slowly around, her eyes filling with tears of misery. And in the end, she didn’t even finish her perusal, but sat down in a defeated lump. She didn’t even have the strength to argue but just sat there, her eyes darting this way and that, as she no doubt looked for another crumpet.
“There now, you have looked. I shall not ask you what you saw because I can see it in your face how miserable you feel right now. Ah, here is Wendy.”
And there was Wendy, covering up the mirror with quick jerks of her arm. As the muslin settled over the reflection, everyone—Helaine included—sighed in relief. The girl in that mirror was the picture of dejection.
“Now, please, Francine, if you would but stand up, we shall help you into your new gown. You shall see what I see when I look at you.”
Francine didn’t argue. She obviously hadn’t the strength, but hope did sparkle a bit in her eyes. Just a tiny flash, but one that shot to Helaine’s soul. The girl wasn’t lost yet.
“First off, let us change your hair.” Francine didn’t have the time to argue as Helaine plucked pins out of her hair. Before long a tumble of loose, lovely curls fell down and Francine was sighing in relief.
“Those hurt, don’t they?”
“Terribly. But Mama says—”
“For the moment, Francine, I have no desire to know what your mother says. She may be the best of all mothers, but she does
not
know how to dress you.”
At that, Francine gaped at her. It was perhaps the first time that anyone had contradicted her mother, who was, in Helaine’s opinion, a narrow-minded tyrant. It wasn’t that the woman was cruel. She did love her daughter. But as happened with some mothers, the woman could only see the flaws, not the beauty, in her offspring. That was why Helaine had specifically conspired to see poor Francinealone, at a time when her mother was busy with her son’s tutor.
“Today, dear Francine, is about you. And what will look best on you despite what your mother says.”
The girl had no response except to nod. She was obviously still in shock that someone would speak ill of her mama.
“Next, you absolutely must remove those terrible boots. You should try on this pair of silk slippers, I think.” She held up a dainty pair dyed the palest of pinks.
The girl looked down at her thick half boots, designed more for a man who worked in a pigpen than for a girl. “But Mama said—” She stopped when Helaine raised her eyebrows. “Slippers wear so easily,” she finally managed.
“And if you were to be traipsing about London, then you should wear those, I suppose. But we are dressing you for a London party, my dear. Come, come. Mr. Shoemaker makes the most divine slippers. If you like them, then we shall bring his daughter Penny in to show you what can be done for your feet.”
Helaine didn’t mention that Mr. Shoemaker had
not
made these particular slippers. That shoe shop was too pricey by half for demonstration slippers. But if Francine wanted to change her footwear, she could afford the best. Meanwhile, Francine did as she was bidden, pulling off her boots with a grimace. Truly, those boots could not have been made for her. They were much too huge.
“Whose are those?”
“My cousin’s, when he grew too big for them. Papa said there was no use in throwing out perfectly good boots.”
“Hmph,” Helaine snorted. Even she could see where Francine’s feet were rubbed sore from the ill-fitting footwear. “Then we shall put your father’s feet in boots that are two inches too big and see how he likes trying to dance in them.”
“I don’t like how they make such noise when I walk,” the girl confided.
The rest of her clothing was serviceable but nothingrefined. Cheap muslin for her shift and a corset as ill fitting as her boots. On a flash of inspiration, Helaine called for it all to be changed. A silk shift and a new corset. Indeed, Wendy had to run to the shop three doors down to obtain a corset of the right shape
“There now, you have looked. I shall not ask you what you saw because I can see it in your face how miserable you feel right now. Ah, here is Wendy.”
And there was Wendy, covering up the mirror with quick jerks of her arm. As the muslin settled over the reflection, everyone—Helaine included—sighed in relief. The girl in that mirror was the picture of dejection.
“Now, please, Francine, if you would but stand up, we shall help you into your new gown. You shall see what I see when I look at you.”
Francine didn’t argue. She obviously hadn’t the strength, but hope did sparkle a bit in her eyes. Just a tiny flash, but one that shot to Helaine’s soul. The girl wasn’t lost yet.
“First off, let us change your hair.” Francine didn’t have the time to argue as Helaine plucked pins out of her hair. Before long a tumble of loose, lovely curls fell down and Francine was sighing in relief.
“Those hurt, don’t they?”
“Terribly. But Mama says—”
“For the moment, Francine, I have no desire to know what your mother says. She may be the best of all mothers, but she does
not
know how to dress you.”
At that, Francine gaped at her. It was perhaps the first time that anyone had contradicted her mother, who was, in Helaine’s opinion, a narrow-minded tyrant. It wasn’t that the woman was cruel. She did love her daughter. But as happened with some mothers, the woman could only see the flaws, not the beauty, in her offspring. That was why Helaine had specifically conspired to see poor Francinealone, at a time when her mother was busy with her son’s tutor.
“Today, dear Francine, is about you. And what will look best on you despite what your mother says.”
The girl had no response except to nod. She was obviously still in shock that someone would speak ill of her mama.
“Next, you absolutely must remove those terrible boots. You should try on this pair of silk slippers, I think.” She held up a dainty pair dyed the palest of pinks.
The girl looked down at her thick half boots, designed more for a man who worked in a pigpen than for a girl. “But Mama said—” She stopped when Helaine raised her eyebrows. “Slippers wear so easily,” she finally managed.
“And if you were to be traipsing about London, then you should wear those, I suppose. But we are dressing you for a London party, my dear. Come, come. Mr. Shoemaker makes the most divine slippers. If you like them, then we shall bring his daughter Penny in to show you what can be done for your feet.”
Helaine didn’t mention that Mr. Shoemaker had
not
made these particular slippers. That shoe shop was too pricey by half for demonstration slippers. But if Francine wanted to change her footwear, she could afford the best. Meanwhile, Francine did as she was bidden, pulling off her boots with a grimace. Truly, those boots could not have been made for her. They were much too huge.
“Whose are those?”
“My cousin’s, when he grew too big for them. Papa said there was no use in throwing out perfectly good boots.”
“Hmph,” Helaine snorted. Even she could see where Francine’s feet were rubbed sore from the ill-fitting footwear. “Then we shall put your father’s feet in boots that are two inches too big and see how he likes trying to dance in them.”
“I don’t like how they make such noise when I walk,” the girl confided.
The rest of her clothing was serviceable but nothingrefined. Cheap muslin for her shift and a corset as ill fitting as her boots. On a flash of inspiration, Helaine called for it all to be changed. A silk shift and a new corset. Indeed, Wendy had to run to the shop three doors down to obtain a corset of the right shape
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