Read Online She Walks in Beauty by Siri Mitchell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Siri Mitchell
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dress is something with vivid color. We must attract attention away from Lizzie. Yes, the green gown will do.”
She sat down in one of my pansy-embroidered chairs, her dogs filling the space around her feet.
After being dressed in a corset cover and combing mantle, I sat in front of a mirror while the maid pulled back my hair and began braiding it into a plait that would be looped at the back of my head.
Aunt stopped her. “A coiffure that is rather more refined is what’s needed here. We have already announced your entry into society, Clara. You may wear your hair in a more sophisticated design. Lizzie may not. At least not today. And that is an important distinction to make.”
She and the maid discussed different options, finally settling on an up-twisted coiffure.
Once I had been dressed and coiffed, my gown and shoes brushed, I swept down the stairs behind Aunt.
Father caught us as we were leaving. “You’re not taking the Victoria.”
“We are.”
“But I might have need of it this afternoon!”
Aunt hardly paused in her step. “You will just have to tell your patients to … be patient.”
“There are such things as emergencies.”
“And anyone who expects you to attend them under such circumstances between the hours of four and six o’clock must be told to die some other day.”
Aunt walked out the door.
At Sherry’s, our cloaks were taken from us and we were ushered into a fantasy world of extravagance. Multiple tables had been laid out at the head of the room. One for tea, one for meats and savories, and one for ornate desserts.
My tea table at home had been interspersed with flowers. Lizzie’s tables had columns of fruit extending near to the ceiling, dripping with cherries and gooseberries, fanning out at the top with frondy pineapples. And beside them were stationed pillars of flowers that could only have come from exotic countries. Candles were reflected in mirrors and from the hollows of countless cut crystal decanters and vases and pots.
It was a glimmering, shimmering show of elegance and refinement.
“Well.” For once, Aunt’s observation was followed by … nothing at all. In truth, I did not think there was anything for her to criticize. But she only needed a moment to gather her thoughts. “If they meant to serve dinner, then why did they specify tea? Only common people serve up supper at this hour.”
T HE N EW Y ORK J OURNAL —S OCIETY
N OVEMBER 17, 1891
Everybody, and that’s everybody, congregated at Sherry’s on Monday afternoon to honor Miss Elizabeth Barnes’s debut. If the crowds are not mistaken, Miss Barnes is clearly the debutante of the hour … if not the year.
Lizzie’s debut had been a social triumph. But that was not what she wanted to talk about on Thursday when we met behind the hedge.
“Did you see what Emma Vandermere was wearing? To church?”
Emma Vandermere? Had she been there at all? “Should I have noticed?”
“No. Not at all. Because she was wearing last season’s blue !” Lizzie’s eyes had grown wide at the pronouncement. “Can you imagine? To church! Where everyone would see.”
“But doesn’t blue become her?” She had the most startling pale blue eyes.
“Yes. Maybe. With those limpid eyes. But, honestly! Last season’s blue? To church? Didn’t she know everyone would notice?”
Lizzie seemed to be offended, though I couldn’t quite understand why. “Maybe she thought everyone would be concentrating on the sermon.”
“The sermon?”
“It was quite good.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
I’d always had the feeling that most people didn’t. I don’t think they paid much attention to the hymns either. But on Sunday, the choir had sung one of my favorites. One of Mama’s favorites. And it was then I had recalled something Mama said when I was younger. As she was having her hair done to go out to a ball.
I had heard her, throughout the day, humming a tune that even then I had recognized was from church. But
She sat down in one of my pansy-embroidered chairs, her dogs filling the space around her feet.
After being dressed in a corset cover and combing mantle, I sat in front of a mirror while the maid pulled back my hair and began braiding it into a plait that would be looped at the back of my head.
Aunt stopped her. “A coiffure that is rather more refined is what’s needed here. We have already announced your entry into society, Clara. You may wear your hair in a more sophisticated design. Lizzie may not. At least not today. And that is an important distinction to make.”
She and the maid discussed different options, finally settling on an up-twisted coiffure.
Once I had been dressed and coiffed, my gown and shoes brushed, I swept down the stairs behind Aunt.
Father caught us as we were leaving. “You’re not taking the Victoria.”
“We are.”
“But I might have need of it this afternoon!”
Aunt hardly paused in her step. “You will just have to tell your patients to … be patient.”
“There are such things as emergencies.”
“And anyone who expects you to attend them under such circumstances between the hours of four and six o’clock must be told to die some other day.”
Aunt walked out the door.
At Sherry’s, our cloaks were taken from us and we were ushered into a fantasy world of extravagance. Multiple tables had been laid out at the head of the room. One for tea, one for meats and savories, and one for ornate desserts.
My tea table at home had been interspersed with flowers. Lizzie’s tables had columns of fruit extending near to the ceiling, dripping with cherries and gooseberries, fanning out at the top with frondy pineapples. And beside them were stationed pillars of flowers that could only have come from exotic countries. Candles were reflected in mirrors and from the hollows of countless cut crystal decanters and vases and pots.
It was a glimmering, shimmering show of elegance and refinement.
“Well.” For once, Aunt’s observation was followed by … nothing at all. In truth, I did not think there was anything for her to criticize. But she only needed a moment to gather her thoughts. “If they meant to serve dinner, then why did they specify tea? Only common people serve up supper at this hour.”
T HE N EW Y ORK J OURNAL —S OCIETY
N OVEMBER 17, 1891
Everybody, and that’s everybody, congregated at Sherry’s on Monday afternoon to honor Miss Elizabeth Barnes’s debut. If the crowds are not mistaken, Miss Barnes is clearly the debutante of the hour … if not the year.
Lizzie’s debut had been a social triumph. But that was not what she wanted to talk about on Thursday when we met behind the hedge.
“Did you see what Emma Vandermere was wearing? To church?”
Emma Vandermere? Had she been there at all? “Should I have noticed?”
“No. Not at all. Because she was wearing last season’s blue !” Lizzie’s eyes had grown wide at the pronouncement. “Can you imagine? To church! Where everyone would see.”
“But doesn’t blue become her?” She had the most startling pale blue eyes.
“Yes. Maybe. With those limpid eyes. But, honestly! Last season’s blue? To church? Didn’t she know everyone would notice?”
Lizzie seemed to be offended, though I couldn’t quite understand why. “Maybe she thought everyone would be concentrating on the sermon.”
“The sermon?”
“It was quite good.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
I’d always had the feeling that most people didn’t. I don’t think they paid much attention to the hymns either. But on Sunday, the choir had sung one of my favorites. One of Mama’s favorites. And it was then I had recalled something Mama said when I was younger. As she was having her hair done to go out to a ball.
I had heard her, throughout the day, humming a tune that even then I had recognized was from church. But
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