Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

more appropriate for a fancy dress ball of the more outlandish type than a wedding, Evangeline looked up at the modiste. “These are wedding gowns, Madame Blethin?”
    “Of course.”
    “But they are not quite what I had in mind.”
    “What did you have in mind, Miss Rutledge? The letter of introduction from dear Lord Ravenscroft”—she smiled affectionately as she said his name—“stated you are to be his bride and must be made a wedding gown in the next two days. For his lordship I will put everything else to one side and do his bidding.”
    Evangeline assessed at her. Dear Lord Ravenscroft? “You know his lordship well, Madame?”
    The woman smiled again as if Evangeline were referring to a much-loved son. “Yes, everybody loves him. He has given me so much business over the years and I like him personally. He is a dear, dear man.”
    Taken aback at the description, Evangeline asked, “What business? There are no ladies in the castle.”
    Madame Blethin got abruptly to her feet, her face suddenly a 68
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    blank mask. “I outfit his maids and many years ago, his mother.”
    Something was not right. Why would Raven employ a proper modiste for his maids? He must have had a lady in his home recently—a mistress perhaps—which was why the dressmaker had suddenly become cold as if she had said too much. She remembered with horror the screams she had heard last night. Was it possible he grew bored with his women then murdered them? “Was he married before?” Evangeline asked quietly.
    Madame Blethin turned to face the women, saying, “If he was, he wouldn’t need to marry you.”
    “Now look here, you cheeky little shop lady.” Mrs. Brackett rose up to face the tall woman. There seemed to be a surfeit of very tall people in their lives all of a sudden. “You are talking to the future Lady Ravenscroft, and if you want her business, you’ll mind your manners. I’ve a good mind to take my young lady to another shop.”
    “Forgive me,” Madame Blethin said immediately. “I spoke out of turn. Please, Miss Rutledge, if you do not want any of these designs then tell me what you would like. We have a limited amount of time at our disposal, but I am happy to accommodate you. ”
    Evangeline acknowledged the apology with a small nod. “I should like something more modest and less suited for a fancy dress ball .”
    She pulled several sketches from the portfolio, leafing through them.
    “A number of these gowns are in black. If they were not so low cut they would be more suited to a funeral than a wedding.”
    Clearly offended, the dressmaker snatched the drawings back. “I am sorry you do not like my designs. I will fetch my sketch paper and you will tell me what you would like.”
    When they were alone Mrs. Brackett leaned over. “What’s all the fuss about, Miss Evie? It’s not as if you ever intend to wear the thing.
    Just pick one of the black ones, or that red thing with the frothy collar and let’s be done with it.”
    “You’re right,” Evangeline agreed. “I suppose I just hate the thought that anyone would think I’d actually wear one of those Sanguinarian 69
    appalling designs. They belong in a music hall.”
    “No question of that, my lamb, but let’s not spend too long here.
    I’m anxious to get on my way. We’ve to visit the bank yet.”
    Evangeline leaned in close, whispering, “Are we still going to follow the plan? Go in to a tea room, go to the ladies cloakroom, then disappear out of the back?”
    “Since it’s that Hodder bloke and not the Raven we can send him off to a pub to have a few pints and really leave the way clear, then we won’t need to sneak out the back, my pet. There should be coaches leaving York for the south all day, it being such a busy town.”
    “We’ll get going as soon as we can.”
    Mrs. Brackett nodded. “Good, but let’s not do a bunk until after we’ve had a good nosh, I’m right hungry.”
    They spent another ten minutes with Madame Blethin while she sketched a modest gown to be made up in white satin. Half an hour later, Hodder stopped the carriage in the Shambles, a narrow, busy medieval street, and assisted both women down.
    Evangeline spotted a tearoom and was about to step toward it when Hodder said, “No, Miss Rutledge, the dining room his lordship always patronizes is just down the snickleway, here.” He pointed to a very narrow alley leading off the Shambles under a brick archway.
    Evangeline looked at him. “His