Chapter Thirteen
MARCH 23, 1931
BOULOGNE-SUR-MER,FRANCE
Leaving the Hôtel Morveaux,we continue on May and Celia’s path. We eye the Gare Centrale, which contains the washrooms where May was last seen alive, but we pass it. We’d already determined to adhere to the girls’ route, and the rue de Lille was their next destination; the train station was last. How else can we see the world through their eyes?
We are quiet as we trudge up the slope toward rue de Lille.Are the others imagining what May and Celia might have been thinking as they made this same trek? Were the girls dreaming of returning home to England with new, fashionable French chapeaux? I find myself scripting the scene in my head.
The route grows surprisingly steep, and more than once, I offer to hail a cab. Even though she’s breathless and I hear her mutter something about the “weary-making walk,” Emma refuses. So does Margery, who is limping in her spindly, stylish shoes. She should have chosen sensible oxfords or T-straps, as the rest of us did.
We reach the cobblestone street, oohing and aahing over rue de Lille’s adorable shops as if we were sightseers ourselves. Popping in each one, we banter with the shopkeepers, asking seemingly innocent questions about “the poor English nurse” and selfishly lingering in the confiserie, with its irresistible, picture-perfect candies. But we have more success with the sweets than with information,because none of the saleswomen recalls seeing May and Celia. Although, of course, everyone knows about them.
At the end of the lane, we find the millinery. The store contains an astonishing array of hats on display, from the ubiquitous slouchy cloche in every color imaginable to variations on Elsa Schiaparelli’s knit Madcap in silk and linen and wool to the classic beret reinterpreted with feathers and fringe and wild hues. The girls must have been wild for the chapeaux on offer here.
The store is crowded with shoppers but seemingly devoid of employees. In the back, I finally spy the sole salesgirl finishing up with a customer. Linking my arm with Emma’s, I pull her toward the auburn-haired girl, who sports a fanciful cobalt-blue beret. She’s an excellent advertisement for the milliner’s wares.
“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle?”
“Oui, mesdames?” Despite her youth—I’d place her at perhaps nineteen or twenty—her pale blue eyes are weary, with dark circles underneath.
“My friend is in the market for a new wardrobe of hats. We were hoping you could measure her and make some suggestions from your wonderful options,” I say, and Emma offers the girl a wide smile.
The girl’s expression brightens at the thought of a large sale, and she rushes off to grab her measuring tape. “I’ll look a fool in these girlish confections. I’d prefer to stay with my classic headpieces,” Emma protests, touching the vibrant purple feather on her hat, which has a wider brim than is currently stylish.
“As well you should. No one has ever accused me of being fashion-forward, and that’s how I like it. You and I know what suits us, the latest trends be damned,” I say, thinking that I don’t have the funds for the recent styles even if I did have the inclination. That said, a useful rubberized rain hat catches my eye, and I reach for it.
“You’d have done better roping Margery into this little exercise,” she says, glancing over at Margery, who has tried on one of the Elsa Schiaparelli Madcaps and is gazing at herself in a mirror.
“I very intentionally chose you,” I explain, taking a peek at myself in the rain hat. Not the most glamorous cap, but it will certainly come in handy. “You see, we will never find a hat to your liking here, which will prolong our time with the salesgirl and give us ample opportunity for questions.”
Emma beams at me approvingly as the girl returns with a measuring tape in hand. After the several minutes it takes for the girl to determine the right size, Emma peruses the recommended styles and dons a few. I watch and say to the girl, “You certainly know your wares. Have you worked here long?”
“I just finished my apprenticeship. Today is the first day I’ve been permitted to work in the shop alone, in fact.”
That explains the weary eyes and dark circles,I think but do not say. Instead, I offer her congratulations and ask, “How long did your apprenticeship last?”
“Six months.”
I count back and realize she may well have been here in October, when May and Celia visited the shop. Time to find out what she knows.
“You’re acquitting yourself admirably,” I tell her, and she grins at the compliment. “But I do hope you are taking good care on the streets, mademoiselle. We’ve read that the poor missing English girl’s body was just found, and a young lady like yourself must take extra precautions.”
“That is exactly what I told the milliner.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But he told me not to be hysterical.”
“I hardly think it’s hysterical to be concerned,” I say, patting her on the arm. “It’s smart. With any luck, the police will resolve the matter soon, and you can rest easy.”
“The gendarmes have been sniffing around since she disappeared, in the fall, and have made no arrests. They didn’t even take my statements about the girls seriously. So I’m not optimistic that they’ll identify her killer.”
“What statements about the girls?” I ask, as I pay for the rain hat.
“The young nurses shopped here on the afternoon of Miss Daniels’s disappearance. I shared this with the authorities when they interviewed everyone on rue de Lille.”
“Did you wait on them?”
“Not exactly. It was just the beginning of my apprenticeship, so I shadowed Monsieur as he assisted the young ladies.”
“How did you find them?”
