Read Online Phoenix and Ashes by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page B

houses
that
she
could afford to patronize were using domestically produced
fabrics this spring, and it was a reason she should have anticipated, given the
start of rationing.
    She
would have to resort to another ploy—though the rather grubby theater
district was not a place one would normally go to find one’s wardrobe. She
opened a door with the cryptic words
Keplans Haberdashery
painted on
the frosted glass. The girls followed her up a narrow, rather dirty wooden
staircase with no small trepidation; she smiled to herself, knowing what
awaited them at the top.
    She
and the girls emerged from this place feeling a glow of triumph. Here, at
least, fashion was not being subjected to patriotism. But then again, the
ladies who frequented this dressmaker absolutely required every aid to
seduction that fine clothing could provide, for most of them had
“arrangements” with the gentlemen of Whitehall, the City, and both
Houses of Parliament—arrangements that did not include wedding rings. As
a consequence, they were unlikely to sacrifice beauty for the appearance of
respectability. Alison knew of this place from her early days as one of the
demimondaine—but of course, unlike the rest of her sisters-in-sin,
she’d had the means at her disposal to ensure she
got
a wedding
ring before too long into her arrangement.
    This
particular dressmaker spent half the time creating costumes for the theater,
and half dressing the kept ladies of the town; but because she did the former,
she had a huge storehouse of fabric to pull from. After the third house had
disappointed, Alison had come to the reluctant conclusion that it was possible
the war and the Hun submarine blockade had begun to affect even those with
money to spend on London dressmakers. This dressmaker had only confirmed that,
as she had pulled out roll after roll of silk and muslin with the comment,
“You won’t see
that
, thanks to the Kaiser.” Silks
came from China by way of Paris; muslin from India or the United States. Both
had to come by way of the ocean, and between ships being sunk, and ships being
commandeered to bring over military goods—luxury goods probably still
were
coming, but now their prices had gone beyond the reach of a minor
industrialist’s widow.
    Of
course, even in Broom, one didn’t go to a
theatrical costumier
for one’s wardrobe—but Alison had a way around that. When the dresses
arrived in their plain packaging, she would have Ellie cut the labels out of
last year’s gowns and sew them into the unlabeled new ones. Perhaps it
was a bit foolish to do so, but after all, the laundry
was
sent
out—and the laundress would take note if this year’s gowns had no
labels anymore—or worse, had labels from
Keplans Haberdashery
rather than a fashion house that was cited in the London society pages.
    Half
of keeping up appearances was in attending to details.
    Alison
smiled, as the girls chattered happily on the way back to the Savoy. There was
a slight drawback to patronizing Miss Keplan. They would have to stay in London
for nearly a week to accomplish all the fittings, whereas the establishments
they usually used had mannequins and fitting-dummies made to all three
women’s measure. Still, the results would be worth the extra days. The
girls would look like butterflies among the caterpillars at every garden party
and fête this spring and summer. Men responded to these things. They would
outshine much prettier girls, just because their frocks were prettier. With any
luck, one of them, at least, would catch someone with a title, money, or better
still, both to his name.
    Robinson’s
fortune was reasonable, and since by magically enhanced maneuvering, Alison had
secured the monopoly of supplying sacks for sandbags to the army, it was not
likely to run out any time soon—but Alison was weary of being reasonable,
weary of Broom, weary of being the leading light in a claustrophobically tiny
and insignificant social sphere. She had wearied of it very