Fury by Shirley Marr Page A

rainbow all right.
    Holding court and greeting us like we were royalty, stood two rows of mannequins in the most luscious dresses I had ever seen.
    “Go—take a look,” Lexi hissed in my ear and gave me a push forward.
    “Oh dearest!” came a light girly voice from behind us. “Your friends have arrived and you did not let me know—silly girl.”
    “I didn’t know where you were,” whined Ella. “I just wanted to show them your sewing room.”
    “Silly girl!” repeated Mrs Dashwood breathlessly, as if those words gave her pleasure.
    “Mother, this is Eliza and Alexandria.”
    “Miss Boans,” she said and her eyes lit up. “My, aren’t you as lovely as your mother herself? The famous Mrs— Ms —Electra Boans. I saw your mother in the newspaper last week; she was wearing the most flattering colours.”
    If I was expecting an OTT fashionista wearing leopard print, I would have been disappointed. Mrs Dashwood was short, ruddy and mousey haired, and not all that notable except for the fact she was wearing some sort of Jane Austen dress in the middle of the day.
    “Oh, call me Lizzie, all my friends do.”
    “Why Miss Boans— Lizzie —what a compliment that you bestow such intimacy upon me. I am sure we will become very much acquainted in time. I see you are looking at my recent creations.”
    Now I’ve figured out why Ella talks that funny way.
    “Yeah. Sure. We can become, um, fully acquainted. You really made these yourself?”
    “Why yes,” replied Mrs Dashwood breathlessly. “Do you like this one? It is only a simple one, an early Regent half-dress. Do you know much about Regent fashion?”
    I’m not dumb. I know that a half-dress is a like a regular Armani gown on a local socialite. Full-dress is like an Armani Privé collection gown on an A-list actress walking the red carpet at the Oscars.
    “We’re studying Pride & Prejudice at school?” I suggested.
    “Why, what a good girl! My Ellanoir regrettably does not have the head for it. Come with me, I have something to show you that I have not shown anyone else. This way, dear Lizzie.”
    Mrs Dashwood took my hand and led me to a little alcove on the left side of the room. In the small space underneath the plaster archway rested a bulky expanse of white cloth.
    “This is my latest commission. I was hoping that I could show it to someone who might appreciate it a little more.”
    Mrs Dashwood whipped the cloth away like a magician. Underneath was another dress on yet another mannequin, but—this was the moment I died and moved to a higher plane of fashion consciousness.
    The dress was the colour of the sky on a summer’s day, when the blue becomes almost white. It was really simple: empire-line, scoop-necked and made as if from one seamless piece of silk. I could just imagine myself in it, the dress fitting like a glove, the soft-as-butter fabric against my skin. It was the most beautiful dress in the world.
    “This is what you call Regency full-dress,” said Mrs Dashwood knowingly, “but for the contemporary woman.”
    “You don’t say!” I made googly eyes.
    “This one has been commissioned by an actress currently starring in a popular soap opera, although for confidentiality reasons I cannot reveal her identity.”
    I wondered if I was allowed to touch it, the dress belonging to some soapie poptart and all. Behind me, Ella and Lexi wereclustered around a mannequin wearing a pale pink dress. Mrs Dashwood looked up and saw Marianne standing by herself on the other side of the room.
    We’d forgotten all about Marianne. We couldn’t believe it when she agreed to tag along. Funnily enough, the words Dot & Dash had changed her mind.
    Marianne was standing in front of a white dress so delicate that you could see the black velvet of the mannequin underneath. Diaphanous and elegant. Just like Marianne herself.
    “This is a mull dress in the neoclassical style,” explained Mrs Dashwood. “The whitework embroidery—tambour, French knots