by Jen Turano
“I don’t know when I’ve ever witnessed a more riveting scene,” Daphne said, moseying up to join them now that they were alone on the street, her curiosity evidently the reason behind her abandoning the safety of her shrub. She held up her notepad. “I have enough fodder here to last me quite a few chap—or poems.”
Nicholas cocked his head to the side. “What type of poetry could you possibly write about in regard to the events that occurred this evening?”
Daphne shot a look to Gabriella, who merely shrugged, then back to him. “Dark poems. Along the lines of, umm, Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Have you ever written dark poetry before?”
“Just because I faint at the drop of a hat doesn’t mean I’m incapable of writing dark, perhaps even thrilling, poetry,” Daphne said firmly. “But speaking of being incapable, your performance tonight, Nicholas, was not anything like what I expected, not with how you grew up in the Lower East Side. You were far too easy on Celeste Wilkins, treating her as if the two of you were about to sit down to tea instead of an interrogation. It’s a good thing Gabriella refused to be left behind. She took the bull firmly by the horns, and in so doing had Celeste confessing all.”
“She certainly knew how to deal with Celeste,” Nicholas admitted.
“Indeed, it was a most brilliant spectacle, and one I’m not soon to forget.” Daphne took the arm Nicholas offered her, although Gabriella refused the arm he offered her next, probably because she was dressed as a man, and together, they began moving in the direction of his brownstone.
“Do either of you find it curious that someone tried to steal jewels that Celeste hired someone to steal for her?” Daphne asked after they’d made it all of half a block.
“That’s a strategy Nicholas and I often saw when we lived in the Lower East Side,” Gabriella began. “Someone would set up a heist, word would spread, and then a rival would set up another heist, relieving the first culprit of the valuables they’d stolen.” Gabriella caught Nicholas’s eye. “Remember when that group of street children learned we’d managed to steal two paintings from the Stewart house and intercepted us on our way back to Rookwood?”
“That was one of the few times I was glad Virgil Miskel was with us. We never would have been able to keep hold of our ill-gotten gains if not for the sheer size of him.”
Daphne slowed to a stop. “What could you have possibly done with two paintings?”
“Rookwood sold them to one of his contacts who had connections with a society member who loved to acquire beautiful objects and never questioned where they came from,” Gabriella said. “The paintings we stole that night were painted by some artist named Henry Raeburn, but I don’t know what happened to them after we took them off the Stewart wall.”
“A member of the Belmont family bought them,” Nicholas said.
Gabriella frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Because I purchased them from Archie Belmont three years ago after I attended a dinner party at his house and saw them on the wall of his study. Henry Raeburn’s work is in much demand these days, and I knew they’d be a sound investment if I could convince Archie to part with them. I had to pay a pretty penny, but I’m sure the paintings will only increase in value.”
Gabriella’s frown deepened. “You bought them because they’re a sound investment?”
“Why else would I have bought them?”
“I would have thought, since you seem to have sufficient means at your disposal, that you bought them because you wanted to return them to the Stewart family.”
“I doubt the Stewarts even missed those paintings. If you’ll recall, they had hundreds of paintings hanging on the walls of their mansion. Besides, how would I go about returning them? That might very well incur questions I’m unable to answer since no one in society knows about my past.”
“You used to possess a semblance of intelligence, Nicholas, some of which I would hope you still have. I’m sure if you set your mind to it, you’d figure something out,” Gabriella said as they reached his house. She sent him what was clearly a forced smile. “Thank you for your assistance tonight. Overall, it was a very satisfying conclusion to a case I wasn’t certain we were going to be able to solve. But we’ve cleared Jennette’s name, and the police assured us they’d see her released as soon as possible, so all’s well that ends well.”
“Should we celebrate by enjoying a nice cup of coffee or tea together before I see the two of you home?” Nicholas asked.
Instead of immediately answering him, Gabriella turned her attention to his brownstone, considered it for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, nor do I think it’s a good idea for you to see us home. I’ll just change into my Mrs. Kaffenburgh disguise again so I can return Billie’s clothes to him, and then Daphne and I will rent a hansom cab.”
“I’m not comfortable having you take a hansom cab home.”
She stepped closer to him. “You’ve turned somewhat domineering over the years, Nicholas, as well as opinionated—attitudes I’ve never appreciated. I also don’t appreciate that you’re apparently fine possessing paintings that you know firsthand were taken from their rightful owners. Then there’s your house.” She glanced at it again, then back to him. “While not a castle, it’s a magnificent home, but you’re apparently still not satisfied since it’s not in the latest most desirable part of the city.” She let out a breath and laid a hand on his arm. “We’ve taken different paths in life, my old friend, and those paths, I’m afraid, are not meant to converge any longer. With that said, allow us to bid each other a fond good-bye, knowing that our friendship is not meant to continue on, but our memories from when we were young will be with us forever.”
CHAPTER
Eleven
“You will not believe what I overheard just now—Miss Celeste Wilkins has been sent to a sanatorium in England.”
Gabriella looked up from the gown she was hemming, finding Monsieur Villard, her employer, standing on the other side of her worktable. His brown hair was decidedly mussed, which suggested he’d been so caught up in eavesdropping that he’d succumbed to his habit of raking his hand through his hair. Normally, he took great pains to avoid that habit because he believed his appearance needed to be perfect during business hours.
“A sanatorium?” she repeated, laying aside her needle and thread.
“Indeed.” Monsieur Villard leaned over the table. “According to Mrs. Lyons, who heard it from none other than Mr. Ward McAllister, it appears that because Miss Celeste Wilkins made a full confession after being caught red-handed five days ago, the authorities decided that something had to be done. A lady can’t very well be allowed to go on her merry way after framing a fellow lady for theft, no matter that her family is part of the New York Four Hundred. Apparently, the decision was made to send Celeste out of the country, where she’s going to enjoy a lovely stay at a sanatorium, hopefully dwelling on her past misdeeds.”
“How long will she have to stay there?”
“No idea. But because she was caught, the lovely Miss Jennette Moore has now been set free, which has resulted in a great deal of business being sent our way.” Monsieur Villard rubbed his hands together. “With Mr. Duncan Linwood insisting they get married by the end of the month, society ladies are in a dither, scrambling to order the perfect gowns for what will certainly be one of the most talked-about weddings and balls of the Season. Fortunately for us, with the limited time available to get those gowns made, we’ve turned into the dress shop of choice.”
“And that is why I need to get back to work and you need to go flatter all those society customers waiting for you on the main floor.”
Monsieur Villard sent her a wink. “Too right you are.”
“Of course I am, but before you go, you might want to fix your hair. It’s mussed.”
“Surely not?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“That will never do,” Monsieur Villard said, striding toward his
office.
Smiling, Gabriella returned to the gown she was hemming, but the longer she hemmed, the harder she found it to concentrate on the job at hand.
It wasn’t that hemming took a great deal of concentration, but anytime her thoughts got to wandering of late, they seemed to wander directly into Nicholas territory, which was not where she wanted her thoughts to go.
Telling him she didn’t want to see him again had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but it couldn’t have been helped. He was not the Nicholas she’d known and loved. That Nicholas would have acquired the Henry Raeburn paintings not because he wanted to hang them on his wall, but because he would have wanted to return them to their rightful owner. Her Nicholas would’ve also been completely content with his brownstone in Washington Square Park, not caring a whit that another part of the city had turned more fashionable. Most importantly, he would have never, ever tried to manage her with his many opinions, even if that was something many society ladies apparently enjoyed.
To her annoyance, though, even with the many faults he’d clearly acquired over the years, she couldn’t help but enjoy being in his company. She relished the banter they exchanged and appreciated the easiness that occasionally settled between them, an easiness that had once seemed as natural as breathing.
“Monsieur Villard asked me to come fetch you, Gabriella. You’re needed on the floor.”
Gabriella looked up to find Nan, one of the other seamstresses, standing directly beside her. “The floor must be incredibly busy if he actually wants me out there.”
Nan grinned. “There are currently so many ladies packed into the main room that you can’t turn around without running into someone. Monsieur Villard wants you to mark some hems, hoping that adding you to the mix will help clear out the shop before closing time.” Nan leaned closer. “You know how Monsieur Villard enjoys closing the shop on time, but he also doesn’t want to miss a sale, which is evidently why he’s willing to risk sending you out there.”
“I’m not a risk. I do know how to comport myself when interacting with customers, if I make a concerted effort.”
“You never flatter them.”
“Flattery’s not in my nature.”
“Hence the reason Monsieur Villard prefers keeping you out of sight.” Nan caught Gabriella’s eye. “He does seem slightly frazzled, so . . .”
“I’ll be on my best behavior and might even attempt a small bit of flattery, but no promises.”
Laying aside the gown she was working on, Gabriella gathered a measuring tape and a container of pins. She edged around the other worktables and made her way to the main room, pausing in the doorway as her gaze traveled over the swarm of ladies milling about.
That the room was packed was not in question, and that so many ladies in need of hemming had to resort to having that work done in the main room, instead of the dressing rooms where alterations were normally performed, suggested that Monsieur Villard was right in that his dress shop had become the shop of choice in the city.
Squaring her shoulders, she strode forward, heading for a raised dais where a young lady was standing, clearly waiting for her hem to be marked.
“What a lovely gown,” Gabriella said, walking around the young lady and then resisting a groan when she discovered it was none other than Miss Maryanne Allen, a lady who’d all but chatted her ear off when Gabriella had been masquerading as Mrs. Kaffenburgh.
Maryanne frowned. “Do you believe it’s merely lovely? I was hoping for spectacular.”
“I imagine spectacular is a fitting description as well.”
“You’re not sure it’s spectacular?”
Reminding herself that Monsieur Villard was frazzled and would hardly appreciate it if he were forced to intervene because she’d annoyed a customer, Gabriella summoned up a smile. “Forgive me but of course it’s spectacular. I’m certain you’ll be one of the most fashionably dressed ladies at . . . should I assume this is for the Moore-Linwood wedding?”
“Is there any other event worth talking about?”
It took a great deal of effort to keep her smile in place. “Shall I get down to marking your hem?”
“Unless you want to keep me standing on this dais longer than I’m comfortable, yes.”
Gabriella knelt on the floor, still smiling, even though she was relatively certain her jaw had taken to clenching. Scooting along, she slipped pins into the delicate silk and made her way around the skirt, stopping when she reached the middle of the back. She rose to her feet and began giving the hem a close look, making certain it was even, her perusal interrupted when a customer stumbled into her, causing Gabriella to stumble into Nan, who was marking a hem right beside her. After she regained her balance and helped Nan up from the floor, she drew in a deep breath, trying to keep her irritation in check over the notion that the lady who’d stumbled into her hadn’t bothered to apologize. When she glanced around the room, the breath she’d just taken got stuck in her chest when her gaze suddenly locked with the last person she’d been expecting to see in the shop.
Nicholas.
Her irritation disappeared in a flash, replaced with a touch of anticipation because . . . even though she’d told him in the firmest manner possible that she didn’t want to see him again, he’d somehow discovered where she worked and had tracked her down to, perhaps, make amends.
Her lips curved into a genuine smile, that smile fading a mere second later when she realized that, while Nicholas was certainly giving her his undivided attention, he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked quite as if he’d seen a ghost.
Understanding was swift, as was temper.
He’d not come to the shop to seek her out. He was here with one of his many lady friends, and he was watching her so closely because . . . he didn’t know how to go about greeting her without everyone questioning how he was acquainted with a seamstress.
Narrowing her eyes, while calling herself the biggest ninny for thinking there was still a part of the old Nicholas residing in the consummate gentleman wearing a perfectly fitted suit that had clearly been tailor-made, she spun on her heel, knelt on the ground, and continued marking the hem.
Finishing in record time, she refused to allow herself another glimpse of Nicholas as she rose to her feet and nodded to Maryanne. “That should do it.”
Maryanne twisted from side to side, staring at her reflection in a three-way mirror. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“As I said before, you’ll be one of the most fashionably dressed guests at the wedding.”
Maryanne immediately began looking rather sulky. “I need to be the most fashionably dressed.” She frowned at her reflection. “Perhaps you should add more beads to really make it sparkle.”
“If we add more beads, you’ll have difficulty walking, let alone dancing. But is there a reason why you’re determined to be the most fashionably dressed?”
Maryanne shrugged. “There’s a title to be won, and I want to be at the top of Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s list. I won’t achieve that goal if I don’t stand out over the other young ladies in attendance at the Moore-Linwood event.”
Of anything Gabriella had been expecting Maryanne to admit, that had not crossed her mind. She’d also neglected to realize what the consequences could be from creating Mrs. Kaffenburgh in the first place, or for forgetting to let society know Mrs. Kaffenburgh was no longer available. Concerningly enough, young ladies were apparently still striving to win Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s favor.
She cleared her throat, knowing she had no choice but to deal with the unfortunate Mrs. Kaffenburgh situation once and for all, before she was responsible for young ladies throwing away their chances of a successful Season in the hopes of procuring a nonexistent title. “Forgive me for being forward, but working in a dress shop affords me the unusual opportunity of being privy to matters that aren’t often publicly bandied about.” She leaned closer to Maryanne. “I overheard someone speaking about a Mrs. Kaffenburgh, and from what was said, I got the dis
tinct impression that lady has left the city to travel to Boston.”
Maryanne’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Kaffenburgh is no longer in the city?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“When is she expected to return?”
“I didn’t hear anything about her returning.”
“Good heavens, Maryanne,” Mrs. Allen, Maryanne’s mother, said, bustling up to join them. “Have a care with your conversation. You’ve only just gotten back in Mr. Quinn’s good graces, but I doubt that state will last long if he overhears you talking about Mrs. Kaffenburgh again.”
“I doubt he heard me, Mother.” Maryanne turned on the dais and sent a waggle of fingers in the direction Gabriella had last seen Nicholas standing, only to turn around again a second later with her lips pursed. “Or perhaps I’m mistaken and he did hear me because he just ignored my wave.”
“I heard you mention Mrs. Kaffenburgh from halfway across the room,” her mother snapped. “Mr. Quinn obviously heard you as well and is, as I warned you, less than pleased with you yet again. If you’ve forgotten, he’s been spending his time this week at his many gentleman clubs, avoiding other society events like the plague. I was certain you’d ruined your chances with him for good but was ever so pleased when he accepted my invitation to join us at a matinee earlier, followed by a wonderful luncheon. He then agreed to accompany us to this shop, which is quite the chore for a gentleman, since they prefer to spend their time in less-feminine surroundings. You need to keep his chivalrous behavior in mind and act accordingly. I do not want my efforts to restore him to a good humor to be in vain, so enough with the talk of Mrs. Kaffenburgh.”
Maryanne’s lips thinned. “Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s nephew could allow our family to obtain a title.”
“True, but the competition for that title will be fierce. You’ve already drawn the specific notice of Mr. Quinn, and he, my dear, is considered the most eligible bachelor in the city. You’d be wise to remember that as well and not put all your eggs in one aristocratic basket.”
