by C. G Oster
“You are not considering it, are you?”
“I have told them no.”
“Good,” Dory said with huge relief.
“I see the idea doesn’t appeal to you,” he said with a smile.
“No, I think I have had enough of Germans for a while. I’ll be quite glad to not hear a word about them for at least a decade.”
“There is much that needs doing. The entire continent has been ravaged.”
Dory’s thoughts turned to Lady Pettifer’s house in the south of France and wondered how it had fared through the war. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she didn’t think it had been overrun by Italians. News was sparse and untrustworthy, so who knew what had happened down there. It may not even be possible to sail down there yet. Nothing of what had been was in place. It could well be that the towns they had spent so much time enjoying were devastated.
With an exhale, Dory pressed the piercing questions away from her. It was too heavy a topic to think about. At times, it was simply easiest to think of the things strictly relevant to the day and what she was doing.
“How did the dressmaking go?” Ridley asked and for a moment, Dory had to search her mind to discover what he was referring to. The wedding gown.
“The man at the atelier, Mr. Harlowe, has designed a beautiful dress for me. I shall feel quite pretty. But I am not sure if he can deliver it now. It was quite a shock for him, finding a client murdered in his dressing room. Obviously the church in Swanley is quite flexible if we should change the date.”
“I’d rather not. We should perhaps find a new dressmaker if you think he will not be able to continue.”
Having become quite taken by the design, she absolutely didn’t want to consider going elsewhere. “No, I’m sure it will be alright. It would be such a pity if he lost his clients too because of this despicable act.” The Vellsted family was probably not paying for the work he had put into that poor girl’s gown, and having a bride murdered in his shop was hardly going to do him a good turn. Poor man. Poor girl. It was just so awful. How could someone do something like that?
Even as she had been involved with two murders now, and knew why they had occurred, she still couldn’t reconcile that someone would take such a drastic, evil action. And a bride too. Two families would be devastated by this.
“Livinia knows the girl who was murdered,” Dory mentioned, her mind still stuck on the events of the day before. She couldn’t entirely shake it. Perhaps if she had not seen that poor girl lying there on the dressing room floor, it wouldn’t have such a hold on her, but she had. She had seen the true outcome of this action.
The plate of food being put down surprised her. She hadn’t ordered.
“I took the liberty of ordering. As there was only one choice on the menu, I felt confident I would make the correct choice.”
Dory smiled. “Thank you.”
Taking the fork, she took a bite. It tasted like fish with a very mild flavor, cooked with an herb. Sage, she believed. “It’s quite nice.” In fact, it might be the nicest meal she’d had in a while.
The portion wasn’t large, so it didn’t take a long time to eat. Afterward, Ridley lit a cigarette and they sat and watched the restaurant for a while.
“What do you think about spending a few days in Brighton after we are married?” Ridley asked. “Not grand, but a few days by the sea.”
“That would be lovely,” Dory replied. She couldn’t help blushing because it would just be him and her, and they would be married. Brighton was close, so it wouldn’t be onerous. “Would we take the train?”
“It would probably be easier than trying to get some petrol for a car, but we’ll see.”
Somehow, Lady Pettifer always managed, but throughout the war, they’d regularly acquired things no one else had. Cedric, Lord Wallisford’s oldest son had been in a position to get anything they’d needed. Although he was probably out of a job now. Dory wondered what he would do? Then the bigger question came to her about what had happened to Vivian. Still, there was no news.
“Come,” Ridley said, “let’s go for a walk.”
It wasn’t quiet on the streets, but it hadn’t been since the war had finished. The revelry still continued, but there were also workmen on the streets, throughout the night, repairing the damaged roads.
It was almost impossible to imagine the city recovering from all this damage. There was just too much. But everyone was rebuilding their lives, or trying to, just like she and Ridley were—about to build a new life together. It was just such a shame that this murder formed a substantial shadow over what was supposed to be the happiest of things, the measuring of a beautiful wedding gown. It wasn’t just a dress—it was a gown.
Again she wondered if Ridley would like it. She was sure she would never feel as beautiful as she would in that gown. Hopefully, Mr. Harlowe would still be able to make it. Some took something as horrific as a murder to heart and couldn’t recover.
In a sense, Dory felt bad that she wasn’t utterly distressed by this murder, but she hadn’t known the girl. Perhaps the war had also made her less shocked when someone died. No longer as incensed as she had been the previous times she had encountered a murder.
Chapter 8
AN URGENT KNOCK SOUNDED on the door as Dory sat in the kitchen with her mother, peeling potatoes for their lunch.
“Who could that be?” her mother said. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No,” Dory said.
They opened the door to see one of the neighborhood boys, puffed from running. “Telephone call for you, Miss.” He couldn’t carry on and puffed some more. “At the post office.”
“Right. You had better go then,” her mother said.
As quickly as she could, she marched to the post office. It was either Ridley or Lady Pettifer as no one else had a reason to call her.
Mrs. Merrick stood in the small post office, chatting with Mr. Judeson. “Ah, Dory. There’s a telephone call for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Judeson,” she said and walked over to the counter where the phone stood. The phone here or the phone box in the square served most of the town. “Hello?” she said as she picked up the black receiver lying on the counter.
“Dory, is that you?”
“Yes, Lady Pettifer. How are you?”
“Well, well. Now I thought I would send Mr. Poole down to pick you up if you are free.”
“I’m free,” Dory replied.
“Might as well carry on with this dressmaking business. I can’t accompany you. My knee is giving me troubles, but please come see me afterwards.”
“Alright,” Dory said. Going up to Wallisford Hall hadn’t been part of her plan, but her plans didn’t always coincide with Lady Pettifer’s. “Who is Mr. Poole?”
“Oh, he’s my brother’s new driver.”
“Right,” Dory said. Hopefully he was less frightening to drive with than Livinia.
“Let me know what Mr. Harlowe says about everything,” she continued. “You can tell me afterwards.”
By everything, she meant the murder. “Alright,” Dory said. The line was crackling and they could hear the echoes of someone else’s conversation.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lady Pettifer said, sounding more distant.
Dory was about to answer, but Lady Pettifer had hung up. With a smile, she gave the receiver back to Mr. Judeson. It seemed she had plans for tomorrow. London and then Quaintly. There was a good chance she wouldn’t make it back home that evening, so it would be best to take an overnight bag if that proved to be the case.
“Who was it?” her mother asked as she returned to the house.
“Oh, Lady Pettifer.”
“About the dress or the murder?”
“Both, I suspect. She wants me to go have tea with her tomorrow.”
“Then you can take Glady’s gratin form back to her. I’ve been meaning to send it back.” Why she had Aunt Glady’s gratin form in the first place, Dory had no idea. It hadn’t arrived in th
e time Dory had been home.
Tom bounded in through the door with a couple of small carp on his fishing hook.
“Oh, good boy,” Mother said. “Did you gut them?”
“Yes,” Tom said with complete exasperation as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world as he placed his catch on the table and then left the room.
“So what does Captain Ridley say about this murder, then?”
“He says we should leave it to the investigator to deal with.”
“Then you should.”
“Yes, I suppose. It’s just that the man was completely barking up the wrong tree. It just felt…wrong.”
“The man is a professional, Dory, and you are not. Captain Ridley is right. You should leave this man to do his job.”
Most likely she should, but she couldn’t imagine that man getting heads or tails out of Livinia. It wasn’t something she mentioned to her mother, but she might talk to Lady Pettifer about it.
*
The tin gratin form sat next to Dory in the car as she was driven by Mr. Poole to London. Quite a nondescript man she saw through the small window of the car. Spoke very little, so Dory just sat there and watched the fields pass outside her window. The man had probably come back from the war. It was also likely that he was qualified as a driver, or Lord Wallisford would not have hired him.
Thinking of Lord Wallisford made her think of Vivian and the fact that there had still been no news. It made her even more worried, because it suggested he hadn’t survived. Surely he would have been in touch by now otherwise, but who knew what the telephone lines to Singapore were like. The whole telephone infrastructure could be completely destroyed. The enemy always wished to bomb the telephone infrastructure, didn’t they?
The damage started to be seen as soon as they approached London, and they had to drive quite a roundabout way to reach Marylebone, where they pulled up next to Mr. Harlowe’s atelier. As before, the bell chimed as she walked in. The place looked as lovely and lush as it had before, no sign of something horrific having happened there not so long ago.
“Ah, Miss Sparks. You have come to complete your measurements, I take it.”
“Yes,” she said.
“The indomitable Lady Pettifer is not joining you today?”
“No, not today, but I suspect she will come for the final fitting.”
“I would expect no less,” he said, leading her through the salon, where a different group of girls were sitting at one of the sofa groups. In a way, they were almost identical to Cornelia Vellsted’s party. A group of girls, likely friends from school, there to support one of them prepare for her wedding.
Dory didn’t linger and continued straight into the measuring room, where she met the same French woman who had measured her before.
“You’d like some tea, perhaps?” Mr. Harlowe asked.
“Yes, actually.” It had felt like a long, silent ride from Swanley, so a cup of tea would do her good. The French woman went to retrieve it. “Have you heard more from DI Capshaw?”
The grimace on Mr. Harlowe’s face suggested he didn’t like the man. “They positively tore the place apart,” he said. “Left an extraordinary mess, all those clod-footed policemen.”
“Did they seem to find anything?”
“Not that I could see. Hopefully we’ve seen the back of them.”
“I wonder what they were looking for, as the murder weapon was…” Dory noted the man’s grimace deepen, stuck in her body, Dory finished silently.
“And they dared to suggest one of my staff was responsible. This is an establishment of the highest repute.”
“I wouldn’t take it to heart, Mr. Harlowe. He suggested both myself and Livinia as suspects too. I think he spreads blame quite liberally around just to see if anyone reacts.”
“Dreadful man. He spent quite a bit of time with the lock out in the storage room, but that lock is as solid as can be. I have thousands of pounds worth of materials in that storage room. I’m hardly going to protect it with some flimsy lock. No one came in that door without a key. The man is an idiot.”
Dory mentally took note.
“No manners whatsoever,” Mr. Harlowe went on. “Much of the things he was saying didn’t even make sense. Suggesting one of the staff held a grudge against a customer? That is not how we treat our customers. Why would any of my staff hold a grudge? Utterly ludicrous.” Mr. Harlowe seemed to be warming to revealing his gripes about the whole process and the man who was investigating. “I doubt he could read a room if he tried.”
That was an interesting comment. “Mr. Harlowe, did you notice any tension at all between the girls in Cornelia Vellsted’s party?”
“Oh, there are always tensions within a group of girls. That salon in there,” he said, pointing backward, “is where war happens. Might be a wrong choice of word, but make no mistake, the drama plays out with such subtlety. A man like Capshaw would never understand.”
The French woman returned with a cup of tea in a beautiful cup and saucer, giving it to Dory.
“But with Cornelia Vellsted’s group, did you notice any particular tensions?”
“They were all tense,” he said. “Deepest of friends, of course, but I don’t think they like each other. Girls are like that sometimes. Actually, not sometimes, often. A wedding is about power—who has power and who doesn’t. It is the bride’s day, but some do not like giving power to the bride.”
“Was that true in this case?”
“No, Cornelia Vellsted was no wilting wallflower. She was strong.”
“Strong,” Dory repeated, trying to understand what he meant. She did believe that Mr. Harlowe’s observations were important, but she was also a little lost, because these were society girls and they had their own way of doing things. “Those girls didn’t like the bride?”
“Like,” the French woman said with a shrug. “What is like? They compete.”
“Clearly someone took it a bit literally,” Mr. Harlowe said.
“You think one of her friends murdered her?” Dory asked.
“I don’t know, but who else would be so angry with her that they would do that? Who would murder a bride in her wedding dress?” he said.
“Someone who hates her,” the Frenchwoman added. “Now you stand still or I prick you.”
The woman bent down to continue with her measurements and Mr. Harlowe left with a curt nod. Three giggling girls walked past into the dressing room. Girls being competitive was something she had seen during her time in the South of France. Fashion, houses, cars. All those things had mattered.
Dory had just about forgotten, because the war had changed everything, but maybe for people like Livinia, that hadn’t changed. And Mr. Harlowe was right. What spoke more about a person’s worth and standing than a wedding? It was literally their day to shine. And if Mr. Harlowe’s assertion was right, someone had stolen Cornelia Vellsted’s day to shine.
Chapter 9
“HELLO, DORY,” LADY PETTIFER said brightly as she sat by the large windows in the morning room, which were shaded this time of day. “I wondered what time you would arrive.”
Walking over, Dory kissed her on the cheek, then sat down in the white rattan chair. Mr. Holmes had let her in, behaving curtly and professionally. It seemed his objection to her being received as a guest in this house was waning somewhat. Not that she was fooled. She would never cross the sharp distinction between family and servant.
“How was Mr. Harlowe?”
“Well, it seems DI Capshaw has upset him. Interestingly, he also said he observed some tension between the girls in Cornelia Vellsted’s party. Some type of tussle for dominance. Seemed adamant someone hated her very strongly to do what they did.”
“I don’t doubt he is right,” Lady Pettifer said and rang the bell on the small table beside her. “Tea, Mr. Holmes,” she said as the butler arrived. The man discreetly retreated. He was going down to see Gladys, which Dory would do too later, feeling a little ashamed that she, in the fi
rst instance, wanted to inform Lady Pettifer what she’d learned about the poor bride. “A wedding sets you up for your adult life, doesn’t it?”
Dory wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but perhaps for the older generation it was true—particularly as, in the time when Lady Pettifer had been young, she wouldn’t have had the leeway to act on her own in any authority. Things were so different now and Dory was glad. She knew how to build armaments, drive a truck and maintain an engine—she hardly needed a male guardian to make her decisions for her.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you,” Lady Pettifer said excitedly. “Vivian called last night.”
Dory’s eyes widened. Vivian had called. He was alive. It was a relief—more so than she’d expected. “I am glad to hear it.”
“He was taken by ship to Darwin.”
“Darwin in Australia?”
“Yes. He insisted he was fine. Aldus was beside himself. So much worry and now he is fine. Apparently, he will stay there for a while. Although I don’t know why they are not just putting him on a ship and sending him home. What in the world is he going to do in Australia?”
“At least he’s alright,” Dory said.
“Yes, that is the important part, isn’t it?”
“That is good news. Livinia must be happy.”
“Speaking of Livinia; she’s here somewhere. Might still be in her room.”
Just then, Mr. Holmes returned with the tea service. “Mr. Holmes, would you be so kind as to inform Livinia we wish to speak to her.”
They did? Dealing with Livinia was sometimes a little fraught for Dory. At times she was considerate, but other times she was dismissive and curt. Dory never really knew what she would get from Livinia.
“How is your mother?” Lady Pettifer asked.
“Well. Nothing much happens in Swanley. Tom is getting older and can be troublesome at times, but he is becoming quite the expert fisherman. Pike, perch, carp. He can come home with all sorts of things for supper.”
