“Oh,” the countess said, glancing down at the object of their curiosity. She seized a feather from the display in the vase on the side table, and whisked it to the floor. The spider promptly ran underneath a chair. Miss Carr made a mental note to send one of the page boys in to hunt it down and kill it as soon as the visitors were gone. When the ladies’ measurements were complete, the seamstresses offered them dressing gowns and assisted them to sit down.
“And now we will show the line again,” Miss Carr said. “You may stop any of the mannequins if you wish to try on her costume. Please let me know which you wish to order, or to add to the list for later consideration.”
In the end the Countesses Dracula amassed an enormous order. Hardly a mannequin came and went without one of the three insisting that she must have the costume, with all the appropriate accessories and underthings.
“And when may we expect to have the first fitting?” the eldest countess asked, as the eighth model put in her appearance. Miss Carr glanced up from her notebook.
“I believe that Mrs. Feldon-Jacobs will say that it can be a week hence, er, also at night if you require.”
“We do. You can do all this in a week?”
“Indeed, yes, madam,” Miss Carr said with pride. “We have the best staffed and most efficient workrooms in London. I trust you will be satisfied not only with our workmanship, but with our promptness.”
“That is most satisfactory. Ah! Here she is again.”
Miss Stimson had returned for her second appearance in the perfect, pearl-white satin dress.
“Enchanting,” said the youngest countess, her blue eyes wide. “We must have one of those.”
“Two,” said Countess Magda.
“Would you care to try it on?” Miss Carr offered politely, jotting the style number into each of the two younger ladies’ measurement charts.
“Perhaps not now,” said the eldest wife. “There is so much else to see.”
“But, she must stay,” the youngest wife insisted. Miss Stimson received her silent instructions from Miss Carr, and took up a languid-seeming stance against the wall near the vase of feathers, with one arm resting lightly on the table top. It was actually a restful posture, designed to ease the back when one of the mannequins must remain standing for a long time. Another girl swirled into the room in a walking costume of leaf green with sage trim. The countesses chattered to one another with delight, though their eyes kept returning to Miss Stimson.
Miss Carr was quite dizzy with delight by the time she finished writing up the order. Mrs. Feldon-Jacobs would have to put the workrooms on full alert, but it would be worthwhile. This order would be the talk of the industry. The last model was displayed and retired. The eldest countess clapped her hands.
“Brava,” she said. “This is all very good. And now, we are feeling rather famished. Perhaps you may furnish us with that little refreshment?”
Their red mouths looked almost predatory, their white teeth sharp as an animal’s. At once Miss Carr was horrified at herself for even thinking of such a comparison. “Of course!” she said. “Forgive me for not offering again.” She nodded to one of the seamstresses, who left the room and sent in the page boy. Miss Carr gave the order for tea, sandwiches, and cakes. She risked a discreet look at her watch. The hour was long after midnight. She hoped the day’s bread would still answer. Knowing that they would have night visitors who might require sustenance, they had wrapped a fresh loaf as well as they could.
The final group of mannequins began to withdraw. Miss Stimson, seeing release at hand, crossed the room to join her companions.
“Oh, no, don’t go,” the youngest countess said, catching Miss Stimson by the arm. “You must join us for our meal.”
She drew the girl beside her and held her quite close. Miss Stimson looked unhappy, but she was afraid to refuse. She knew what it meant to them all if she should displease the customers.
She smiled tremulously, looking to Miss Carr for rescue. Miss Carr was uncertain what to do, and wished the owner was there. She knew no respectable Englishwoman would touch another person so familiarly, but these were foreigners. She fancied that she saw their mouths open as if they would eat the girl right there.
What to do? The gown was lovely, and the girl did look lovely in it. Perhaps the countesses just wanted to have it there under their eyes while they discussed the final details of their order. Since the financial arrangements had not yet been concluded, Miss Carr was as paralyzed as Miss Stimson. She watched in horrified fascination as the youngest countess reeled in the girl like a fish until they were virtually eye-to-eye. Suddenly, the blond woman let out a horrified cry and threw the girl away from her. The girl landed in a heap of white silk on the floor. The countess pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at the mannequin’s neck.
“What is that?” she cried.
Miss Carr went to help Miss Stimson up and investigate the problem. About the girl’s neck was a tiny chain. Miss Carr hadn’t thought a thing about it except that it accessorized the neckline of her gown and drew attention tastefully to the bare shoulders. Hanging from the fine chain was a minute gold cross, a small personal item that belonged to Miss Stimson herself. The mannequins were permitted to wear such jewelry as long as they were handsome and in good taste. The tiny cross was real gold, classic in shape and irreproachably modest. Miss Carr hadn’t thought that the countesses might not be Christians and would find the symbol offensive. They didn’t look Jewish. Perhaps there was another faith they followed in the Balkans that went along with polygamy.
“I am so sorry,” Miss Carr said, lamely, searching for words to repair the damage.
“I can see that we are not welcome here,” the blonde said, rising to her feet with flashing eyes.
“Don’t be silly,” Countess Magda exclaimed, tugging on her sister-wife’s sleeve. “Clothes, sister! This will be our only opportunity. He never shows remorse. You know that. We must take advantage of this indulgence as we can.”
“Ladies, please,” Miss Carr appealed to them, seeing hundreds of pounds fly out the window on night-borne wings. “If the bauble offends you, I shall remove it.”
“Please do,” said the eldest countess, swiftly. “That will suffice.” There was a muffled outburst from her co-wife, but it was quickly quelled by a fierce glance.
“I am so sorry, Miss Carr,” Miss Stimson whispered, her fair cheeks crimson. “I thought it would be all right. Please don’t sack me.”
“It is not your fault,” Miss Carr said, unfastening the tiny clasp and gathering the chain in her palm. “I will put this in the dressing room on the table. In future let us choose a different jewel for you to wear.”
The girl’s gratitude shone in her eyes. “Thank you, madam.” She gave an uneasy glance over Miss Carr’s shoulder at the visitors. “I… I do wish you would not leave me alone with them.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Carr said briskly. “They will do you no harm. They merely wish to look more closely at the dress. Allow them to examine it as they wish.”
“Yes, madam,” the girl whispered.
“Refreshments, Countesses!” Miss Carr announced, as the page boy entered, pushing the laden tea cart. She was grateful for the distraction. It also gave the mannequin time to recover herself and resume her station near the wall. The visitors waited as the page poured tea and offered sandwiches all around.
“That is very nice,” the eldest countess said, accepting a cup with a slice of lemon floating on the amber tea in one of Mrs. Feldon-Jacobs’s heirloom cups. “Very nice. All is most satisfactory.”