Read Online Menfreya in the Morning by Victoria Holt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Holt
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myself.
“It suits you,” said Gwennan, her attention momentarily distracted from herself. “Put it on. Yes, put it on.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Over your clothes.”
“It’s so cold I’m sure it’s damp,”
“It won’t hurt you for a minute. It’s just the thing for the ball.”
I caught her excitement as I slipped the dress over my head. She was beside me, pulling it, fastening it, and in a few seconds there I was … transformed.
It was cut low, and my gray merino showed at neck and sleeves, but that did not seem to matter. It became me in a way nothing else ever had. And as I lifted the skirt, something fell from it and, picking it up, I found it to be a snood, made of ribbon and lace and decorated with stones which might have been topaz.
“It goes on your hair,” said Gwennan, “Go on. Put it on.”
Now the change was complete. That was not poor, lame Harriet Delvaney who looked back at me from the mottled mirror. Her eyes were greener and much larger, her face
animated,
“It’s a miracle,” said Gwennan. She pointed at the reflection. “It’s not like you at all. You’ve turned into someone else.” She laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Harriet Delvaney. You’ve got yourself a dress for the ball.**
She came and stood beside me, wrapping the blue velvet about her, and I was glad she was with me. If she had not been, I should have felt something very strange was happening to me. But then, of course, I was the fanciful one.
She took my hand. “Come, be my partner in the dance, dear Madam.”
She skipped round the room, her hand in mine. I went with her, and we had been round the room before I realized that I was dancing … I … who had told myself I would never dance.
She too had noticed it. “You’re a fraud, Harriet Delvaney,” she shouted, and her voice echoed oddly in this strange place. “I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that foot of yours, after all.”
I stopped and looked down at it; then I caught the re-
flection of the girl in the mirror. It was an extraordinary moment, like that in the garden when I was a child and had suddenly got up and walked.
I was exhilarated, I couldn’t understand why; I felt it had something to do with the dress I was wearing.
“Well, that settles it,” said Gwennan. “We’re going to the ball. And now get that off and we’ll take these things and we’ll see what we can do with them.”
We went back to Gwennan’s room together; I felt then as though I had begun to live in a dream.
My father came down to Chough Towers the day before the ball, and gloom descended on the house. Meals were always an ordeal when he was there. Fortunately for me—but not for him—William Lister joined us, and we would sit at the long table in the dining room—which overlooked one of the lawns—for what seemed like interminable periods of time. My father led the conversation, which was usually about politics, and William made discreet replies; if I spoke, my father would listen with obvious patience and usually ignore what I had said; if William tried to reply to me, my father often changed the subject. So I decided that it was better to say nothing and hope that the meal would soon be over. A’Lee would be at the sideboard directing the parlormaids—there were two of them; and it always seemed incongruous that we three should need so many people to wait on us—particularly as I knew how much bustle would be going on in the kitchen. I would rise when they reached the port stage and leave them to talk. How glad I was when it was time for that!
Once my father said to me: “Have you no conversation?” and I merely flushed and said nothing, when I wanted to shout: When I do speak you ignore me.
At least my mind was so occupied with thoughts of the dress which now hung in my wardrobe side by side with the one Gwennan would wear, and wondering if Bevil would see me in it and be charmed with what he saw, that I ceased to think
“It suits you,” said Gwennan, her attention momentarily distracted from herself. “Put it on. Yes, put it on.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Over your clothes.”
“It’s so cold I’m sure it’s damp,”
“It won’t hurt you for a minute. It’s just the thing for the ball.”
I caught her excitement as I slipped the dress over my head. She was beside me, pulling it, fastening it, and in a few seconds there I was … transformed.
It was cut low, and my gray merino showed at neck and sleeves, but that did not seem to matter. It became me in a way nothing else ever had. And as I lifted the skirt, something fell from it and, picking it up, I found it to be a snood, made of ribbon and lace and decorated with stones which might have been topaz.
“It goes on your hair,” said Gwennan, “Go on. Put it on.”
Now the change was complete. That was not poor, lame Harriet Delvaney who looked back at me from the mottled mirror. Her eyes were greener and much larger, her face
animated,
“It’s a miracle,” said Gwennan. She pointed at the reflection. “It’s not like you at all. You’ve turned into someone else.” She laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Harriet Delvaney. You’ve got yourself a dress for the ball.**
She came and stood beside me, wrapping the blue velvet about her, and I was glad she was with me. If she had not been, I should have felt something very strange was happening to me. But then, of course, I was the fanciful one.
She took my hand. “Come, be my partner in the dance, dear Madam.”
She skipped round the room, her hand in mine. I went with her, and we had been round the room before I realized that I was dancing … I … who had told myself I would never dance.
She too had noticed it. “You’re a fraud, Harriet Delvaney,” she shouted, and her voice echoed oddly in this strange place. “I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that foot of yours, after all.”
I stopped and looked down at it; then I caught the re-
flection of the girl in the mirror. It was an extraordinary moment, like that in the garden when I was a child and had suddenly got up and walked.
I was exhilarated, I couldn’t understand why; I felt it had something to do with the dress I was wearing.
“Well, that settles it,” said Gwennan. “We’re going to the ball. And now get that off and we’ll take these things and we’ll see what we can do with them.”
We went back to Gwennan’s room together; I felt then as though I had begun to live in a dream.
My father came down to Chough Towers the day before the ball, and gloom descended on the house. Meals were always an ordeal when he was there. Fortunately for me—but not for him—William Lister joined us, and we would sit at the long table in the dining room—which overlooked one of the lawns—for what seemed like interminable periods of time. My father led the conversation, which was usually about politics, and William made discreet replies; if I spoke, my father would listen with obvious patience and usually ignore what I had said; if William tried to reply to me, my father often changed the subject. So I decided that it was better to say nothing and hope that the meal would soon be over. A’Lee would be at the sideboard directing the parlormaids—there were two of them; and it always seemed incongruous that we three should need so many people to wait on us—particularly as I knew how much bustle would be going on in the kitchen. I would rise when they reached the port stage and leave them to talk. How glad I was when it was time for that!
Once my father said to me: “Have you no conversation?” and I merely flushed and said nothing, when I wanted to shout: When I do speak you ignore me.
At least my mind was so occupied with thoughts of the dress which now hung in my wardrobe side by side with the one Gwennan would wear, and wondering if Bevil would see me in it and be charmed with what he saw, that I ceased to think
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