The Solemn Bell(26)

“I don’t think I can wear this,” Angelica said, tugging at the soft jersey hem.

The woman moved it back into place. “Don’t be silly. You have lovely legs.”

She felt exposed. Where were the layers of corsets, underdrawers, and petticoats? The only things shielding her from the world were a pair of silk stockings, some lacy step-ins, and this flimsy piece of fabric.

“You remembered what I said about selecting only black, didn’t you?”

Another sales girl lifted a blouse over Angelica’s head. Magda fussed over it for a moment before replying, “You can’t go around dressed for a funeral, Miss Grey. People will think you’re batty!”

“They’ll certainly think I’m a madwoman if I try to dress myself in colors and patterns,” Angelica explained. “I won’t know what goes with what. It’s easiest for me to stick with one solid shade.”

Magda forced another blouse on her. “I’ll make certain that everything we choose can be worn with everything else. You can be confident that whatever you put on will suit. And, if you’re still not sure, you can ask Captain Neill.”

The fitting room exploded in to a flurry of feminine laughter.

Angelica did not get the joke. “What do you mean?”

“He’s your beau isn’t he?” the woman asked. “He’s so very handsome. Every girl in here would die to trade places with you.”

Other women found Captain Neill attractive. She didn’t know why that surprised her. He had such a pleasant, deep voice. When he’d held her in his arms that first night on her pallet, his body had been lean and firm. Strong. Virile, even despite his sickness. Women responded to that sort of thing. The fact that he had an appealing face only sweetened the pot.

Magda touched her shoulder. “Didn’t you know?” When Angelica shook her head, the woman added, “He’s ever so tall and fit. Strong jaw. Nice teeth. Brown hair, leaning toward auburn—but not ginger.”

Angelica did not understand the descriptive details, but, if Magda and the other girls said he was nice to look at, then she believed them.

“And, if his sister really is Mary Rose Neill, then your handsome beau is a rich man,” Magda explained. “Only the best for Miss Neill. She came in just the other day looking for a wrap to match her birthday frock. It was Callot Seours—special ordered, straight from Paris.”

Angelica didn’t know why he insisted on bringing her to meet his family. To meet his sister, who deserved only the very best. What sort of shaky explanation was he going to give them for showing up to a birthday party with a blind nobody on his arm?

She and Magda went over everything they had tried on, making the final decisions. She needed a week’s worth of outfits—two skirts, three afternoon frocks, four silk blouses, dinner dresses, a woolen cardigan for chilly mornings, and a fur-trimmed coat, plus hats and shoes to match.

Also, she needed underclothes, stockings, and nightdresses for bed. Secretly, Angelica loved selecting the silky, gauzy, frivolous lingerie. She’d never had any reason in her life to wear such scandalous drawers. Of course, the sales girls thought it all for Captain Neill’s eyes, but Angelica relished the way the lace edging fluttered against her inner thigh, and how the delicate silk-chiffon kissed the curve of her breasts. It was her own naughty little secret hidden beneath her clothes.

“We’ll have this all boxed up for you, Miss Grey,” one of the sales girls said, her voice muffled behind the pile of garments in her arms.

“Thank you,” Angelica replied, smiling in her direction.

Magda led her back to where Captain Neill sat. He’d been so patient, not to mention generous—an entirely new wardrobe could not have been cheap.

Before handing her over, the woman said, “You know, you really ought to get your hair cut. It’s such a lovely dark color, but the weight of it does nothing for your face. Besides, it would be so much easier to manage. I can’t imagine how long that much hair takes to dry. What do you think, Captain Neill?”

“If Miss Grey wants to chop off all her hair…”

Angelica turned to him. Everyone else wore their hair short, and she did not want to stick out any more than she already did. Plus, drab, lifeless locks would spoil all the lovely, stylish things she and Magda had taken such care in selecting.

He sighed. “Very well.”





***





While Angelica got her hair cut, Brody popped next door, to the chemist’s. He’d packed a satchel and a suitcase before leaving town, but he’d brought only the essentials. He needed a few extra items, but, really, he wanted something to do. Dress shops and hair salons ranked just below hospitals and nursing homes on his list of places he hated.

He couldn’t go far—what if she needed him?—yet he couldn’t sit among those chattering, gossiping women a moment longer. The chemist’s was his refuge. Brody browsed the shelves of soaps, powders, tablet bottles, tonic waters, and all manner of things he couldn’t even identify.

Seeing the medicated cough syrup behind the counter reminded him of the morphine his body craved. The morphine he had given up for Angelica Grey, who’d given him up for a stranger whose spawn she likely carried in her belly.

She’d been utterly ruined.

Now, his life had been ruined—by her.