Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(4)

Certainty was empowering.

Liza wrapped her cloak about herself and inclined her head down the next street. “We ought to hurry over to Dogwood Lane Boutique,” she said. “Any dressmaker who studied under the House of Worth won’t appreciate it if she’s kept waiting. You don’t want her to take her annoyance out on your poor gown, do you?”

I craned my head around, hoping for another glimpse down the butchers’

alley, but we’d already left that blood-splattered street behind. I took a steady breath in and slowly exhaled. I wondered if boredom and Thomas’s party were truly the only reasons behind my fascination with one of the goriest districts in New York City. It had been almost a month since we’d worked on a murder case.

Three blessed weeks without death and destruction and witnessing the worst the world had to offer.

Which ought to have been cause for celebration. Still, I worried over the strange sensation lingering in the pit of my stomach.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it felt like a twinge of disappointment.



Gowns with beading and lace details.





TWO

FIT FOR A PRINCESS

DOGWOOD LANE BOUTIQUE

FASHION DISTRICT, NEW YORK CITY





21 JANUARY 1889


Liza took my cane and set it against the fleur-de-lis wallpaper of the dressmaker’s parlor, her eyes alight with a million romantic daydreams. I, on the other hand, imagined I looked half ready to faint. The smaller dressing lounge located off the main room was stiflingly warm. A large fire burned perilously close to racks of dresses made of chiffon, silk, and gauze. Though perhaps I was roasting because of the heavy layers of the extravagant gown I was trying on. It would be stunning for Thomas’s birthday, as long as I didn’t ruin it by sweating so much.

Bric-a-brac littered the marble mantel, inviting and homey, like much of the décor. A young woman brought in a piping-hot tea service and set it on an end table with scones, jam, and clotted cream. Two champagne flutes promptly joined the treats on a silver tray for us. Raspberries floated to the top, turning the beverage a delightful pink. I managed to shift most of my weight to my uninjured leg, though the effort was slightly exhausting as I focused on not wobbling.

“Stop fidgeting,” Liza ordered, slightly out of breath while she fluffed what layers she could on my dress. The gown was a beautiful blush color, the skirts a voluminous tulle with a beaded overlay that began from the bodice and cascaded to either side like a glittering waterfall made of crystal. Liza tugged the ribbons on my bodice a bit tighter, then covered them with the pink ruffle, which

reminded me of the petals of a peony. “There. Now all you need are your gloves.”

She handed them over and I slowly tugged them up past my elbows. They were a cream so rich I wanted to dip a spoon in and taste them. I had my back to the giant looking glass and fought the urge to turn around and see the final result.

As if plucking that very thought from my mind, Liza shook her head.

“Not yet. You need to put the shoes on first.” She hurried into the next room.

“Mademoiselle Philippe? Are the slippers ready?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.” The dressmaker handed my cousin a pretty teal box with a satin bow, then rushed back out to the main room, ordering her employees to add more beads or tulle to other gowns.

“Here they are.” Liza approached me with a devilish grin. “Let me see your feet.”

“I’d rather not—”

I would have argued—my shoes of late had been more utilitarian and clunky than to my liking—but when Liza opened the lid and held up my new slippers, tears stung my eyes. If it were possible, the shoes were even more enchanting than the gown. They were flat silk shoes embroidered with roses and embellished with gemstones. A pale pink so exquisite I could hardly wait to wear them. When I touched them, I realized they weren’t silk—they were made of a buttery leather, so soft I could practically sleep on them. Liza helped steady me while I slipped them on, her own eyes misting as I wobbled and held tighter to her shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you all right? I didn’t think the shoes were that awful.”

“You know that’s not…” Liza sniffled and swatted at my backside. “I’m just so happy to see you light up again. I know how much you missed wearing your favorite shoes.”

Hearing it spoken aloud, it seemed such a silly thing: to mourn the loss of frilly, insensible shoes. But I loved them and had taken for granted the choice to wear whatever I pleased. I lifted my skirts so I could admire my gleaming foot attire.

“You did a marvelous job designing them. I cannot think of one detail I’d change.”

“Actually”—Liza stood and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief—“this was Thomas’s idea.”

I glanced up sharply. “Pardon?”

“He said if you could no longer wear shoes with heels, there was no reason he couldn’t have some made that were equally beautiful. If not more so.” I stared, unblinking, like a fool. She grinned. “He designed them himself. He even had extra padding added to the soles to help soften any discomfort. He noticed you often wince when you first stand. These, while they’re gorgeous, also function in a way that might ease some of your pain.”