Rise of the Death Eaters [3]

Chapter 61: A Simple Dress Fitting

Ava had to bite back a growing laugh in her chest as the seamstress, with her mouth full of pins, glanced up from the hem with an unsuccessful look of curiosity at the sudden language barrier between the trio.

"Why waste the money with this dress if we could just buy both in Paris?"

"You can find an elegant dress anywhere," Emmeline explained, as she walked past a display of ribbons, letting the differing strands drag over her outstretched hand. "I don't want you to be wearing a similar design as everyone else. All the girls in New York are going to Paris for their dresses. And the Parisians, as much as they enjoy being the fashion capital, don't want to run the risk of wearing the same styles as their counterparts, so they will make a hassle to go elsewhere for a design. Milan, if I am not mistaken."

The seamstress was standing up, cutting Ava from looking out at her mother as Emmeline paused in her idle shopping to stare out the storefront window to the London streets ahead.

"If I might dear," the seamstress motioned to her client, raising her arms out on either side.. "I'll need to remeasure your bust and shoulders now."

As Ava followed the directions, Emmeline hastened a glance at her daughter, seeing all is well, and cleared her throat.

"Mon Ange, choose a pair of gloves after she's done measuring you. I'll be right back."

"Madam-" the seamstress began but my mother with her elongated legs was already halfway out the door before the seamstress could finish her complaint. With a notable humph the seamstress turned back to me on the pedestal with a quizzical stare.

"I will need the payment in full before you leave, just to be clear."

"You will get half as is the norm for your other clients," I replied without missing a beat. "The other half will be given upon completion, of course."

I turned back to the mirror without another word and watched as the seamstress snagged her curling tape measure a bit too aggressively from midair.

But she did as she was told and I was off to look at her glove selection not even five minutes later. The gloves were inside a glass and gold case with both the fingertips and the ends showcased with frills and rococo curls galore.

"Is there nothing simpler available?" I asked, looking up from the glass. The seamstress cleared her throat rather astutely before mentioning that she would check the back. I was trailing toward the mirror to get another look at my reflection when I spotted my mother through the window.

And she wasn't alone.

Narcissa Malfoy stood next to her, cloaked in off-grey robes with a hood that almost covered her profile had she been looking in the opposing direction. But I saw her as clear as day. And she looked far worse than I was giving my mother internal grief for.

Her white blonde hair had streaks of dark grey framing her face. Her eyes were surrounded by heavy eye bags and that pinched mouth of hers trembled as she spoke.

I watched as my mother made to place her hand on the witch's arm but Narcissa stepped back, looking haunted. Their body language wasn't pleasant. Narcissa looked to be on-guard and my mother demeanor showed she was concerned.

But her friend waved her back and pulled her hood further forward, hiding the whisp of grey from her face.

"Would any of these suffice?" The seamstress's voice cut in, making me turn away from the window. She held out four different gloves, each more minimal than the last.

I stopped at the third pair, where the ends had a simple pearl tied at a point.

"These will do."

"In what color?"