Read Online Velvet Shadows by Andre Norton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andre Norton
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here, Augusta, where do you conduct us?”
“First I think the Chinese Bazaar. You shall find that most unusual, my dear.”
We threaded through traffic as thick as any choking a busy New York street. Here, in addition to the horse cars for public transportation, were those peculiar to this city, traveling on a cable of chain, which was in turn controlled by steam engines at either end of the line. Victorine, enchanted, wanted to take a ride. But our chaperone appeared so shocked at such a departure from ladylike behavior that even the impetuous Miss Sauvage was subdued.
We drew up to one of the sidewalk posts intended to aid the descent of carriage passengers and she was smiling again. A Negro footman handed us down and we stepped almost immediately into what was indeed a very different shop. There was a huge banner across the front above the entrance, on it a prancing, fiery dragon, a vast scarlet tongue lolling from its jaws. And from the open door issued a heavy scent of incense. From here, too, came the chirping of birds as a number of canaries swung in fanciful cages from the ceiling.
A Chinese wearing a blue merchant’s robe ushered us within and I, too, was lost in viewing rare and unusual wares. Nor did Victorine leave empty-handed. About one wrist was a bracelet of cool jade. And carried behind us, wrapped in the red paper of good omen, was a shawl of ivory white silk patterned with branches of flowering plum embroidered in thread only a shade or two darker than the background.
From the Bazaar we went to the Ville de Paris where one feasted eyes on velvets, French brocades, airy-light pineapple gauze from the Sandwich Islands. Then to Wakeless’s so Victorine could indulge her fancy for the Flowers of California sachet, as well as a bottle of frangipani—which I found too cloying for my taste.
There was lace to be viewed at Samuel’s, and so on, but before noon we came to a smaller shop—that of Madame Fanny Perier. Though she dealt in small fripperies, laces, and trimmings only, her shop was artfully designed to soothe clients wearied from such activity elsewhere.
The turkey red carpet was in cheerful contrast to the drabness of the outer day. And many stateroom-sized lamps were screwed to the walls, artfully intermingled with mirrors framed in gilt which reflected and magnified the room. We were seated by a small table on three gilt-legged chairs. Madame herself brought in a tray of elegant gold and white chocolate cups, together with small plates on which lay thin slices of Droste to melt on the tongue.
She talked eagerly to Mrs. Deaves, with whom she appeared to be on familiar terms. And then she produced, not as if displaying such for sale, but merely as if she wished us to see the latest amusing trifles, some of her stock.
Victorine was much taken with a crystal vial fastened to a hairpin which, as Madame demonstrated, might be skillfully inserted into one’s coiffure, to be a life-prolonging holder for small fresh flowers. And she promptly added that to her other purchases of the morning.
It was while Madame was showing her just how to adjust this that I saw the woman standing in the doorway leading to the back quarters from which Madame had brought the chocolate.
The stranger was tall and, by the mirror and lamp reflections, fully revealed to me. Instantly years were wiped away. I had been thinking of her only last night. This was that “Mrs. Smith” my father had known.
From my right I heard a gasp and I glanced at Mrs. Deaves. Her high color had faded. She closed her eyes as if she were suddenly faint. I put out my hand impulsively,and, as if she did not know, or care, who offered support, she caught my wrist in a braising grasp.
“No!” I heard her whisper in desperate denial.
Was Augusta Deaves reacting so to the sight of Mrs. Smith? From her stricken face I looked quickly to the doorway. The other woman still stood there, watching. But, to my surprise, I found her eyes on me,
“First I think the Chinese Bazaar. You shall find that most unusual, my dear.”
We threaded through traffic as thick as any choking a busy New York street. Here, in addition to the horse cars for public transportation, were those peculiar to this city, traveling on a cable of chain, which was in turn controlled by steam engines at either end of the line. Victorine, enchanted, wanted to take a ride. But our chaperone appeared so shocked at such a departure from ladylike behavior that even the impetuous Miss Sauvage was subdued.
We drew up to one of the sidewalk posts intended to aid the descent of carriage passengers and she was smiling again. A Negro footman handed us down and we stepped almost immediately into what was indeed a very different shop. There was a huge banner across the front above the entrance, on it a prancing, fiery dragon, a vast scarlet tongue lolling from its jaws. And from the open door issued a heavy scent of incense. From here, too, came the chirping of birds as a number of canaries swung in fanciful cages from the ceiling.
A Chinese wearing a blue merchant’s robe ushered us within and I, too, was lost in viewing rare and unusual wares. Nor did Victorine leave empty-handed. About one wrist was a bracelet of cool jade. And carried behind us, wrapped in the red paper of good omen, was a shawl of ivory white silk patterned with branches of flowering plum embroidered in thread only a shade or two darker than the background.
From the Bazaar we went to the Ville de Paris where one feasted eyes on velvets, French brocades, airy-light pineapple gauze from the Sandwich Islands. Then to Wakeless’s so Victorine could indulge her fancy for the Flowers of California sachet, as well as a bottle of frangipani—which I found too cloying for my taste.
There was lace to be viewed at Samuel’s, and so on, but before noon we came to a smaller shop—that of Madame Fanny Perier. Though she dealt in small fripperies, laces, and trimmings only, her shop was artfully designed to soothe clients wearied from such activity elsewhere.
The turkey red carpet was in cheerful contrast to the drabness of the outer day. And many stateroom-sized lamps were screwed to the walls, artfully intermingled with mirrors framed in gilt which reflected and magnified the room. We were seated by a small table on three gilt-legged chairs. Madame herself brought in a tray of elegant gold and white chocolate cups, together with small plates on which lay thin slices of Droste to melt on the tongue.
She talked eagerly to Mrs. Deaves, with whom she appeared to be on familiar terms. And then she produced, not as if displaying such for sale, but merely as if she wished us to see the latest amusing trifles, some of her stock.
Victorine was much taken with a crystal vial fastened to a hairpin which, as Madame demonstrated, might be skillfully inserted into one’s coiffure, to be a life-prolonging holder for small fresh flowers. And she promptly added that to her other purchases of the morning.
It was while Madame was showing her just how to adjust this that I saw the woman standing in the doorway leading to the back quarters from which Madame had brought the chocolate.
The stranger was tall and, by the mirror and lamp reflections, fully revealed to me. Instantly years were wiped away. I had been thinking of her only last night. This was that “Mrs. Smith” my father had known.
From my right I heard a gasp and I glanced at Mrs. Deaves. Her high color had faded. She closed her eyes as if she were suddenly faint. I put out my hand impulsively,and, as if she did not know, or care, who offered support, she caught my wrist in a braising grasp.
“No!” I heard her whisper in desperate denial.
Was Augusta Deaves reacting so to the sight of Mrs. Smith? From her stricken face I looked quickly to the doorway. The other woman still stood there, watching. But, to my surprise, I found her eyes on me,
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