Read Online Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) by Margaret Addison - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Addison
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you understand?’
Madame Renard’s face crumbled and she clutched at the side of her desk as if for support. Sylvia cried and wailed as if she were fit to burst, her body shaking and trembling with each sob.
Rose put an arm around the distressed girl’s shoulders, although the gesture seemed sadly inadequate and futile. She stared at Lady Celia finding it difficult to contain her own anger at the woman’s spiteful
ness. It was only later that she wondered if matters might have turned out very differently had Lady Celia not caught sight of Sylvia’s mocking gesture or indeed if there had been no exquisite silver gown of silk satin to stir up such emotion.
‘Oh, don’t go on so, Sylvia, please’ said Rose for what seemed to her the umpteenth time. She sighed. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it, really there isn’t.’
‘But it isn’t fair,’ wailed the shop assistant, her eyes red and puffy from crying. ‘Horrible, beastly woman.’
‘Well, you only have yourself to blame. Whatever possessed you? Didn’t it occur to you that she could see your reflection in the mirror?’
‘I suppose I wasn’t thinking,’ sniffed Sylvia, drying her eyes on her sleeve.
‘For goodness sake don’t let Madame see you do that, Sylvia. Haven’t you got a handkerchief about you? And do try and look on the bright side. This morning you weren’t going to be modelling any of Monsieur Girard’s outfits and now you’ll be modelling all of them but one.’
‘Yes, but the silver gown’s the only one that matters.’
‘Well, as I’ve said, it’s all your own fault. You have no one to blame but yourself.’
‘I know you’re right. That makes it worse somehow. But I don’t like the other dresses nearly so much, Rose. They’re not a patch on the silver one. They’re very commonplace, you know they are. But the silver gown … it made me look like a princess, Rose,’ Sylvia said, a dreamy expression crossing her face for an instant, ‘even Madame said so.’
Sylvia dabbed at her eyes again with her sleeve. There was a pause before she added: ‘Do you think she was jealous of me, Rose? The way I looked in that dress? Do you think that’s why Lady Celia was so very mean?’’
‘I daresay it had something to do with it,’ agreed Rose, deciding that the best way to cheer the girl up was to appeal to her vanity.
‘It’s rather nice to think,’ said Sylvia, a sly smile creeping over her face, ‘that I have something that Lady Celia would love to have.’
Rose raised her eyebrows and looked up sharply. There was something in the girl’s tone that had caught her attention.
‘Beauty, Rose,’ said Sylvia hurriedly, almost as if she were afraid that she had said too much. ‘No matter how rich she is, it can’t buy her a fine figure and good looks, can it?’
‘No, I don’t suppose it can,’ agreed Rose, although she had the oddest impression that Sylvia was referring to something else entirely.
It seemed to Rose that she had done nothing that day but soothe ruffled feathers, calm tattered nerves and generally mollify all those involved with the fashion event. The arrangements were proving so annoyingly tiresome that she was beginning to feel heartily sick of it all and wishing that the occasion had never been mooted. It was only early afternoon and yet it felt as if she had already worked a full day and a half. The afternoon and evening stretched out long and unyielding before her. Undoubtedly there would be many more ups and downs along the way before the event was over and the day had reached its welcome conclusion. In time she knew the event would become a thing of the past to be looked back on with affection or relief depending on the outcome. She sighed. It was all very well to be philosophical but now she was faced with the present and, to make matters worse, she had the beginnings of a headache. How she wished that she could act on the advice she had given Madame Renard and lie down in
Madame Renard’s face crumbled and she clutched at the side of her desk as if for support. Sylvia cried and wailed as if she were fit to burst, her body shaking and trembling with each sob.
Rose put an arm around the distressed girl’s shoulders, although the gesture seemed sadly inadequate and futile. She stared at Lady Celia finding it difficult to contain her own anger at the woman’s spiteful
ness. It was only later that she wondered if matters might have turned out very differently had Lady Celia not caught sight of Sylvia’s mocking gesture or indeed if there had been no exquisite silver gown of silk satin to stir up such emotion.
‘Oh, don’t go on so, Sylvia, please’ said Rose for what seemed to her the umpteenth time. She sighed. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it, really there isn’t.’
‘But it isn’t fair,’ wailed the shop assistant, her eyes red and puffy from crying. ‘Horrible, beastly woman.’
‘Well, you only have yourself to blame. Whatever possessed you? Didn’t it occur to you that she could see your reflection in the mirror?’
‘I suppose I wasn’t thinking,’ sniffed Sylvia, drying her eyes on her sleeve.
‘For goodness sake don’t let Madame see you do that, Sylvia. Haven’t you got a handkerchief about you? And do try and look on the bright side. This morning you weren’t going to be modelling any of Monsieur Girard’s outfits and now you’ll be modelling all of them but one.’
‘Yes, but the silver gown’s the only one that matters.’
‘Well, as I’ve said, it’s all your own fault. You have no one to blame but yourself.’
‘I know you’re right. That makes it worse somehow. But I don’t like the other dresses nearly so much, Rose. They’re not a patch on the silver one. They’re very commonplace, you know they are. But the silver gown … it made me look like a princess, Rose,’ Sylvia said, a dreamy expression crossing her face for an instant, ‘even Madame said so.’
Sylvia dabbed at her eyes again with her sleeve. There was a pause before she added: ‘Do you think she was jealous of me, Rose? The way I looked in that dress? Do you think that’s why Lady Celia was so very mean?’’
‘I daresay it had something to do with it,’ agreed Rose, deciding that the best way to cheer the girl up was to appeal to her vanity.
‘It’s rather nice to think,’ said Sylvia, a sly smile creeping over her face, ‘that I have something that Lady Celia would love to have.’
Rose raised her eyebrows and looked up sharply. There was something in the girl’s tone that had caught her attention.
‘Beauty, Rose,’ said Sylvia hurriedly, almost as if she were afraid that she had said too much. ‘No matter how rich she is, it can’t buy her a fine figure and good looks, can it?’
‘No, I don’t suppose it can,’ agreed Rose, although she had the oddest impression that Sylvia was referring to something else entirely.
It seemed to Rose that she had done nothing that day but soothe ruffled feathers, calm tattered nerves and generally mollify all those involved with the fashion event. The arrangements were proving so annoyingly tiresome that she was beginning to feel heartily sick of it all and wishing that the occasion had never been mooted. It was only early afternoon and yet it felt as if she had already worked a full day and a half. The afternoon and evening stretched out long and unyielding before her. Undoubtedly there would be many more ups and downs along the way before the event was over and the day had reached its welcome conclusion. In time she knew the event would become a thing of the past to be looked back on with affection or relief depending on the outcome. She sighed. It was all very well to be philosophical but now she was faced with the present and, to make matters worse, she had the beginnings of a headache. How she wished that she could act on the advice she had given Madame Renard and lie down in
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