Fashion Victims

[humgoo]

Oct 8, 2020 13:34:47 GMT The Lurker In The Shadows said:

Lynne Truss - Possunt quia posse videntur (Woman's Hour 50th Anniversary Short Story Collection, 1996)

Thanks a lot for giving us the lowdown on it! Another mystery on The James Gang list gone! I hope you will write more about these little gems!

[dem bones]

John Lymington – The Forger's Gloves: (The Night Spiders, 1964). Larry the master counterfeiter is murdered by rival Jack Culip, a man so parsimonious he can never throw anything away. True to form, Culip keeps the gloves he stole from Larry so as not to leave fingerprints. They prove supernaturally loyal to their late owner.

[dem bones]

A haunted portrait - fashion victim hybrid from the superlative Spellbound

GIRL IN THE RED DRESS

Spellbound #15, 1st January 1977

THE odd thing was. I very nearly didn't go. I'm not what you could call a sociable boy, a bit of a loner in fact. But at the last moment a friend rang up, said he had a rotten cold and offered to lend me his costume, as he really didn't feel up to a Christmas fancy dress party.
Something made me say I would. And thus l arrived at the Masked Fancy Dress Ball as — of all things — a noble of the French Court, 1780 or thereabouts I suppose.
I was late. and the huge ballroom beautifully decorated for Christmas, was already crowded. It was a beautiful house with all the settings and furnishings kept just as it used to be. right down to the deep Aubusson carpet that covered the great winding oak staircase
That. in fact. was where l first saw her. Standing halfway down the stairs. leaning over a curve in the banister, gazing down at the great throng enjoying itself below.
The girl in the red dress.
From where I was standing. it looked like one of those great hooped crinolines. I couldn't see her face, of course — not properly — because of the black velvet mask she was wearing. We all had them — they'd been handed to us at the door. Black for the ladies and brown for the men. Her hair was blonde and built high on her head in long sausage curls and hanging ringlets. I wasn't sure, but had an idea it must be a wig. No-one could have such an abundance of hair. not even these days.
She must have caught my eye, because she raised a tiny frilled fan to her cheeks, and then almost coquettishly inclined her head in my direction. She's really living her part, I thought to myself.
I went to the foot of the staircase, and she came down slowly, daintily, slim hand just touching the banister rail. Almost without conscious thought I raised her hand to my lips.
"Your servant, ma'am." I said in the manner born. "Will you dance?"
She nodded graciously, and smiled.
They were playing the Wombles version of the minuet. Very appropriate, I thought., although not so easy to dance to. But then I'm not much of a dancer at the best of times. She pretended not to notice it.
"And How is good King Louis?" she asked at a break in the dancing.
I looked at her, puzzled, until l remembered I was an illustrious member of the French Court. For tonight at least.
"He is well," I said. l couldn't help grinning.
"That is good." she replied, gravely. "My papa and I visit the French Court soon. I long to see Paris. Has it changed overmuch this past year?
I didn't need to reply because the music started up again. I was wondering just how far she was intending to carry the masquerade because French history was never my strong point. and I was beginning to have the feeling that I wanted to impress her, wanted to make a date to see her again.
After the music ended, and just as I was going to escort her back to her seat like the courtier i was supposed to be, someone stopped and asked me the time. Seconds later, I turned to follow her and saw that she was just disappearing round the bend in the staircase.
I hurried over to the foot, intending to wait for her. In this crush I had a horrible feeling that if I didn't keep my eye on her she'd vanish out of my life forever.
A quarter-of-an-hour went by and she still didn't reappear. Finally. I started up the stairs. I reached the bend, and here the lights almost petered out. just a few hanging wall brackets that cast dim shadows on the walls. I stood there a moment, peering round me. I'd never seen so many portraits in my life. They covered every inch of space. I looked closer. Portraits mostly, of all the past owners. Dull browns, and greens and blues.
Except one.
A beautifully detailed. full length portrait of a girl in a red dress. I recognised her immediately.
I bent closer. In clear-cut gold lettering at the bottom I read: ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER OF THE FOURTH DUKE, 1778. And in smaller letters, so faint I could hardly read them: BETROTHED TO THE COMTE DU PRE AND DIED OF SMALLPOX AT THE PARIS COURT. DECEMBER I778. AGED SIXTEEN YEARS.
A sudden shiver passed right through me. I turned and walked slowly back to the bend in the staircase.
Where I had first seen the girl in red.
I shouldn't see her again. I knew that with absolute certainty. She'd gone back to where she belonged.
A forgotten painting on a gallery wall. From where she had seen the arrival of her beloved French nobleman.
I caught my foot on something and stumbled. l looked down.
A black velvet mask gazed sightlessly up at me . . .

END