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Authors: Amanda DeWees
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finished—why, I cannot fathom! I shall have to look into it later—and we must put you in Great-Aunt Agatha’s room this evening. It is a nuisance, but it is only for one night.”
“I have no objection, as long as Great-Aunt Agatha has none,” I said, winning one of the duchess’s trilling laughs.
“Great-Aunt Agatha has been dead these thirty years; I doubt she will be discommoded by your presence.”
“I would sooner risk disturbing a living relative than a dead one,” said Felicity, with a shiver of horror not unmixed with relish. “I hope for your sake she sleeps sound in the earth, cousin. She might choose to evict you.”
The duchess gave her a gentle frown. “That is scarcely hospitable, Felicity, to greet our cousin with tales of bogles and haunts. I myself have never heard that Great-Aunt Agatha makes a habit of revisiting her old quarters. She led a very contented life, as far as I know, and left no unfinished business behind but her embroidered altar cloth. No, my main concern is that you will be alone on the third floor. I hope you will not feel terribly isolated, my dear; I would not put you there if there were any other room fit for you to occupy.” She hesitated, a single worried crease appearing on her brow. “But we’ll find something better for you tomorrow.”
Even though it was on the top floor and had not been fitted with gas lighting, Great-aunt Agatha’s room was a quaint and comfortable chamber full of enormous, heavy furniture that had a reassuringly solid appearance. The hangings were rich but faded and fraying, and altogether I felt much more comfortable in this old and frankly shabby room than I would have in a more fashionable apartment fitted out in the fragile, eggshell-hued furnishings the duchess seemed to favor.
The duchess assured herself that I had fresh linen and hot water before leaving to make her own toilet for dinner. After shutting the door behind her and making a brief tour of my new living quarters, I took off my gown and had begun gratefully to wash the travel grime from my arms and face when there was a knock at the door. I gathered my dress to me and, uncertainly, called out a welcome.
The door opened on the startling sight of a heap of clothes. After the first moment of bewilderment, I saw that the heap was surmounted by two brown eyes and a smart white cap. This, I reasoned belatedly, must be Jane, come to fit me out for dinner.
“Good evening, miss,” said a voice from behind the mass of fabric. “The duchess has sent some things for you.”
“Thank you.” I felt awkward, never having had a personal maid before, and was unsure of what to say or how to behave. “Won’t you come in?”
She did so, moving briskly to place her burden on the bed, and I was able to observe her more fully. She was even smaller than I, although sturdier of build, and looked no more than fourteen. I later discovered that she was every day of twenty and married to one of the footmen, but in that first glimpse she looked too young to be out of the schoolroom.
For her part, as soon as she had laid out the gown and petticoats she had brought in, she turned to give me a look of appraisal even more frank than mine. My surprise and discomfort at this scrutiny were short-lived, though, as she said thoughtfully, “The gown should fit very well with a bit of taking in. You and Her Grace are much of a height. Shall I lace you up?”
To her credit, she did not so much as blink when I told her I did not wear stays. Fortunately the gown fitted me without them, although Jane had to pin starched ruffles to my chemise to fill out the bosom. It was a finer gown than any I had ever worn, although the dark purple color and modest décolletage, cut just below the collarbone, made it appropriate for mourning. It was trimmed only with braid of the same color, but the wide pagoda sleeves and full skirts, swelled by the layers of petticoats, gave it an unmistakably fashionable shape. The
“I have no objection, as long as Great-Aunt Agatha has none,” I said, winning one of the duchess’s trilling laughs.
“Great-Aunt Agatha has been dead these thirty years; I doubt she will be discommoded by your presence.”
“I would sooner risk disturbing a living relative than a dead one,” said Felicity, with a shiver of horror not unmixed with relish. “I hope for your sake she sleeps sound in the earth, cousin. She might choose to evict you.”
The duchess gave her a gentle frown. “That is scarcely hospitable, Felicity, to greet our cousin with tales of bogles and haunts. I myself have never heard that Great-Aunt Agatha makes a habit of revisiting her old quarters. She led a very contented life, as far as I know, and left no unfinished business behind but her embroidered altar cloth. No, my main concern is that you will be alone on the third floor. I hope you will not feel terribly isolated, my dear; I would not put you there if there were any other room fit for you to occupy.” She hesitated, a single worried crease appearing on her brow. “But we’ll find something better for you tomorrow.”
Even though it was on the top floor and had not been fitted with gas lighting, Great-aunt Agatha’s room was a quaint and comfortable chamber full of enormous, heavy furniture that had a reassuringly solid appearance. The hangings were rich but faded and fraying, and altogether I felt much more comfortable in this old and frankly shabby room than I would have in a more fashionable apartment fitted out in the fragile, eggshell-hued furnishings the duchess seemed to favor.
The duchess assured herself that I had fresh linen and hot water before leaving to make her own toilet for dinner. After shutting the door behind her and making a brief tour of my new living quarters, I took off my gown and had begun gratefully to wash the travel grime from my arms and face when there was a knock at the door. I gathered my dress to me and, uncertainly, called out a welcome.
The door opened on the startling sight of a heap of clothes. After the first moment of bewilderment, I saw that the heap was surmounted by two brown eyes and a smart white cap. This, I reasoned belatedly, must be Jane, come to fit me out for dinner.
“Good evening, miss,” said a voice from behind the mass of fabric. “The duchess has sent some things for you.”
“Thank you.” I felt awkward, never having had a personal maid before, and was unsure of what to say or how to behave. “Won’t you come in?”
She did so, moving briskly to place her burden on the bed, and I was able to observe her more fully. She was even smaller than I, although sturdier of build, and looked no more than fourteen. I later discovered that she was every day of twenty and married to one of the footmen, but in that first glimpse she looked too young to be out of the schoolroom.
For her part, as soon as she had laid out the gown and petticoats she had brought in, she turned to give me a look of appraisal even more frank than mine. My surprise and discomfort at this scrutiny were short-lived, though, as she said thoughtfully, “The gown should fit very well with a bit of taking in. You and Her Grace are much of a height. Shall I lace you up?”
To her credit, she did not so much as blink when I told her I did not wear stays. Fortunately the gown fitted me without them, although Jane had to pin starched ruffles to my chemise to fill out the bosom. It was a finer gown than any I had ever worn, although the dark purple color and modest décolletage, cut just below the collarbone, made it appropriate for mourning. It was trimmed only with braid of the same color, but the wide pagoda sleeves and full skirts, swelled by the layers of petticoats, gave it an unmistakably fashionable shape. The
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