The new modiste wasn’t hard to locate, making Melinda wonder why she hadn’t observed her shop before, for it was next to the apothecary. The building had a fresh coat of white paint and a black railing at the step. The tall solid wood door was painted a deep blue, and the brass handle was the shape of a woman’s hand which you clasped to open.

What was the most unusual feature was the front display window. It was not large enough to exhibit a dress. Instead, bonnets and hats, gloves and fans were organized in an eye-catching arrangement.

“Didn’t I tell you it was magical?” Sissy’s mouth pressed so that her breath on the glass fogged the windowpane of the shop.

“For once, you did not exaggerate,” agreed Melinda.

The objects displayed were all enhanced by Glamour, as if there was any doubt of the shop’s fairy license. Each fostered in the heart of the onlooker something different when her eye chanced upon it.

The straw hat with green and white ribbons gave Melinda a vision of spring, lilies-of-the-valley, a sense of something new. From the ivory gloves, she could almost smell the sophisticated perfume and hear a whisper of compliments which would fill your ears if you wore them.

However, it was the fan that opened and shut on its own that displayed the most potent of all magics. No mechanical means moved the image of a boat sailing under a full moon across the fan’s open span.

A pink drape of satin blocked any view past the display into the shop.

“The vicar says it is wicked to love things magical.”

Miss Wychwood made no comment to her cousin’s statements, though she found the sentiment irritating. It was silly words like these that were said about her mother throughout her brief life. Melinda may have only been seven when she died, but she remembered the looks after church and the whispers when her mother walked in the market.

When Sissy displayed no interest in leaving the bewitching display, Melinda said impatiently, “Come along. What if she sells out of all her lace because of your dawdling?”

Those warning words got Miss Davenport moving. The two young ladies entered the shop, but they were too entranced to notice the door closing on its own behind them.

The interior of the shop was a Glamour spell in itself.

It felt like they had stepped inside a jewelry box, lined in pink satin. The drapes on the walls shifted slightly as if an invisible breeze touched them and the distant chime of silver bells played pleasantly in the background.

A half dozen dress stands displayed gowns of such elegance that Melinda wondered if she wasn’t in London.

Tables displayed hats on stands. These were not ordinary hats topped with ribbon, false fruit, or feathers. Each was a masterpiece that promised to make your face unique.

“Wear me and your eyes will sparkle!”

“Wear me and your smile will charm!”

When Melinda approached one of the mirrors to admire a particular bonnet, the reflected image showed her wearing it even though she had not picked it up. More disconcerting was that the reflected pose changed and moved independently of the original.

Melinda hastily moved away.

Soft gloves in every color were laid out, begging for your hand to try them. Sissy dared to pull one on, and as she did so, the material shaped itself around her hand and fingers to make it a perfect size. She waved them under her cousin’s nose.

“Put it back,” Melinda hissed, looking around to see if anyone noticed Sissy’s behavior.

Who knew what this fairy magic could do to the unwary?

Melinda was surprised to see they were the only two in the room, as she had observed three ladies enter while they had admired the contents of the window.

All together an odd type of shop.

Turning in a circle, her mouth agape as she observed it all, Sissy said, quite enchanted, “So lovely, like a piece of marzipan!”

“And we know how ladies love their sweets,” said a tall, elegant woman who materialized behind them. She was a walking advertisement for her business: her gown was perfection in color and form. It showed all the expensive details that only an expert needle could create.

She stood like a queen, with a proud erect carriage.

Despite herself, Melinda found she was fascinated by the dressmaker’s silver eyes. Was this what her mother’s eyes looked like? Mrs. Wychwood had died so long ago, her daughter couldn’t remember.

The woman’s ears were concealed by a swath of blue hair, so Melinda couldn’t observe if their tips were pointed. However, from the woman’s features, the hollow cheeks, pointed chin, and angled eyebrows, Melinda guessed her fairy heritage to be considerable.