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Authors: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
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slender hand before her face, making much of her attempt to cool her burning cheeks. “Take pity on me, both of you,” she pleaded with an effervescent laugh. “You’re making me blush.”
Raelynn came readily to the woman’s defense by turning the subject elsewhere. “Since being bestowed a fair sampling of what your seamstresses make here in the shop, I haven’t ceased to admire what was purchased for me. As recently as a year ago, I enjoyed designing many of my own clothes. Of course, that was while my father was still alive and we were able to afford far better clothes than the gown I was wearing the day Jeff rescued me from my uncle. My couturier in London was gracious enough to translate my sketches into very fine examples of what I had created. When my family fell on hard times, he paid me for my designs and boldly claimed them as his own to his customers. I really didn’t mind since he kept raising my fee to keep me placated, but I’m afraid I’d be hard-pressed to fashion clothes as sumptuous as the ones I’ve recently been wearing. I understand that Mr. Ives actually made the selections when Jeffrey sent Mrs. Brewster over here to buy me clothes. The milliner was simply gushing over Mr. Ives’s talents when she came back to her shop. She said she had never realized before that day that such a talented entrepreneur was residing right across the street from her.”
Amusement tugged at the corners of Elizabeth’s lips. “Yes, Mrs. Brewster did seem in a rare dither here that day. I don’t think she had ever actually taken a close look at Mr. Ives before she came. He definitely has a way of awing some women when they see him face to face. But in regards to your clothing, Mrs. Birmingham, Mr. Ives would never have left another to choose your gowns and other accouterments considering that your husband and he are such close friends. Yet I must be honest. There weren’t that many garments on hand at the time, so it was a fairly simple task to make the selections.”
The woman continued with a casual shrug. “Usually we make only what our customers order, but an unusual situation developed after the garments were finished. I shan’t mention any names lest I embarrass the fine people involved, but the young lady for whom the gowns were originally made was left bereft of the funds to pay for them by an unfortunate incident. It seems that her brother had laid out the total sum of their recent inheritance on a race in which a stallion he had raised from a colt would run against one other horse. The stallion was indeed very fast. I saw the black race once myself. The brother had high hopes of doubling their combined fortune when he was lured on by the challenges of another who seemed a novice on the subject of fine steeds. Unfortunately the brother’s stallion was found dead in the stall the morning of the race, allowing Mr. Fridrich, the owner of the second horse, to win the purse without his entry even running. Mr. Ives saw no need to burden the girl any more than she was already over the loss of her wealth by demanding payment. If there was a culprit in this tale, then both Mr. Ives and I share the belief that Mr. Fridrich’s hired henchmen poisoned her brother’s horse. Frankly, I think the man should be horsewhipped for what he did.”
“I assume that’s none other than Gustav Fridrich,” Jeff queried. When he received an affirmative nod from the woman, he voiced his opinion with acid distaste. “I agree about the horsewhipping, Elizabeth, but then, I personally think the man should have been locked away as soon as he stepped off the boat from Germany. Many Charlestonians have suffered because of him, and I have a feeling that many more will fall prey to his schemes.”
“I understand from Mr. Ives that Mr. Fridrich was the one responsible for kidnapping your wife,” the brunette replied. “After hearing such rumors about him, I’ve become convinced the man is no less than a
Raelynn came readily to the woman’s defense by turning the subject elsewhere. “Since being bestowed a fair sampling of what your seamstresses make here in the shop, I haven’t ceased to admire what was purchased for me. As recently as a year ago, I enjoyed designing many of my own clothes. Of course, that was while my father was still alive and we were able to afford far better clothes than the gown I was wearing the day Jeff rescued me from my uncle. My couturier in London was gracious enough to translate my sketches into very fine examples of what I had created. When my family fell on hard times, he paid me for my designs and boldly claimed them as his own to his customers. I really didn’t mind since he kept raising my fee to keep me placated, but I’m afraid I’d be hard-pressed to fashion clothes as sumptuous as the ones I’ve recently been wearing. I understand that Mr. Ives actually made the selections when Jeffrey sent Mrs. Brewster over here to buy me clothes. The milliner was simply gushing over Mr. Ives’s talents when she came back to her shop. She said she had never realized before that day that such a talented entrepreneur was residing right across the street from her.”
Amusement tugged at the corners of Elizabeth’s lips. “Yes, Mrs. Brewster did seem in a rare dither here that day. I don’t think she had ever actually taken a close look at Mr. Ives before she came. He definitely has a way of awing some women when they see him face to face. But in regards to your clothing, Mrs. Birmingham, Mr. Ives would never have left another to choose your gowns and other accouterments considering that your husband and he are such close friends. Yet I must be honest. There weren’t that many garments on hand at the time, so it was a fairly simple task to make the selections.”
The woman continued with a casual shrug. “Usually we make only what our customers order, but an unusual situation developed after the garments were finished. I shan’t mention any names lest I embarrass the fine people involved, but the young lady for whom the gowns were originally made was left bereft of the funds to pay for them by an unfortunate incident. It seems that her brother had laid out the total sum of their recent inheritance on a race in which a stallion he had raised from a colt would run against one other horse. The stallion was indeed very fast. I saw the black race once myself. The brother had high hopes of doubling their combined fortune when he was lured on by the challenges of another who seemed a novice on the subject of fine steeds. Unfortunately the brother’s stallion was found dead in the stall the morning of the race, allowing Mr. Fridrich, the owner of the second horse, to win the purse without his entry even running. Mr. Ives saw no need to burden the girl any more than she was already over the loss of her wealth by demanding payment. If there was a culprit in this tale, then both Mr. Ives and I share the belief that Mr. Fridrich’s hired henchmen poisoned her brother’s horse. Frankly, I think the man should be horsewhipped for what he did.”
“I assume that’s none other than Gustav Fridrich,” Jeff queried. When he received an affirmative nod from the woman, he voiced his opinion with acid distaste. “I agree about the horsewhipping, Elizabeth, but then, I personally think the man should have been locked away as soon as he stepped off the boat from Germany. Many Charlestonians have suffered because of him, and I have a feeling that many more will fall prey to his schemes.”
“I understand from Mr. Ives that Mr. Fridrich was the one responsible for kidnapping your wife,” the brunette replied. “After hearing such rumors about him, I’ve become convinced the man is no less than a
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