Beauty and the Werewolf

one time or another he had dealt in practically anything that wasn’t living and couldn’t be eaten. Bella had always had the run of the warehouse and the freedom to take anything she pleased, but when she had asked the twins if they wanted to go to the dance, she had hit upon the notion of saying they were going to the warehouse with her.

Now, the reason Bella went combing through the old stores was because she had an uncanny knack for finding forgotten treasures there. Many had been the time when Genevieve, Amber or Pearl would look at some bit of lace, panel of delicate embroidery or other little addition to her gowns and ask where she had got it. If she answered “the warehouse,” there would be much sighing, for this meant it was not likely there was any more of it, nor would be ever again.

Genevieve was consequently quite happy to allow her girls to go rummaging through the building—which was not at all dusty and dirty, though you could never persuade her of that. Thus, a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the girls would be out after supper. Bella had, in fact, made the selections in the three baskets yesterday.

They all hurried up to their rooms. The twins’ maid was one of Henri’s household, and was completely loyal to Bella; no fear there that the twins would be tattled on. And Bella herself did without a maid; she had elected to do so as soon as she was old enough to dress herself, and saw no reason to change unless the gown she had to get into was more complicated than the simple things she usually wore. When she was comfortable in nightgown, dressing gown and heavy plush robe with matching blue slippers, she picked up her basket and went to her stepmother’s room.

Genevieve was sitting up in bed, like an expensive porcelain bed-doll on display, surrounded by the boxes and jars and cabinets full of the pills she took for her many—mostly imagined—ailments. Genevieve fancied herself an invalid. She kept three doctors busy— Well, she would have kept them busy if they had actually been treating her. Instead they were pretending to treat her, honest gentlemen that they were, giving her harmless concoctions made of flowers, simple herbs that could do no harm and even bits of baked cookie dough. They charged her father almost nothing, and yet, because they knew Genevieve so very well, they were alert to anything that might be an illness, serious or otherwise. He in his turn kept these old friends well supplied with the finest wines and brandies that he came across in his trading ventures, so it was a good arrangement all around.

“It’s Genevieve’s hobby,” he had once told Bella, when she made some scornful remark about it. “It’s harmless enough since I am not actually paying my friends anything, and she is not being dosed with things that really would make her ill.”

Privately, she wished they would. It might teach Genevieve a lesson to find herself purging and cramping.

Genevieve’s other hobby was reclining in her lounge beside the window and watching the neighbors for signs of anything scandalous, which she related to her bosom friends in shocked tones when they came to call.

She should write a book about the neighbors, Bella thought with amusement. She probably knows more about them than they know themselves. Most of it was made up out of the scraps that she actually saw, of course. They certainly would not recognize Genevieve’s version of them.

“Good evening, Genevieve!” Bella said cheerfully. She had, from the beginning, refused to call her stepmother by that name or any other that would not put her on equal footing with the woman. From the time she had been only thirteen, she’d been running her father’s household. When the new stepmother arrived on the scene she had known enough to be cautious about the other woman’s position. “Wait until you see what I have found for you tonight!”

Whatever irritated or insulting thing Genevieve might have been prepared to say died on her lips, and she leaned forward eagerly, the ribbons and lace on her nightcap trembling with anticipation. “What do you mean, for me, Bella, dear?” she asked instead.

“I mean I know your taste, so I dedicated this evening to finding things just for you. After all, I can have a rummage whenever I want.” She sat on the tall stool the maid provided for her. “Thank you, Elise,” she acknowledged, and cradled the basket in her lap, removing the cloth that covered it. “Now, here is the first piece. Did you ever see such a lace flounce! It will make a splendid fall from a high collar, and this little bit of narrow stuff matches it, see?” She put the two together. “So, perfect for a winter gown to protect the throat from drafts, with the flounce guarding your delicate chest. Yes?”

Genevieve’s hands caressed what really was a magnificent fall of softly pleated lace. “There was only the one?” she asked.

“Only the one. I think it was a sample. And here is a mother-of-pearl flower to pin it with.” Bella placed the carving among the ruffled lace. “And since I think it would be a dreadful shame to have such a lovely winter gown and not go somewhere in it, here is a matching box for your medicines.” A matching, carved comfit-box joined the growing pile. “You might get too warm, seated by a fire, and I found a fan with mother-of-pearl sticks.” A white silk fan with simple iridescent guards and sticks, riveted with silver, joined the rest. “And here are some samples of fabric that I thought might make a lovely gown to go with all this. I checked and there are enough to make up into a single gown. And last of all—” She pulled out lovely ermine skins and laid them on the counterpane. “Here you are —the makings of the finest tippet in the city. I don’t think the Queen would be able to boast of such a fine piece.”

Genevieve’s mouth made a pleased little O and she caressed the furs with pleasure while she and Bella discussed which of the fabric samples would be best for what purpose.

Or rather, she dictated, Bella noted it all down on scraps of paper, which she pinned to the samples, and said very little. But after all, the gown wasn’t for her, was it?

And if she thought it was a touch overdone, well, she wouldn’t have to wear it.

“Here you are, Elise,” Genevieve said at last, sweeping it all into the basket again and giving it into the hands of her maid. “Make sure it’s all taken care of in the morning.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the maid replied, with a little curtsy. And she would, too. Snobby Elise might be, but she was very efficient.

She would also make sure that at least one length of the rejected fabric was sent for and found its way into her possession, where she would skillfully create a gown of her own from it. Elise was the best-dressed ladies’ maid in the city; this was not the first time such a thing had happened.

As Elise left the room with the basket, the twins swept in with their treasures. These were more modest finds: embroidered kerchiefs, a necklace of her namesake stone for Amber, another carved mother-of-pearl brooch for Pearl, furs to make muffs and a lined bonnet for skating.