“Oh, yes. Dr. Thorne is a frequent customer with refined taste.”
Amelia was turned again even as excitement took hold. Surely ‘refined’ meant she spent a fair amount in the shop. “Is she a long-time customer?”
“More recent. The last year or so.” Sally met Amelia’s eyes in the nearby mirror. “Since her sanatorium has grown in popularity. Why, I heard a marchioness stayed there for a time.”
“Oh?” This was what Amelia was hoping for—any information she could gather about the doctor or Hollowgate Heights. Now if only the woman kept talking…
“She wanted to lose a stone or two and did just that. Sings the doctor’s praises all the time.”
“How wonderful.” A success case wasn’t exactly what Amelia wanted to hear, but it did make her feel more hopeful for Louisa’s well-being.
“Isn’t it?” The woman paused again, voice lowered as she glanced at the curtain separating them from the shop. “Course, there are one or two who say the opposite.”
“Oh?” Amelia kept her tone casual despite her interest, her gaze briefly meeting Yvette’s as excitement took hold.
The young lady dropped her voice even lower. “One of our other customers no longer shops here because she refuses to do business where Dr. Thorne does! Can you believe it?”
Yes, she very easily could. “But why?”
“Says the doctorstole her father’s money.” The seamstress stopped to write down another measurement, and Amelia waited anxiously to see if she would continue.
Sally held the tape measure from Amelia’s waistline to the floor, her movements swift and sure even as she shared more of the story. “She insists the treatments killed him, which was bad enough, but then her father changed his will while he was in there and left a bunch of his money to thedoctor.”
“That’s terrible! Did she go to the police?”
“She told Madame Fortier she doesn’t have any proof. Her solicitor told her there’s nothing that can be done, it was all legal-like.”
