Valentina paged sightlessly through the rags for a time, pretending to be studiously occupied until the cityship bells chimed the noon hour.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” Charlotte observed, holding up one of the rags with a sepia plate of Lady Jamison. “Is that one of your hats?”
Valentina shook her head. “No, that is a Treacle Special, almost certainly.” She started to close the rag, then her own thoughts caught up with her and she flipped back several articles. “Do you have a photo of her from the day of her death?”
“Hm, yes, I think there was one in the Cityship Gazette,” Charlotte said. She dived for the pile and swifty came up triumphant. “You can’t make out much in it, but here she is leaving the parliament with Lord Jamison on that very day.”
Valentina didn’t bother to read the article—if it had any new information, it was not as important as the revelation of the photo.
Charlotte looked between Valentina and the plate. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she observed.
“Apt,” Valentina agreed, but she didn’t volunteer more. She folded the rag shut and returned it to the pile, tidying it automatically and gathering up her writing utensils and notes. “It has been an...enlightening morning,” she said candidly to Charlotte. “I wish you well.”
“Enlightening indeed,” Charlotte agreed, making no move to gather her own material or stand politely. Her boots were propped up on the table again and she touched her hat with a flippant gesture that was surely meant to remind Valentina that she knew the milliner’s ill-kept secret.
Valentina tucked everything into her writing bag and rose, trying to decide what courtesy she owed. Perhaps none? Charlotte didn’t seem to expect any; she was engrossed in another book now.
She tapped her hat absently as she walked back across the Cityship to take lunch with her housekeeper, thinking through the articles that she’d read...and the last photoplate of Lady Jamison.
That had been one of her hats, a memory hat to be exact. And if Lady Jamison had been killed while she was wearing it, could that magic have affected her death? Could the black horse truly be her spirit? And what did that indicate about Lord Jamison’s part in her demise, if any?
Her steps slowed as she considered more seriously the idea that he might have killed his wife. Valentina didn’t know much about spirits, but it was generally accepted that spirits didn’t linger unless they had some kind of emotional necessity, they didn’t usually leave the place of their death, and they didn’t have coherency. Could her hat have disrupted the usual passage of the woman to the next world? Was she looking for vengeance?
Valentina wasn’t sure if Lord Jamison was capable of violence, but it vexed her to think that he might be; she did not have a wide pool of suitable choices and he had seemed such a good fit for her. She could simply withdraw her interest and write him off as more trouble than he was worth. Charlotte would marry for the fortune she needed, and…
She took her hand from the brim of her hat furiously as she came to the stairs up to her cabin deck. She didn’t need to concern herself with Charlotte’s lot. Charlotte was merely a rival, their relationship was nothing but a convenience of two women invested in keeping their quarry in one piece long enough for one of them to marry him. Pity would not serve Valentina in this case and she was not going to let it distract her from her goal.
And Charlotte, Valentina thought wistfully, could take care of herself.
Valentina called for lunch as she came into her suite of rooms and ate the cold sandwich that her housekeeper brought while she looked over her dress options for the evening. The choice didn’t excite her much; she hadn’t missed Charlotte’s subtle scowl when Lord Jamison had entreated them to save dances after the musical review. It was a very exclusive event; Valentina had to pay a rather shocking sum for her ticket, and also call in several social favors. It was more likely than not that Charlotte could not afford the entrance.
Well, if she didn’t have to outshine Charlotte, her choice of dress was rather unimportant. She chose the ruby velvet outfit with black satin embroidery. And for the hat…she started to go for something non-magical in her collection, then reconsidered, wavering between a spell for protection and a truth spell, either one of which could be matched to her dress with the correct ribbons. The truth spell could be uncomfortable, especially in a crowded social setting, but it might give her an opportunity to get to the facts. A protection spell might be more useful if there truly was a spirit or a supernatural animal with Lord Jamison in its sights.
Valentina itched to be in her workshop. Of the dozens of hats she’d brought, none of them was quite the right hat or quite the right spell.
She longed for the creative rush of pairing just the right materials, of feeling the magic tingle into the stitching, of blocking the felt into exactly the shape that made it sing. That was why she was here, so that she could return to the craft that she loved. Her social circles didn’t really understand why she wasn’t content being a fabulously wealthy widow, leaving the burdens and bothers of trade behind, but Valentina was not happy with idle hands. She enjoyed the challenges of business and the call of creation.
Valentina caught herself wondering again what hat she would design for the wild-spirited Charlotte, then frowned crossly at herself, picking up two of the hats that seemed least like her rival. She might not have all of her usual tools, but she could certainly do a little fancy stitching, add some ribbon, and even shape the felt in minor ways using the steam from a teapot.