Penelope (12 page)

“I … I am sure
you can … I was … I was just surprised. Even in my country village
we have heard of your talent, sir … I mean, Madame,” Penelope
stammered.

The dowager and
Lady Radclyff were looking horrified, while Madame … Madame looked
content and slightly sleepy, like a well fed cat that would soon
lick her paws and purr.

 She hoped
that Madame would not refuse to help her now. Good lord, she had
almost shot her… and she had shot the duke’s ceiling. No man or
women in Madame’s place would take such an imbecile on. It was all
over before it even began.

Distressed,
Penelope said to all that were present, “I am sorry for shooting
Madame. I mean the roof. I was only going to shoot her foot, but
with my aim, I could have shot her in the head instead. I am truly
sorry for almost killing you, Madame. The roof is not so important.
That is, the roof is important, Lady Radclyff. It is after all your
home, but I think Madame is more important—”

Madame
Bellafraunde lifted a hand and halted her babbling.

Penelope rubbed
her sweaty palms together. Her heart was in her throat. She could
see her hopes of catching a man withering and dying. She silently
bid it goodbye.

She cursed
herself for her rashness. She didn’t care if a large, hairy man was
supposed to choose her dresses as long as he helped her on her
mission. Now he would never help.

“Enough
desperation in her tone to almost convince me, but I need to
inspect her closer to make the decision,” Madame said, brushing of
the incident as if it was of no consequence.

Penelope raised
her lashes, hope once more rising from the embers.

“What,” Madame
asked Penelope, “are you good at?”

Penelope
eagerly replied, “I am a great canoozer of food.”

“Could you
repeat yourself? I don’t think I hear you right.”

“Yes,” Penelope
said, and then repeated loudly, “I am a great canoozer of
food.”

What a rifle
could not do, this did. Madame paled.

The maids
rushed to fan Madame’s cheeks, and the smelling salts and champagne
were administered speedily.

At length, she
sat back on her seat and turning to Penelope said, “You meant
connoisseur, not … Never mind. Let us proceed. Can I inspect her
closer?” she asked the dowager.

The dowager
gave a quick nod, and Madame keeping her beady eyes on Penelope
approached her. She took Penelope’s face in her hand and twisted it
one way, then the other. Her hair was opened and it now fell in
thick, silky layers down her shoulders. Her waist was spanned and
her ankles inspected. Her nails were frowned upon and her eyebrows
tsked at. All the while Madame continued shooting questions at the
dowager,

“Manners?”

“Abysmal.”

“Talents?”

“A spot of
energetic dancing”

“Drawing or
painting? Needlework?”

“Hopeless.”

“Cooking?”

“Yes, she can
cook but nothing fancy.”

“Her fan
work?”

“Don’t
know.”

“Charm?”

“A
smidgeon.”

“Her behaviour
in front of men?”

“My father and
the duke despise her.”

Madame
Bellafraunde turned to smile at the dowager, “I am impressed. I
have never had such a hopeless case before. Men would run a mile if
they saw her approaching and that to me is a challenge. She will be
transformed into a man’s fantasy. I will do this. I will do this
and succeed. It will be one of the highlights of my career because
you, Miss Fairweather, in spite of your glaring faults, will be
married to the best the season has to offer.”

Penelope smiled
weakly wondering if she should be unhappy at being called hopeless
and having her faults so blatantly discussed, or happy that Madame
had agreed to help her because she was such a lost cause.

The dowager and
Lady Radclyff let out a sigh of relief.

After this
Madame Bellafraunde changed into another being. Her slow lethargic
walk turned into a fast paced trot. Her deep drawl turned into
quick rapid speech, and her face was lit with a mad sort of
excitement. Miss Fairweather would sparkle, shine, glow, and turn
heads wherever she went, and as long as the girl kept her mouth
shut for the rest of her life, she would be married and live
happily ever after.

“Strip down to
your chemise,” Madame Bellafraunde ordered.

“Now? In front
of you?” Penelope squeaked.

“Girl, let me
educate you. I have the soul of a woman, and that means my bonnet
jiggles for a man.”

“How?”

“Have you not
read any Roman history?”

“Father reads
aloud and I have often hidden under his desk and overheard … I
mean, I didn’t know … I thought it only happened in books and
history.”

“A few of us
survived outside of dull pages,” Madame replied wryly.

Penelope
glanced at the dowager uncertainly, and receiving an encouraging
nod she began undressing. One of the four maids who had accompanied
Madame approached Penelope and started helping her. With every
cloth that was shed, Penelope turned a brighter shade of red. Her
neck and even her arms had taken on a rosy hue. Soon she stood
semi-naked wearing a faded corset, bloomers and stockings. Her only
comfort was in the thought that most of the audience were female
and the only male in the room was more woman than the rest of them
put together.

Right at that
moment the door opened and the duke’s head popped in.

“Mother,” he
began and then stopped. Slowly his eyes widened and his mouth
dropped open in shock. He stared at an almost naked Penelope and
then Madame Bellafraunde. The shock turned to anger.

“I will not
have you liaising in my house in this manner. How dare you sneak a
man in here? Here under my roof to perform lewd—”

“Charles!” the
dowager spoke up from the couch.

“How could
you?” Lady Radclyff added.

The duke
deflated as he finally noticed his sister, mother, and four maids
present in the room besides Penelope and the man. His face soon
registered utter confusion.

The dowager
hurried over to the duke and shoved him out of the door and into
the hallway.

“I will explain
things. Why don’t you carry on, Madame. I apologise for the
interruption,” the dowager said calmly following her son.

Penelope hid
her face in her hands and moaned. Why, oh why were things going so
badly wrong?

“Don’t worry
about it, my dear,” Madame Bellafraunde soothed, her eyes twinkling
with suppressed humour.

Penelope
snorted into her hands. Madame couldn’t possibly conceive what
Penelope was feeling at the moment. Madame hadn’t been caught
wearing only a corset, lavender bloomers and a laddered stocking.
And the bloomers hadn’t even been her best ones.

Lady Radclyff
wrapped a shawl around Penelope and led her to the sofa. A cup of
tea was quickly administered with a generous dose of brandy. Once
Penelope stopped trembling in shame and regained some of her
colour, Madame Bellafraunde sprang out of her chair and clapped her
hands.

The four maids
that had accompanied her formed a line.

“Go and join
them, Miss Fairweather. We have no time to lose. Up you go. You can
soak the pillow with tears tonight, but for now we need to get back
to work.”

Penelope
shrugged off the shawl and giving a weak smile joined the maids.
She couldn’t bear the pitying looks of the other women any longer.
The best cure for her was action, and she was thankful to Madame
for brushing over the incident as if it was of no importance. For
the second time since her arrival Madame had somehow smoothed over
the situation. She did not know if it was deliberate. Nevertheless,
she was thankful.

“Now, Lady
Radclyff, this is what I propose. Today we will concentrate on Miss
Fairweather’s wardrobe. You are a lucky girl,” Madame said turning
to look at Penelope, “that you do not need to go to the Burlington
Arcade or the Pantheon. It would take you a week or more visiting
the dressmaker, milliner, fan maker, reticule maker, tailor, shoe
shop, and the shawl seller to get your wardrobe assembled. Instead
you have me, who will dress you from top to toe, procuring only the
best available in all of Paris and London. My assistants will do
the hard work, while all I require of you is to stand still, obey
me and look pretty. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Madame,”
Penelope said, for a moment feeling like she was being prepped for
war.

“May, get a
sharp knife ready. Lady Radclyff, have a bath filled with hot water
brought here. Station a footman outside the door and let no one
enter. Rose, run and bring in all the boxes and materials from the
carriage.”

The two young
maids in identical black uniforms bobbed their heads and rushed out
to do her bidding.

Lady Radclyff
hesitated, “Bathe here?”

“Where else,
girl? This room is big enough, the fire roaring and warm. It would
take too long to heat any other room and we don’t have time. Now
run along ... Hurry.”

Lady Radclyff
mimicked the maids and after a quick curtsy ran out.

“Ah, your
grace, we are ready to begin the transformation,” Madame remarked,
as soon as the dowager entered the room.

Penelope
couldn’t tell if the dowager had been successful in explaining the
situation to the duke. Had she mentioned the shooting debacle?

The dowager’s
face was impassive. All she offered was a soft, reserved smile as
she replied, “That’s wonderful. Do you require any assistance from
me?”

“Perhaps you
can help us tomorrow when I work on her manners and fan work? Today
leave the girl in my hands,” Madame Bellafraunde said with a
militant look in her eye.

Penelope gulped
as the dowager departed. She warily eyed the sharp knife the maid
had procured. How, she wondered, was Madame going to make use of
the knife in an attempt to make her look beautiful?

Cut off her
head perhaps and be done with it?

“I am going to
use the knife and this creamy bar of soap to clean the hair off
your hands and legs. I learnt the method when I travelled to the
east in search of beauty secrets. English women have not embraced
it yet, but I am trying to bring in a new fashion. Every few days
ask one of the maids to help you do this. Now be careful and make
sure you choose someone who knows what they are doing. One slip and
you could cut a precious vein and bleed to death, or a single nick
and you could infect your arm, and then the physician may have to
cut your entire limb off to save your life. I know of a few young
girls, God bless their souls, who gave up their lives for the sake
of fashion. But we want you alive, so stop shaking, no movement,
and don’t worry, my girl here will help me. I promise you will be
fine.”

Penelope froze
in fright. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed over and over
until the entire ordeal was over. Oddly, Madame only stayed long
enough to see that her arms were cleaned of hair. When it came to
her legs, Madame left the room.

Next she was
dumped into a bath and scrubbed, oiled and perfumed by the maids.
Even her hair was sprayed with concoctions from different vials.
She felt raw, stripped and naked. But at least she smelled
wonderful.

“Stand by the
fire and drink this coffee. I need your hair to dry as fast as
possible. I have asked for your maid to join us. She needs to learn
how to do your hair and skin,” Madame said, entering the room once
Penelope had donned a robe.

“Skin?”

“Have you seen
your complexion? I have seen corpses with better colour in their
cheeks and with not a freckle dusting their noses. Listen to me
very carefully. In fact, write it down,” Madame Bellafraunde said,
snatching the half full cup of coffee away from Penelope.

“Here is a pen
and ah ... thank you, Mary, is it? You are Miss Fairweather’s maid?
Listen to everything I have to say, Mary, and do not forget a
single thing. You will become the finest lady’s maid in your little
village under my training. At the moment you are atrocious. Where
was I...? Skin ... Gowland’s Lotion, and here it says on the
bottle, ‘Eruptive humours fly before its powers, pimples and
freckles die within the hour’. Hmmph, I don’t know about that, but
it does fade away spots if you use it faithfully for a few months
and avoid the sun. Here, Mary, keep it for your mistress.”

Penelope stared
at the little glass pot in Mary’s hand. She wanted to touch it and
sniff its contents, but Madame Bellafraunde was already waiving
another pot in front of her nose; this time a blue plastic
bottle.

“Milk of Roses
will cure your face of this very distracting blotchy redness. Use
it at bedtime. Now this,” Madame said, lovingly taking out a
crystal bottle, “is called Bloom of Ninon, a wonderful tonic that
will help you with worms, leaches, louse—”

“Worms? I don’t
have any worms or leaches … or louse!”

“Yes, well, I
didn’t say you did right now, but you could. Besides, it’s
wonderful for softening your rough callouses, keeping your face
plump and your bosom firm. Take a few drops every morning with a
glass of water.”

Mary helped
Penelope into a long flowing robe and led her to the sofa. She
started rubbing Gowland’s Lotion into her skin followed by the Milk
of Roses.

“This here,”
Madame said, pulling a vial out of an open wooden crate, “is for
your hair. It is a mixture of oils that I created a few years ago.
It prevents balding and in your case will tame your locks. Your
hair is passable. A few washes with my ‘Hair Swoon’ and you will
shine and sparkle in candle light.”

“Hair
Swoon?”

“The scent is
so delicious it is rumoured that Countess Randalf actually swooned
when she first had a whiff ....”

“I will follow
your advice faithfully, Madame. Thank you,” Penelope said, getting
ready to bid her goodbye.