The Raven Song by Luanne G. Smith

Author:Luanne G. Smith [Smith, Luanne G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2022-10-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Edwina stared at the paper-white moon rising in a blue sky outside her window as Mrs. Fletcher laced up the back of her borrowed black gown. Being invited to a party on such short notice, she’d had no choice but to accept an offer of a dress in storage from one of the wardrobes down the hall. Her choices, however, were limited. Edwina was still officially in mourning for her sister and would be for the next six months, if one were to strictly abide the custom. Black was naturally the only suitable color for a woman in her position to wear in public, even to a party as grand as the one Lady Everly had planned. She’d had a beautiful lavender ensemble tucked away in her trunk in the flat above the shop, the one her mother had made for a someday wedding. Given the circumstances, she couldn’t have worn it, but such a color would have suited a summer party honoring the fair folk perfectly. Alas, it, too, had been devoured by the flames of their shop.

“It’s nae a bad fit,” Mrs. Fletcher said, standing back to gaze at Edwina’s reflection in the mirror. She coughed softly into a handkerchief.

“I could make you some licorice root tea for that cough if you like,” Edwina said. “I’m sure Sir Henry has a supply on hand.”

“Oh, ’tis nothing.” Mrs. Fletcher waved off her concern before asking, “What do you think? We could add a velvet bow and perhaps a feather to your hair? A lacy veil?”

Edwina had been informed that Lady Everly’s party included a masquerade dance before the revelers gathered on the green to watch the trooping of the fair folk at midnight. The women would be dressed in elaborate costume gowns—this was a witches’ ball, after all—and she would be expected to dress accordingly. And yet the gown Mrs. Fletcher provided was an old-fashioned cut—tight in the bodice with a bell-shaped flare for the skirt and puffy sleeves with ruffles around the shoulders. In its day, it would have made a decent gown for a fine lady, but now its fussy details would only draw looks of derision from the fashion-conscious crowd. Still, with its silk and velvet trimmings, it was finer than any dress Edwina had ever dreamed of wearing in her lifetime. “Perhaps if we tailored it a bit?” she asked. “Remove a few panels from the skirt and sleeves to narrow the silhouette?”

Mrs. Fletcher grimaced at the amount of work it would take to alter the gown. Edwina inwardly balked at the reaction, knowing her mother wouldn’t have flinched at the effort. Lenora Blackwood was a seamstress witch so practiced at her craft that a needle and thread practically danced in her hands. Reworking the fabric would have been a huge undertaking, yes, but it was the sort of creative challenge her mother would have devoured.

“I’m not sure we’ve the time for anything too involved,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Mercy, I need to have you dressed and ready to go in two hours, and while I’m many things, I’m no fairy godmother.

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