Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Really, this was all Henry’s fault, Amelia told herself as she and Yvette walked down Bond Street. It was his talk last night of looking into the staff and any expensive purchases they’d made which had brought to mind Dr. Thorne’s modiste, Madame Fortier.
She hadn’t mentioned it to him, not when the outing might very well lead to nothing. He could hardly disapprove of her going to a modiste.
How fortuitous that she’d happened to ask the name of the doctor’s dressmaker. With luck, the seamstresses who worked there might have a little gossip to share about the doctor.
Low clouds suggested rain would soon begin. Amelia hoped it would hold off until their errand was finished. She studied the area and the people walking past, only to realize she was once again looking for the man who’d placed the bomb—or someone like him who might be doing the same.
Thank goodness she didn’t note anything suspicious, though perhaps it wasn’t so terrible to remain vigilant. Being aware of others and her surroundings was a good habit to have. One she had never thought to cultivate before Henry.
“Do you truly think the doctor is stealing patients’ inheritances?” Yvette whispered when Amelia paused to admire a window display.
Amelia considered the question for a moment. “Yes, I do.” She held the maid’s gaze. “I might not have proof, but she strikes me as a person who believes she deserves fine things, regardless of whether she earned them.”
“Hmmm. She sounds terrible.”
Amelia shook her head. “She’s helped some people, but I can’t imagine placing myself in her care. There’s something…unsettling about her.”
“Why would she steal money when the place already costs so much?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, it isn’t enough.” Amelia continued walking, Yvette at her side. “Isn’t it interesting how often the greedy become greedier?”
“Interesting but terrible,” the maid countered, then gave a determined nod. “I will do my best to see what I can learn while we’re shopping.”
Amelia smiled with approval. “You’ve proven your investigative skills many times over, Yvette. Now then, let us see what we can learn here.”
Her maid reached for the door to open it for Amelia. “Perhaps you will treat yourself to a new gown in the process.”
“I do believe I’m overdue for one.” How convenient to think this errand might provide both a gown and information.
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 be quite 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 doctor stole 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 the doctor.”
“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.”
“That’s just awful.” Amelia waited a moment, pondering the wisdom of what she was about to say. “I happen to know an inspector with Scotland Yard who is investigating the sanatorium because of similar claims. Do you think the woman would be willing to speak with him?”
The seamstress stiffened, eyes wide as she looked up at Amelia. “I—I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “Sorry, madam, I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“She wouldn’t need to know you mentioned it.” It was too good an opportunity to miss. “I could have the Inspector say he heard her father had stayed at the sanatorium. It might help both her and the police.”
The woman pressed her lips tight, clearly undecided. “You…you’re sure she wouldn’t know? Madame Fortier would be so angry if she knew I caused any problems.”
“No one needs to know,” Amelia reassured her. “It would be between the police and the lady. Neither you nor I would be involved.”
“If you’re certain...”
“I promise.”
Within a quarter of an hour, Amelia was walking out the door with the name of the woman, her address, and an order for two delectable gowns that had been modestly priced, Yvette directly behind her.
They moved down the street until they were several shops away before Amelia paused to look at her maid, filled with satisfaction. “Well. That went even better than I expected.”
“And you’ll have some new gowns, too. A splendid outing if I do say so myself.” Excitement shone in Yvette’s eyes. “Now what shall we do?”
Though tempted to call on the woman herself, perhaps it would be best to involve Henry. He would know the proper way to approach her and convince her to share her suspicions.
“We’re going to Scotland Yard,” Amelia told Yvette brightly. She hoped Henry would be there and that he’d appreciate assistance with the investigation.