Read Online Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) by Margaret Addison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Addison
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only sometimes she can be … well, rather beastly. I suppose I’m just tired and worried about tonight. But sometimes I … I … I wish Sylvia wasn’t working here, Rose, I do really. Everything would be all right if she wasn’t working here.’
Before Rose could ask Mary what precisely she meant by such a statement, the girl had turned tail and fled from the room on the pretext of getting some more water for a vase of flowers, as if she feared she had said too much and spoken too vehemently. Rose was left standing there, staring at the space where Mary had been, and pondering what Sylvia could possibly have done to have caused such an outburst from the usually placid and docile shop assistant.
Chapter Six
Rose acknowledged that the assumption had been made that Mary would be accommodating with regard to the additional work that would be landed on her shoulders following Sylvia’s temporary elevation from shop assistant to mannequin. If truth be told, even Sylvia with her tearful and demonstrative outburst had quickly, if somewhat ungraciously, conceded defeat when faced with Lady Celia’s unreasonable demands. The proprietor’s anxieties had been more difficult to placate, the woman being torn as she was between having a member of the British aristocracy present to praise the gowns in front of her most favoured customers, and wanting the outfits to be modelled to their best advantage.
But it had been Monsieur Girard, however, who had proved the greatest challenge. On discovering that Lady Celia insisted on wearing his precious silver creation in place of Sylvia, the man had flown into an uncontrollable temper, waving his arms in the air and stomping around Madame Renard’s little office like a man possessed. With little regard for what he was doing, he had bumped into the desk and upset a pile of papers onto the floor. Such action had caused Madame Renard to go scurrying around on the ground attempting to retrieve the documents while at the same time trying to navigate Monsieur Girard’s ever pacing strides. For the designer was charging around the room so frantically and distractedly that he was giving not a care for what was beneath his feet.
Rose, fearing an accident, urged the proprietor to rise from the floor. She bent and gathered the remaining papers herself while keeping a watchful eye on Monsieur Girard’s progress around the room. As she struggled to her feet, while at the same time trying to maintain hold of the large pile of bills and correspondence in her arms, almost unintentionally she allowed her eyes to glance absentmindedly over the various documents clutched in her hands. Odd words, alone and coupled, floated into her consciousness …festoon necklace …Madam e Auber t … cotton pongette … all silk flat crepe … rayon …scallop-edged collar … brocaded … finest materials … silk satin …
Rose was roused from her idle perusal of the papers by having the pile snatched unceremoniously from her grasp with unexpected vigour by Madame Renard, the bangles on her arms jangling noisily from the movement and her dark eyes blazing. Brought abruptly to her senses, what surprised Rose most was the expression on Madame Renard’s face. For a moment she appeared strangely furtive as if it were the proprietor rather than the shop assistant who had been caught out doing something she shouldn’t. Rose blushed and withdrew to the other side of the room. She had not given any thought as to what she was doing, motivated not even by idle curiosity. She had glanced at the topmost papers merely because they happened to be in her arms. Only now did she appreciate that what she had been so blatantly reading had included Madame Renard’s private papers and correspondence. Little wonder then that the woman in question was put out.
Monsieur Girard meanwhile had worked himself into something of a fury and turned to face Madame Renard, visibly trembling with emotion.
‘I will not allow it, do you hear
Before Rose could ask Mary what precisely she meant by such a statement, the girl had turned tail and fled from the room on the pretext of getting some more water for a vase of flowers, as if she feared she had said too much and spoken too vehemently. Rose was left standing there, staring at the space where Mary had been, and pondering what Sylvia could possibly have done to have caused such an outburst from the usually placid and docile shop assistant.
Chapter Six
Rose acknowledged that the assumption had been made that Mary would be accommodating with regard to the additional work that would be landed on her shoulders following Sylvia’s temporary elevation from shop assistant to mannequin. If truth be told, even Sylvia with her tearful and demonstrative outburst had quickly, if somewhat ungraciously, conceded defeat when faced with Lady Celia’s unreasonable demands. The proprietor’s anxieties had been more difficult to placate, the woman being torn as she was between having a member of the British aristocracy present to praise the gowns in front of her most favoured customers, and wanting the outfits to be modelled to their best advantage.
But it had been Monsieur Girard, however, who had proved the greatest challenge. On discovering that Lady Celia insisted on wearing his precious silver creation in place of Sylvia, the man had flown into an uncontrollable temper, waving his arms in the air and stomping around Madame Renard’s little office like a man possessed. With little regard for what he was doing, he had bumped into the desk and upset a pile of papers onto the floor. Such action had caused Madame Renard to go scurrying around on the ground attempting to retrieve the documents while at the same time trying to navigate Monsieur Girard’s ever pacing strides. For the designer was charging around the room so frantically and distractedly that he was giving not a care for what was beneath his feet.
Rose, fearing an accident, urged the proprietor to rise from the floor. She bent and gathered the remaining papers herself while keeping a watchful eye on Monsieur Girard’s progress around the room. As she struggled to her feet, while at the same time trying to maintain hold of the large pile of bills and correspondence in her arms, almost unintentionally she allowed her eyes to glance absentmindedly over the various documents clutched in her hands. Odd words, alone and coupled, floated into her consciousness …festoon necklace …Madam e Auber t … cotton pongette … all silk flat crepe … rayon …scallop-edged collar … brocaded … finest materials … silk satin …
Rose was roused from her idle perusal of the papers by having the pile snatched unceremoniously from her grasp with unexpected vigour by Madame Renard, the bangles on her arms jangling noisily from the movement and her dark eyes blazing. Brought abruptly to her senses, what surprised Rose most was the expression on Madame Renard’s face. For a moment she appeared strangely furtive as if it were the proprietor rather than the shop assistant who had been caught out doing something she shouldn’t. Rose blushed and withdrew to the other side of the room. She had not given any thought as to what she was doing, motivated not even by idle curiosity. She had glanced at the topmost papers merely because they happened to be in her arms. Only now did she appreciate that what she had been so blatantly reading had included Madame Renard’s private papers and correspondence. Little wonder then that the woman in question was put out.
Monsieur Girard meanwhile had worked himself into something of a fury and turned to face Madame Renard, visibly trembling with emotion.
‘I will not allow it, do you hear
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