by C. G Oster
Her mother appeared at the back door of their house. “I think you must go soon if you want to make the train at two,” she said and Dory checked her wristwatch. It was time for her to clean up and go. Her wedding dress was ready for its first fitting. A letter had arrived from the atelier with a suggested appointment.
How was it she was so nervous to try on a dress? Well, she was. Perhaps because it was a little avant-garde to her sensibilities.
Rushing inside, she scrubbed her hands. It would not do for her to show up with dirty hands to leave marks over the fine, white material.
Changing into one of her nice sundresses, she repinned her hair and then ran for the train. It wasn’t as though she was very late, but she really didn’t want to chance missing it.
During the train ride, she worried about this business with Cornelia Vellsted, that they hadn’t made heads or tails of it. They had spoken to all the relevant parties and were no closer to understanding who had done it. In fact, it just seemed to get more and more complicated. Some people thought Cornelia was an angel, and others anything but. Those closest to her did suggest there were some flaws to her character, but not according to Fredrick, who mentioned nothing of the sort.
Could it be that Cornelia put on a different attitude when it came to Fredrick? It could be. Some girls were like that, particularly with a man they were interested in. But then Charlie, Fredrick’s best friend, was the most scathing about her. Surely Fredrick couldn’t be utterly blind to that. Love did blind people to the faults in the objects of their infatuation.
No one had said anything bad about Freddy, so maybe he was the sweet-natured young man who didn’t see faults in others. Some were like that too, inherently trusting and seeing the best in people. It was possible.
The entire journey was taken up with thinking about the different people involved, and the muddled and messy links between them. She arrived in London and took the tube to Marylebone. The street was busy as she walked to the atelier.
“Ah, Miss Sparks. We are so pleased to see you today,” Harry said and Dory smiled. “I hope your journey here was not arduous. You live in the country, I believe.”
“Yes, but who doesn’t enjoy an excuse to come to the city? And what better reason than this?”
“Well, we shall not dawdle and take up too much of your time.”
As they walked through the salon, Dory saw two parties there. “Business is picking up,” she said quietly.
“Yes, the shock has passed,” he said quietly in return. “In fact, I think it has picked up with the notoriety. Apparently this is the place to get one’s gown—or to be murdered. Why not make the process a little more spicy with a shiver?” His voice was tart, as if he disapproved, but he did benefit from it. A week or so back, he worried it would have a sustained detrimental impact on his business. “Now come through and we shall try your dress on. It is quite marvelous.”
Mr. Harlowe was essentially complimenting himself because he’d designed the dress, with her mere contribution involving saying yes. She was led to the other dressing room from the one Cornelia had been murdered in.
One of the girls joined her, standing by to help her dress. They waited in awkward silence until Harry returned, carrying a wrapped bundle which he hung up and then proceeded to unwrap from its calico casing. Shiny satin was her first impression. And grey.
“Oh,” Dory said as it was revealed. It was beautiful. Shiny like a pearl. It was the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
“Now, Jane here will help you and then we will do the necessary nips and tucks,” Harry said with a smile and then floated out of the dressing room.
Jane proceeded to take down the dress and help Dory put it on. “Oh,” Dory said again as the dress fitted into place. It looked even better on her. She looked beautiful. She looked like a pearl, or a fantasy princess. “I think it is almost too good for me.”
“Nonsense,” Jane said with a smile. “Your wedding day is the one day when you can shine without limit. The dress is perfect. Needs a little readjusting.”
Dory didn’t see how it needed anything. Instead she tried to fight the tears that were threatening, which was unusual, because she wasn’t normally maudlin about things like dresses. But she looked so beautiful.
“Mr. Harlowe has outdone himself,” she said, even as she couldn’t possibly know because the only dress of his she had actually seen was the one Cornelia Vellsted had been murdered in.
“Come,” Jane said, leading her out of the door to stand on the little platform in front of the mirror. The French woman stood with pins in her teeth, looking just as tired and bored as before. Harry was there and he beamed.
“Very nice,” he said and adjusted the skirt slightly. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, yes,” Dory said. “It is the nicest dress I have ever seen. I cannot believe it is me staring back in the mirror.”
“You groom will count himself the luckiest man in the country.”
“He’d better,” Dory said, pushing down a tinge of worry, because she knew that Ridley wasn’t overly excited about Lady Pettifer buying her this dress. It wasn’t as if he resented her friendship with Lady Pettifer, perhaps more that a dress like this was really out of reach for her and only possible because of Lady Pettifer. This vision in the mirror shouldn’t really be for her. This dress was out of her reach. Tears stung her eyes again, because she looked so lovely and this was not how she saw herself.
The French woman moved closer and pinned material at her sides and back. Dory watched for a moment.
“Have you seen any more of DI Capshaw?” Dory asked.
“Well,” Mr. Harlowe said tartly. “His men have been over every square inch of the shop. He has spoken to my accountant and solicitor. To all the staff and their families. It seems he is making me his main suspect.”
“The man has thrown aspersions every which way,” Dory said. “Don’t take it personally.”
“It will feel very personal if he hangs me for murder.”
“I’m sure it will not come to that. But it seems he has not spoken again to the girls in Cornelia’s wedding party. Which I believe is where he should focus his attention.”
“I would not mention it, but I suspect so too,” Mr. Harlowe said. “It takes a certain viciousness to murder a bride. I cannot say I have met the groom. Good family, from what I hear.”
“I have. He seems despondent. By appearances he was deeply in love with Miss Vellsted.”
“Yes,” Mr. Harlowe said absently. “I am sure the marriage would have been wedded bliss.” There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which to her showed a man who was innately driven to compliment, even when he firmly believed the exact opposite.
Dory chewed her cheek and wondered what she should say, knowing that Mr. Harlowe had observed something that day, something that suggested there was tension within the party.
“It appears none of Miss Velllsted’s friends are very complimentary about her. I have spoken to them all.”
“Umm,” Mr. Harlowe said. “Such relationships can often be… terse.” He was watching his words. His livelihood and business depended on good relationships with the women of that society.
“They revealed some of that tension when we spoke to them?”
“We, Miss?”
“Oh, me and Livinia.”
“Yes, of course.”
“One did seem to take offense with Cornelia’s involvement with the design of her dress.”
“Miss Vellsted was naturally involved,” Mr. Harlowe said.
“I think one implied that Miss Vellsted’s taste in fashion was completely guided by other people.”
“Miss Vellsted had discerning taste and knew what she wanted.”
That was contrary to what Rose had said. “Taste in fashion I believe is one of the things they compete on,” Dory said.
“Yes, of course. What is it you are trying to say?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I am just focusing on one of the d
iscrepancies in their accounts. I am trying to understand who hated her enough to kill her and why. As she was killed in her wedding dress, I wonder if it is the image of her success that so incensed the killer. I don’t know. I, like I am sure Mr. Capshaw is, am struggling to understand what these girls mean when they speak.”
“I heard some of those girls speaking,” Jane piped up.
“You were there that day?”
“Yes. I heard one of them, the one in the dove gray silk blouse, say that the bride was having second thoughts about who to include in the wedding party.”
“Really?” Dory asked. “In what context?”
Now Jane looked worried as if she’d said too much and she looked at Mr. Harlowe for direction. “Well, the implication, as I understood it, was that it was in reference to the other girl.”
“Prudence March wore the gray silk,” Mr. Harlowe said. Dory did not at all recall what they had been wearing, which was perhaps an oversight on her part. It just hadn’t struck her as important at the time. “And who was she speaking to?”
“The one with blonde hair.”
“Rose,” Dory said. “Why would she do that?”
“It is a grave insult,” Mr. Harlowe said. “Something like that would become known. Something like that would make a girl like Rose worry.”
“Enough to murder someone?”
Mr. Harlowe shrugged. “If your whole social standing was threatened by a public insult, then it would urge some to act rashly, I’m sure.”
“Is it really such a big insult?”
“A firm rejection.”
Dory blinked, looking in the mirror. It wasn’t the dress she saw right then. Instead the implications of this news were firing around her head. Was this the motive? Did this mean that Rose Wentley had murdered Cornelia because she was about to cut her from the wedding party? It sounded like something unimportant to Dory, but Mr. Harlowe implied it was a grave cut.
“I must speak to Lady Pettifer,” she said absently. For this, she felt she needed Lady Pettifer’s perspective. And then suddenly wondered why Livinia wasn’t the person she’d ask first, but something in her didn’t entirely trust Livinia. Livinia had a habit of making this appear in the light she wanted—she always had. That might not be the case now, but these were her acquaintances. Also, she didn’t quite know how Livinia would react. With Lady Pettifer, they would talk about it and decide on a considered course of action.
Or perhaps she should go to DI Capshaw with this information. Ridley would very much urge her to, and he wasn’t far away. Perhaps she should go straight there with this information and let him deal with it. It could just be that she had found the motive for the murder, and it would be a very bad thing if she didn’t share it with the man investigating the case. It was Ridley’s voice she was hearing in her head.
Sighing deeply, she refocused on the dress, which the seamstress was now hemming. Dory’s features softened as she took in the beauty of the dress again. It was an utter marvel and she loved it. She loved how she felt in it. Yes, it was a dress someone like her could never afford, but how could she even consider saying no?
Chapter 19
ONCE DORY LEFT MR. Harlow's establishment, she ran down the streets of Marylebone toward the police station. She remembered seeing it once, a Victorian building with a stately façade, built with columns along the front. It was warm now, the sun beating down and she momentarily enjoyed the summer weather, still excited about the things she had learned. They bounced around her mind.
So much of it made sense now. Taking the stone steps up to the police station she walked inside to see a wooden desk where a sergeant stood, taking inquiries from the public. “Can I help you, Miss?” he said, when the woman before her finished.
“My name is Dory Sparks. I would like to see DI Capshaw, if that is possible. I have some information that would be pertinent to one of his cases.”
“I see,” the man said, looking quite bored and unimpressed with this. “I’ll see if he's available.” He nodded to a younger man who came and took over responsibility for the desk as the sergeant walked away into the back through a set of doors.
Dory turned around and surveyed the reception hall of the police station. It was large and there were bars on the windows, built probably some time ago. The furniture was mostly wooden, and masonry walls. It was a solid building and it seemed to have experienced no damage during the war. People sat on wooden benches and waited, one of them in handcuffs, looking bored. It seemed no one wanted to be there.
“Miss Sparks,” a deep voice said behind her and she turned around to see DI Capshaw, appearing without his jacket. His white shirt was thin with green suspenders holding his trousers up. “I understand you have some information. Come through. I recall you saying you are marrying DI Ridley,” he said as he walked ahead of her down a lengthy hall with small offices running along the length of it. There was glass between them so you can see into the offices. She supposed that was necessary if someone acted up and help was required.
His small office consisted of two desks and a large set of file drawers. Other than the glass upper walls, everything was made of wood. There were stacks of papers on his desk. Clearly not the tidiest man.
“Yes, we are marrying quite soon.”
“Congratulations. Please sit down. Now what information is it you have for me?”
“Well, I was trying on my wedding dress, at Mr. Harlow's atelier. They mentioned something interesting I felt I needed to pass along to you.”
“Oh right,” he said and leaned back in his chair. “What was that, then?”
“Well, they mentioned, I mean the staff at the atelier. Not Mr. Harlow himself, but then one of the girls, Jane, I think her name is. She mentioned that Prudence Marsh had said to Rose Wentley that Cornelia was considering cutting someone from the wedding party. And according to Jane, the statement and the sentiment was aimed at Rose.”
DI Capshaw only looked at her and then sighed. “Is that so? Well that's… Thank you for coming forward with this information. I will record it and put it on file.”
Capshaw didn't seem to understand what this meant. “I understand it is a very severe cut,” she said. “A threat to one's social standing for a girl like Rose to be cut from Cornelia’s wedding party. The repercussions would be far-reaching and it would be highly embarrassing to her.”
“According to what you just told me, the statement was very general. Prudence Marsh didn't actually say that this pertained to Rose Wentley, or that she was being cut. The statement you gave was very general. Could be nothing more than idle gossip.” He put emphasis on the last word, showing how much he disregarded this information.
“I believe,” Dory said carefully, “that in some circles, this might be sufficiently distressing to provide a motive for murder.”
DI Capshaw raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Not being a bridesmaid?”
“With these women, their weddings are the most substantial events in their lives.”
“As I said,” he repeated, “I will record this in my notes for consideration. All information will be given due consideration.”
“Have you spoken to any of the girls?” she asked.
“I speak to them as necessary. We are pursuing multiple lines of inquiry.”
Dory didn't know what to say. He didn't seem to be taking this information as seriously as she’d hoped, and she wanted to inquire what those lines of investigation were, but she knew he wouldn't answer her. “This must be a difficult case for you,” she said. “These girls are difficult to deal with. They rarely say what they mean, nor mean what they say. I can only interpret some of the things they say because Livinia understands the language they speak.”
DI Capshaw looked bored and she could see that his abandoned sandwich was waiting. She had disturbed his meal and he was very much keen to get back to it. “How is the investigation going?” she asked, not being able to leave it entirely alone. She wanted to know where he was. “We have of
course spoken to all...” she stopped and thought better of it. “Lavinia has, of course, spoken to the girls and the groom. I think you should know that the accounts vary quite dramatically between what they say.”
“How so?” he asked.
“Well they do not all have a very favorable opinion of Cornelia. Some seem to praise her fashion sense, while others negate it.” Even in her own mind, Dory knew that this sounded weak and irrelevant, especially if someone hadn’t heard the vehemence it was said with. Someone like Capshaw would not be impressed by what others thought of the girl's fashion sense. But Dory knew that there was something important there. “It's just quite a wild discrepancy,” she said, finishing while knowing she only looked foolish in his eyes. She wasn’t able to communicate to him that this might be of some importance.
“Discrepancy?” He was silent for a while. She could see him running his tongue over his teeth as he regarded her. “Again, I thank you for coming forwards, Miss Sparks. We appreciate all information a member of the public is willing to give us. However, we strongly encourage our witnesses not to speak to each other. I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking to them again. Now if you will excuse me, I have many things to attend to.”
The dismissal was clear. “Well they are friends and have been for a long time. People do talk.” Dory also suspected that the sandwich on the side of his desk was one of those very important things. She didn't know how to convey to him that she felt this needed his attention. If she took his direction and left now, they were completely missing the opportunity to exchange notes about what they'd learned. “It is also quite clear,” she said. “That while Freddie adored his intended, his best friend Charlie had a much worse opinion of her.” Dory was fairly certain DI Capshaw did not know this.
“Neither Frederick Summerfield, nor his friends, were there at the time. They cannot be responsible for the murder.”
“So it has to be one of the girls in her wedding party.”
Capshaw spoke after a moment. “There were many people there that day, including yourself.”
