Read Online The Girl in the Mask by Marie-Louise Jensen - Free Book Online Page B

any oth—Oh yes, I do. Must I wear them now?’
    ‘If you wish to benefit from my expertise, certainly,’ he said.
    ‘Please wait a moment,’ I asked him, and ran swiftly back upstairs. My aunt had bought me new shoes, hadn’t she? I hadn’t seen them since, and couldn’t remember anything about them. I rummaged in my closet and found neat stacks of cardboard boxes one of the servants must have placed there. I pulled them out and tipped them higgledy-piggledy onto the floor in my hurry not to keep the master waiting.
    The first boxes contained a selection of gloves, shawls, brushes, fans and cosmetics. The shoes were stacked at the bottom: leather shoes, damask shoes, kid slippers, shiny buckles, ties, bows, red, pink, cream, beaded and stitched and all with monstrous high, waisted heels, two or three inches at least. I searched in vain for a flatter pair. Which ones were for dancing? I had no idea.
    ‘What a waste of good money,’ I said aloud, ‘to buy such impractical shoes.’ I selected a pair at random, left everything else in a heap and ran downstairs in stockinged feet to present them to the dancing master. He nodded his approval and I buckled them on. I stood up and nearly fell over again. ‘Must I truly learn to dance in these?’ I asked, perturbed. ‘I can scarcely walk in them.’
    ‘You must,’ was his curt reply. The master led me through the steps of the minuet without music in the impossible shoes. I added bad breath to his list of faults and kept my distance from him as much as was possible, and my face averted. I had barely memorized a single step of the minuet before he switched to a country dance. I gave up concentrating, simply wobbling and stumbling through the sequences without trying too hard. I had no wish to learn to dance.
    My father and aunt returned from an early morning bathe in the famous waters just as the dancing master was leaving. ‘How did my daughter do?’ asked Father as he climbed from the sedan chair.
    ‘She has some natural grace and rhythm, sir,’ the teacher replied waspishly, his temper sorely tried by his time with me. ‘But she wants application and must learn to walk in the correct footwear before she can dance in it. Until tomorrow.’
    He bowed and left, and father turned his frowning gaze upon me. ‘You want application, do you, Sophia?’ he demanded, pulling off his nightcap. His closely-shaven head looked very naked without its usual covering, giving him an altogether more menacing aspect. ‘You try my patience too far. I think you’ll find missing breakfast will give you all the motivation you require for tomorrow. Go to your room.’
    ‘But, father, truly, I tried as hard as I could,’ I protested. ‘But he went through the steps so fast and it was all so new to me!’
    ‘I’m not interested in excuses,’ was his answer. With a dragging step, I climbed the stairs. My father had won again. I was condemned to more hunger. And what was worse, I’d never been so bored in my life. Shut in this tiny bedroom with no books and no exercise. There were so many things I’d love to be doing. Walking, riding, shooting, or managing the estate. I wondered how our tenant farmers were getting on without me. No doubt my father had frozen all expenditure on the estate, perhaps even raised the rents, and in effect our tenants were paying for our stay here.
    I kicked off my uncomfortable new shoes, climbed out onto the roof, and lay on the tiles in the sunshine watching the comings and goings far below in the street. I didn’t dare go further afield, in case my absence betrayed my escape route.
    In the late afternoon there were footsteps on the stairs followed by a sharp rap at my bedchamber door. I only just had time to scramble back in through the window before the door opened and my father stood before me. He looked at me suspiciously before standing aside and saying: ‘This is Dawes, your new lady’s maid, Sophia. She is to begin at once. Show her your