Page 58

“And quite perfect for my soirée.”

“Madam, I’m afraid that particular design isn’t part of my—”

“Clements.” A note of warning creeps into the woman’s voice. “You know I do not like to be disappointed.”

“I...” The jeweler stops himself, resigned. “No, Lady Latimer.”

Lady Latimer turns back to Dora. “Tell me.” She prods the page.

Dora blinks. “Tell you, ma’am?”

“What materials are used? What stones?”

From the corner of her eye Dora can observe Mr. Clements’ piercing gaze and she flushes, pulls the sketchbook back toward her across the counter.

“Well, my lady, it does entirely depend on Mr. Clements and his men, but I had imagined...”

Dora describes the necklace exactly as she had to the jeweler. During her explanations the old woman mmms and sighs, and Dora chances a look into her wrinkled face. She seems completely enthralled. Buoyed by this, Dora turns her attention to the patterning.

“Forgive me if you are already familiar, my lady, but this is what you would call a meandros border. The Greeks used the design in their architecture, in either friezes or street paving, and it was often a feature in their pottery.”

She stops. Bites her lip. Lady Latimer taps a gloved finger. That over-sweet stench of lavender again. She nods once, twice, before looking at Dora as if she were a piece of pottery herself.

“And how, my dear, did you imagine such a beautiful design?”

Dora hesitates. “I was inspired by a large Grecian vase in my possession, madam.”

“How large?”

“Very large, madam.”

Lady Latimer clucks her tongue. “What is your name?”

“Dora Blake, my lady.”

“Of?”

Dora blinks. “Of?”

“Do you have no establishment?”

A hint of impatience. Disbelief.

“Not as such.” Dora pauses, decides to offer up a half-truth. “I help run my uncle’s antiquity business. Blake’s Emporium for Exotic Antiquities. It’s on Ludgate Street, ma’am.”

“Indeed,” Lady Latimer says. She clears her throat, looks at the goldsmith under the wide sweep of her hat. “Clements, I want this necklace. Made up exactly as Miss Blake described. I want it ready by Saturday, you understand me?”

“Lady Latimer,” he tries, looking as though he has been told to fly. “That is only four days away.”

“And you have produced many a piece for me on short notice before. Do not pretend otherwise.”

It seems Mr. Clements has given up his protests for his shoulders have slumped. “Yes, Lady Latimer.”

“That’s better. You may send me the bill once done. I shall pay whatever it takes, you know I’m good for it. Do not disappoint me. As for you, Miss Blake,” the woman says, turning now to Dora. “I would be interested to see this vase of yours. I shall drop by tomorrow. Expect me at one o’clock.”

“Yes, madam,” Dora says faintly.

There is no room for argument.