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Charlotte and the fabric shop owner made momentary eye contact. The fabric shop owner gave a half-shrug, then pointed towards the front desk, where he kept his bookkeeping.
“If you’ve found everything you require …”
“And now, he pushes me out of his shop!” her mother cried, seemingly incredulous.
Finally, Charlotte dragged her mother from the fabric shop. The moment the carriage pulled up, her mother’s annoyance fell off her, and she grew optimistic, filled with adrenaline, as she chatted about the various dresses she planned to make as she joined her sister in mourning.
“I hope to meet her later this afternoon,” her mother said, worrying her lower lip.
Above them, storm clouds brewed, overtaking the once-beautiful blue sky.
“I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, regardless of what you’re wearing,” Charlotte said.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Her mother paused for a moment, then said, “I really thought that shop owner was terribly rude. Didn’t you? Perhaps we should investigate the fabric shops in alternate towns.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh, then said, “Perhaps we should.”
It would do her no good not to agree with her mother. She leaned back in the carriage seat and listened as her mother rattled off other facets of the strange, inner-workings of her mind.
All the while, Charlotte’s own thoughts hammered on with fear and panic, encircling again and again the same topic: how had Florentia known? And where had she disappeared without a trace?
