Bees in the Butterfly Garden Read Online Free Page B

such fabrics as velvet or lace (known to attract dust), and be careful not to draw the attention of strangers.
    Madame Marisse’s Handbook for Young Ladies
    New York City
    Although the shop was in a respectable neighborhood, south of New York City’s exclusive Ladies’ Mile, where Meg had often shopped at the Marble Palace, Macy’s, and Lord & Taylor, she knew a moment of hesitation as the driver directed the hansom to the curb. But Meg refused to acknowledge her whisper of fear. This was New York! And even though she was here alone for the very first time in her life, this was the city she’d once wanted to claim as home.
    Peering through the carriage window, Meg saw the sign identifying Yorick’s Household Goods. The wide plate-glass display windows on each side of the threshold showed off wares beneath an awning protecting the goods from the sun.
    Meg swallowed, but her mouth remained dry. All those times she’d been the one to set an example for other girls at school haunted her now. Certainly some families, even upstanding ones, allowed their ladies to shop without a chaperone, but this simply wasn’t permitted among the girls from Madame’s school, not even for Meg as an exemplary student. Just taking the train into the city and then the carriage ride here—alone—had been an infraction Meg hadn’t been willing to commit since she was fourteen years old. Since then she’d succumbed to the life she’d been dealt: as the favorite, most accomplished student at Madame Marisse’s. The one who was good at being good.
    Any time for hesitation was long past. She’d made up her mind last night, only hours after receiving word of her father’s death. And this morning, before either Hazel or Beatrice had arisen, Meg had packed a bag—much as she had that early morning four years ago. Only this time she hadn’t thought about taking any food, and she’d asked Mr. Pitt to take her to the train station. If her father’s laying out lasted the customary three days, she intended to stay at least another day. So she’d dressed in the one black gown she owned, reserved for occasions such as this, knowing she would play the part of the grieving daughter. She also left orders for her darkest burgundy gown to be dyed black as quickly as possible so she would have another gown to wear during her period of mourning.
    Leaving her bag on the seat beside her now, she asked the cabbie to wait. Then she saw herself into the shop.
    A little bell jingled when she pushed open the door. It was a surprisingly quaint feature for a specialty shop, since she knew most of its northern neighbors had clerks greeting customers. But she could tell there was a need for the bell here. Not a clerk to be seen. With such poor service, it was no wonder this shop couldn’t earn a spot closer to the more fashionable real estate up Broadway.
    She looked around. While the view from the street had been common enough—household and sewing goods neatly displayed—inside the shop was something else. The first shelf she viewed shared its goods with a thin layer of dust, as if it had been quite some time since anyone had tended to the inventory, let alone been interested in a purchase. How on earth had her father made enough money to support her at Madame Marisse’s with such humble business interests?
    She eyed another door behind a plain oak counter. “Pardon me?” she called. “Is someone here?”
    No answer. She looked around again, noting the limited choices, the general lack of attention to detail in each display. She was nearly tempted to rearrange a set of dishes when the door at the back of the shop opened and someone emerged, a tall man who looked surprised to see her. He was finely dressed—his attire included gloves and a fedora—and he did not offer any help. Instead, he walked past her and out the front door.
    Meg looked again at the inner door. It was ajar.
    “Pardon me?”
    A moment later another man peered around the edge of that