One passenger caught his eye. A pretty girl with very light brown hair, she wore a blue muslin dress and a darker blue bonnet. Something about her looked familiar, but he could not place her. Her companion wore all gray and her back was to him. While he watched, the companion reached over to slide her reticule on her arm and her hand came into view. It was an especially lovely hand.
They filed out with the others to retake their spots in the stagecoach. Chase leaned toward the publican. “Where is that coach going?”
“Brighton. There’s two of them stop here every day.”
Nicholas pushed away to claim one of the tables that the coaching party had used. Chase joined him, wondering why Minerva Hepplewhite was traveling to Brighton.
* * *
“Do not be worried. You can do this. If in your mind you become a young woman of some substance, that is exactly who you will be. It will be just like in my garden.” Minerva gave the instructions to Elise while they strolled down the lane in Brighton. They passed fine shops as befitted neighbors of the shop that sold Mr. Oliver’s wares. They had just visited that establishment to confirm that those lace cuffs and collars resided there.
Now they advanced on the other shop reported to have the same merchandise. The one that should not have it.
An obvious change occurred when they made their way through a small crossroad. The shops became smaller. The goods offered appeared less luxurious. Minerva doubted the ton, when visiting Brighton, passed the crossroad when shopping.
Mrs. Oliver had provided the name of the other shop, and they found it easily. The window displayed some nice linen and ribbons, but no cuffs. She and Elise entered.
The owner, Mr. Seymour, stood behind the counter showing a patron a box of silk braids. Minerva browsed the wares and squinted at the shelves behind Mr. Seymour. No cuffs.
“They are not on display,” she murmured to Katherine. “He may have had cause to tuck them away. Let us find out. Pout and look disappointed.”
As soon as the other patron left, Mr. Seymour turned his attention to them.
“It appears your friend was wrong,” Minerva said to Elise. “I did not think we would find such as that here.”
“She was most specific,” Elise said.
“Well, she was wrong.”
“Can I be of service in some way?” Mr. Seymour nipped out from behind the counter.
“My friend Mary said that you had lace cuffs here, beautiful ones,” Elise said. “Are they in a drawer, perhaps?”
“I regret they are not.” Mr. Seymour beamed while he gave the bad news. “They were all purchased. The last sold three days ago. There was a line waiting to buy them. Some very fine ladies availed themselves of my stock in order to obtain them, so even some of my usual patrons were disappointed.”
Elise pouted all the more. “I wish we had come down from town last week.”
“I am sure there are equally nice lace cuffs in other shops,” Minerva said.
“Only one other,” Mr. Seymour said, making a face. “You will pay far higher there, I’m afraid. Same cuffs, same lace, all from the Loire Valley and imported. Only the price is different.” He gave Minerva a meaningful look. “Very different.”
“We can’t buy what is not available to buy,” Minerva said to Elise. “We will find something just as good in London.”
“But I had so wanted to get the cuffs for myself, and cuffs and a collar for Aunt Charlotte.” Elise looked ready to cry. Minerva saw that with alarm, remembering the wails in the garden.
“Well, not quite just as good,” Mr. Seymour said. “As I said, these are from France. Exquisitely made. And—” He leaned closer to share a confidence. “I had one set that even a certain other shop did not have. A new set that proved very popular.”
“You will have her in tears soon,” Minerva scolded. “My own disappointment I can accept, but you know how young women can be.”
“Your own disappointment? Did you intend to purchase some as well? We are talking about three sets?”
Minerva shrugged. “If the new ones are as good as you say, I think it would be four or five. Unfortunately, you do not have them and we leave for town tomorrow.”
Mr. Seymour chewed his lower lip. “The man who brings them to me is expected this afternoon. I should have more tomorrow if you can—”
As if distracted, Minerva fingered some gloves on a table next to where they stood. “We leave soon after breakfast, I’m afraid.”
More chewing. “Could you—if you came by this evening, say at six o’clock, I think I would have what you want by then.”
