Amity and Penny waited, tense and silent. The dressmaker muttered to herself as she moved from one picture to the next. When she reached the last one, she nodded emphatically and put down the lens. “Oui, Mrs. Marsden, you and your sister are correct,” she announced in her fake French accent. “There is no doubt but that it is the same gown in all three pictures and it is most certainly a design from the fall season two years ago. The truth is all there in the details of the sleeve, the neckline and the beading on the headpiece of the veil.” “Thank you,” Penny said. “We thought as much but we wanted to be certain.” Madame La Fontaine eyed her with a shrewd expression. “It is a very expensive gown. And in white satin, no less. So impractical. But perhaps the three young ladies in the pictures are sisters who decided to share the dress to save money?” “No,” Amity said. She scooped up the lockets and tucked them into the small velvet bag she had brought with her.
