Read Online Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) by Margaret Addison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Addison
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a quiet room for an hour or so.
However, that was quite out of the question of course with so much to do and so many of the evening’s key players out of sorts in one way or the other. Not for the first time did Rose curse Lavinia for her unfortunate and unexplained absence from the evening’s festivities which seemed to be at the root of all the issues and problems that had occurred. What was her friend thinking, suggesting that Lady Celia take her place? Regardless of their different builds, the woman was arrogant and rude and decidedly unhelpful, almost as if she were intentionally going out of her way to be objectionable.
It suddenly occurred to Rose that only Mary had been relatively unaffected by the trials and tribulations of the day. Quiet, inoffensive Mary, with her washed out appearance as Lady Celia had so unkindly put it, and unobtrusive manner which made it all too easy to overlook her in the presence of more forceful personalities. Yet it was Mary who got on with the task in hand without fuss. Sylvia, as always, was scarce when there was work to be done, and yet here was Mary diligently rearranging the shop by herself in preparation for the evening’s entertainment, clearing a space in the middle of the store, struggling with moving the overladen tables by herself to the very edges of the room, putting out the chairs in clusters and sweeping the floor.
‘You have been busy, Mary. Here, let me give you a hand.’ Rose rolled up her sleeves.
‘Thank you. This table is rather heavy. I suppose I should have taken everything off it first before I tried to move it,’ said Mary, stopping what she was doing and putting her hand to the small of her back as she straightened. ‘I’ve tried to make sense of Monsieur Girard’s diagram as best I could, but Madame has crossed one or two things out. I’m not entirely sure what she wants us to do with the counters. Do you by any chance know what is to happen with the Parisian one?’
The shop counter Mary was indicating was a large and impressive walnut one, which had a carved oval detailed front panel complete with a fluted frieze. It was Madame Renard’s pride and joy, being one of only a very few items that she had brought with her from France.
‘It’s to go near the stairs. Monsieur Girard’s intention was that Madame should stand behind it and use it as a sort of lectern when she introduces the outfits.’ Rose sighed. ‘I suppose she’ll have to share it with Lady Celia now that she’ll also be introducing one or two of the outfits instead of modelling them. The other one,’ Rose paused to gesture towards a glass, oak framed counter, ‘is to go against the wall there. We’ll fill it with accessories to go with the various garments. It should hold quite a few.’
‘So Sylvia wasn’t boasting when she said she’d be modelling all the outfits,’ Mary said quietly and rather miserably, Rose felt. ‘I thought she meant just one or two. It’ll mean there’ll be more for us to do, won’t it? Sylvia will be waltzing around showing off to the customers, while we’ll be serving the drinks, writing out the orders and making all the appointments for the fittings.’ She rubbed her aching back again. ‘We’ll be rushed off our feet while she’ll be twirling this way and that in fine gowns. Some people get all the luck, don’t they, Rose?’ Mary did not wait for Rose to answer but went on in a rush: ‘Even when they’re horrible and hateful and don’t deserve it.’
‘Mary!’ Rose looked at her sharply, considerably shocked. ‘Whatever made you say such a thing? I always thought you and Sylvia were friends. Why, you’re always huddled together in the corner whispering and giggling like a couple of school girls.’
‘Oh … oh … we are,’ Mary looked horrified as if she were taken aback by her own words. ‘We are, friends I mean. I don’t know why I said what I did. I suppose I was just a little jealous, that’s all. It’s
However, that was quite out of the question of course with so much to do and so many of the evening’s key players out of sorts in one way or the other. Not for the first time did Rose curse Lavinia for her unfortunate and unexplained absence from the evening’s festivities which seemed to be at the root of all the issues and problems that had occurred. What was her friend thinking, suggesting that Lady Celia take her place? Regardless of their different builds, the woman was arrogant and rude and decidedly unhelpful, almost as if she were intentionally going out of her way to be objectionable.
It suddenly occurred to Rose that only Mary had been relatively unaffected by the trials and tribulations of the day. Quiet, inoffensive Mary, with her washed out appearance as Lady Celia had so unkindly put it, and unobtrusive manner which made it all too easy to overlook her in the presence of more forceful personalities. Yet it was Mary who got on with the task in hand without fuss. Sylvia, as always, was scarce when there was work to be done, and yet here was Mary diligently rearranging the shop by herself in preparation for the evening’s entertainment, clearing a space in the middle of the store, struggling with moving the overladen tables by herself to the very edges of the room, putting out the chairs in clusters and sweeping the floor.
‘You have been busy, Mary. Here, let me give you a hand.’ Rose rolled up her sleeves.
‘Thank you. This table is rather heavy. I suppose I should have taken everything off it first before I tried to move it,’ said Mary, stopping what she was doing and putting her hand to the small of her back as she straightened. ‘I’ve tried to make sense of Monsieur Girard’s diagram as best I could, but Madame has crossed one or two things out. I’m not entirely sure what she wants us to do with the counters. Do you by any chance know what is to happen with the Parisian one?’
The shop counter Mary was indicating was a large and impressive walnut one, which had a carved oval detailed front panel complete with a fluted frieze. It was Madame Renard’s pride and joy, being one of only a very few items that she had brought with her from France.
‘It’s to go near the stairs. Monsieur Girard’s intention was that Madame should stand behind it and use it as a sort of lectern when she introduces the outfits.’ Rose sighed. ‘I suppose she’ll have to share it with Lady Celia now that she’ll also be introducing one or two of the outfits instead of modelling them. The other one,’ Rose paused to gesture towards a glass, oak framed counter, ‘is to go against the wall there. We’ll fill it with accessories to go with the various garments. It should hold quite a few.’
‘So Sylvia wasn’t boasting when she said she’d be modelling all the outfits,’ Mary said quietly and rather miserably, Rose felt. ‘I thought she meant just one or two. It’ll mean there’ll be more for us to do, won’t it? Sylvia will be waltzing around showing off to the customers, while we’ll be serving the drinks, writing out the orders and making all the appointments for the fittings.’ She rubbed her aching back again. ‘We’ll be rushed off our feet while she’ll be twirling this way and that in fine gowns. Some people get all the luck, don’t they, Rose?’ Mary did not wait for Rose to answer but went on in a rush: ‘Even when they’re horrible and hateful and don’t deserve it.’
‘Mary!’ Rose looked at her sharply, considerably shocked. ‘Whatever made you say such a thing? I always thought you and Sylvia were friends. Why, you’re always huddled together in the corner whispering and giggling like a couple of school girls.’
‘Oh … oh … we are,’ Mary looked horrified as if she were taken aback by her own words. ‘We are, friends I mean. I don’t know why I said what I did. I suppose I was just a little jealous, that’s all. It’s
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