“Perhaps we should have Dr. Sheridan take another look at him,” Elizabeth said worriedly.
Violet made a hissing sound through her teeth. “If we sent for the doctor every time Martin got confused, the poor man would be here every day. You know how he gets. Give him an hour or two, and he’ll be as good as new.”
“He did take a rather nasty fall yesterday,” Elizabeth said, unconvinced.
“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Violet promised. “Now get along or you won’t be back in time to teach Droopy Drawers how to put papers in alphabetical order. That’ll take you all day.”
Wisely ignoring this piece of sarcasm, Elizabeth sent one last concerned glance at Martin, then left.
Roaring down the High Street a few minutes later, she returned the hand waves from the villagers, mostly women on their daily shopping trips. Heavy black clouds billowed across the steel-gray sky, forewarning a storm out at sea.
Elizabeth glanced up at the leaden sky and wondered if Major Monroe would be flying up there that day. How difficult it must be to find a bomb target when the clouds were so thick and low. The planes would have to fly beneath the clouds to find the target, which put them in dire danger of being hit by flack. Just the thought of it made her feel ill.
She shook off her inexplicable melancholy and coasted to a halt in front of Rosie Finnegan’s clothes shop. Finnegan’s Fashions had been a focal point of the High Street for the last century and a half, ever since Joe Finnegan had emigrated from Ireland, bringing his large family with him.
Their shop handed down from generation to generation, the Finnegan tailors had clothed the people of Sitting Marsh through the various fashion changes, from crinolines and corsets to short skirts and suspenders. Hemlines had gradually narrowed and risen over the years and now seemed to go up and down with every change of season. Through it all the Finnegans had treated their customers with courtesy and good old-fashioned Irish humor.
Rosie was no exception. Though quieter than many of her ancestors, she had a sense of dry humor that never let her down, even in the most trying times.
She greeted Elizabeth with a smile and a hot cup of tea laced with Irish whiskey-a treat that made a visit to Finnegan’s worthwhile.
Sipping the potent brew from a thick china mug, Elizabeth listened to Rosie’s account of the fight at the Tudor Arms. When she had finished, Elizabeth told her about the dance at the town hall.
“I’d appreciate it if you would put some notices up in your window about it,” she said, looking around for somewhere to put down her mug.
Rosie took it out of her hand. “Be happy to, your ladyship. Bit of a short notice though, isn’t it?”
“It is really, I suppose.” Elizabeth leaned forward to finger a pale green silk gown hanging close by. Normally she bought all her clothes in London, staying overnight to give herself plenty of time to explore Harrods as well as the little boutiques in Oxford Street. Since the death of her parents, however, shopping in London had lost much of its charm.
“How much is this?” she murmured. The dress was a tad shorter than she was used to wearing, but she rather liked the flow of the skirt and the somewhat daring neckline was very flattering.
“It’s rather expensive,” Rosie said. “Five pounds, eleven shillings.”
Elizabeth almost smiled. In the days when she’d had money, she’d thought nothing of spending five times that amount on a dress. Now she would have to think twice before splashing out on this one.
There was the dance tomorrow, of course. She hadn’t been dancing since her marriage to Harry Compton. Harry didn’t like dancing. But then, Harry hadn’t cared for any of her favorite pursuits. All Harry had worried about was which horse race to bet on, or which dog would win the Gold Cup.
It would be rather nice to go dancing again. And she hadn’t bought anything in ages. “I’d like to try this on,” she announced.
Rosie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How wonderful! This will look absolutely gorgeous on you, m’m. I just know it.” She showed Elizabeth into the minuscule dressing room and left her to try on the dress.
After removing her skirt and jumper, Elizabeth pulled the cool, slinky fabric over her head and let it fall into place. The shimmery green skirt clung to her hips, making her look at least five pounds slimmer. The color brought out the green in her hazel eyes. It was very definitely her dress. Just wait until Major Earl Monroe saw her in this little number.
The second the thought entered her head she was swamped with guilt. For a moment she was seized with an urge to tear off the dress and throw it in the corner where it couldn’t tempt her anymore.
In the next instant she chided herself for being so juvenile. After all, she wasn’t buying the dress for him. She’d had no intention of buying anything when she’d come to the shop. She had just as much right to buy a new dress as anyone else. Even if the money would be better spent on the gurgling water pipes.
Still arguing with herself, she slipped out of the gown and back into her sensible clothes. Then, with the dress draped over her arm, she walked back out into the shop, half afraid that the entire population of Sitting Marsh was waiting outside to sit in judgement of her.
Rosie was still alone, however, waiting for her with an expectant smile on her face. “How did it look, m’m?” she asked with an obvious and quite unsuccessful attempt not to seem too eager.
“Rather nice, actually.” Shutting off the accusing voice in her mind, Elizabeth handed over the gown. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s wonderful. This will look so nice on you, m’m. Shall I have it sent up to the house?”
“No,” Elizabeth said hastily. “I’ll take it with me.”
“Ah, going to wear it to the dance, m’m, are we? Very nice, too.” Beaming, Rosie bore the creation away to be wrapped.
Elizabeth wandered around the shop while she waited, only half listening to Rosie’s chatter from behind the counter.
“I don’t normally carry such an expensive line in my shop,” she said as she carried the package back to Elizabeth. “But I fell in love with this one. Would have liked it for myself, really, but I can’t afford to pay that much for a dress.”
She handed the package to Elizabeth, who took it from her as tenderly as if she were accepting a newborn baby. “Just put it on my account,” she murmured automatically.
“Er-you don’t have an account at Finnegan’s, Lady Elizabeth.” Rosie looked embarrassed. “But I’ll open one for you right away, of course.” She scurried back to the counter and began scribbling in a small ledger.
Feeling guilty again, Elizabeth waited for her to finish. She could hardly tell the woman that she didn’t have enough cash to pay for the dress until the monthly rents were in.
When Rosie finally closed the ledger, Elizabeth handed her the buttons she’d been carrying in her pocket. “I was wondering if you’ve ever seen buttons like these before,” she said casually. “They look as if they might come from a military uniform, though I don’t recognize the emblem on them.”
Rosie took the buttons and examined them. “They’re not military buttons,” she said at last. “The shanks are too fancy. I’d say they are more like blazer buttons, made to look as if they’re military.” She frowned, then added, “Wait a minute, m’m. I think I know where I might have seen buttons like these before.”
She hurried out from behind the counter and crossed to the far wall, where a line of coats hung from a rack. “I’ve only just brought these out since the cooler weather came in a few weeks ago. They’ve been in storage since last winter, so I’m not sure but-” She broke off with a muttered explanation. “I thought so. Here.” She pulled a navy blue reefer jacket off the rack and carried it over to Elizabeth. “See, m’m? They’re identical.”