Penelope (13 page)

“I haven’t
finished. We have just started,” Madame exclaimed, opening a giant
carton filled to the brim with odds and ends.

Penelope
slumped back on the couch shaking her head in despair. What, she
wondered, had she gotten herself into?

Penelope sat
ogling the dainty cakes on the table while the maids were busy
working on her face and hair.

Meanwhile,
Madame Bellafraunde pulled out lotions for her body, soap for
everyday use, soap for the ball nights, soap for cleaning hair,
oils for her body, hair and face, paste for her teeth, white
imperial talc, blooming rose essence for staining her lips and
cheeks, soot for her lashes and eyebrows, drops to make her eyes
seductive and luminous, tonics for health, tonics for beauty, a
contraption to pluck her brows, and perfumes to layer and wear at
different hours of the day.

Finally, Madame
sat back on the couch and rang for some fresh tea and coffee.

“It is lunch
time. I suggest we take a small break, no more than fifteen
minutes, and then I want everyone back in their positions.”

 The maids
fled and Penelope watched them leave unhappily. She was still stuck
in the same room, and she didn’t think she would get even a moment
of freedom until dinner time.

Lady Radclyff
joined them just as the lunch tray was brought in.

“You look
wonderful,” Lady Radclyff exclaimed, staring at Penelope.

“We will now
commence on your etiquette at the dinner table,” Madame said,
ignoring Lady Radclyff.

Penelope eyed
Lady Radclyff in silent appeal. In turn, Lady Radclyff shrugged
helplessly.

Penelope
groaned inwardly and picked up her spoon.

“Not so fast,
girl. Dainty sips, delicate bites. Here, hold the spoon like this.
Lift and move away from the bowl ... not towards yourself ... don’t
feed the blasted table!”

Penelope
endeavoured, but her tired mind was filled to the brim. Exhausted,
she slumped in her seat and was given a long lecture on the
importance of correct posture. Lady Radclyff eyed her
sympathetically, but didn't dare interrupt Madame Bellafraunde.

The dowager
entered to check on the victim. She took one look at Penelope’s
drawn face and understood the situation.

“Madame
Bellafraunde, perhaps we should quickly move on to Miss
Fairweather’s attire. Your seamstresses need to get to work on her
trousseau immediately. We can address the rest of her faults
tomorrow?” the dowager said.

“I agree with
you, your grace. Her rough complexion and horrifying nails ...
Never mind. I will get the girls to bring up the box of materials.
I will have to carry the jewellery out myself ....”

Penelope closed
her eyes in relief as soon as Madame left the room.

“Here, quickly
eat up. Don’t bother with manners. Leave that for the ballroom. We
don’t have time to waste ... Eat ... Eat,” Lady Radclyff said,
pulling out a fresh batch of biscuits wrapped in brown paper.

The dowager
quickly produced a cup of tea, now a little tepid, but Penelope
inhaled it like a starved creature.

“Do you want me
ask Madame Bellafraunde to return tomorrow instead?”

Penelope
swallowed the last drop of tea and said, “No, I need her
assistance, and I am truly grateful for all that you are doing for
me. I am just afraid that in spite of all of this work, I will end
up making a mess of things.”

Penelope placed
the tea cup back on the tray and leaned back in her seat. When she
glanced up, it was to find the dowager eyeing her strangely.

“My dear,” the
dowager said, “you are very brave. When I first realised that
Madame was Lo … was a man, I swooned. It took me a year to build up
enough courage to allow her to dress me.”

“I agree, it’s
admirable how you wiped off the initial shock of discovering
Madame’s identity, faced Charles in a state of undress, and then
carried on striving to achieve your goal. You haven’t complained
once, and all for the sake of your family,” Lady Radclyff
added.

Penelope smiled
uncertainly and stared at her hands. She didn’t know what to
say.

“You should
smile more often. Your face lights up and the hint of mischief
shining through is endearing,” the dowager said encouragingly.
After a moment she asked, “Is it your family’s situation that is
driving you or something else? I only ask because in Gertrude’s
last letter she said that she wasn’t depending on your success. And
if they don’t have all their hopes pinned on you, then why are you
so worried, my dear …”

A disturbance
at the door distracted the dowager and Penelope heaved a sigh of
relief.

“Perhaps you
would like to stay and look at the design plates and materials,
your grace? Another gown for you and Lady Radclyff perhaps?” Madame
Bellafraunde said, striding into the room carrying a giant box. Her
four maids trailed in behind her carrying various parcels, hatboxes
and cloth bags, while two footmen came in carrying a giant wooden
container between them.

“I would love
to look at the design plates. I think both my daughter and I can do
with a couple of more gowns, Madame.”

Madame
Bellafraunde brightened and produced the plates promptly. The
ladies poured over the latest cuts and styles while delicately
sipping grape schnapps from long stemmed glasses.

“I saw a
delightful Primrose dinner dress in
Mirror of Fashion
and a
pretty woven white muslin in
Lady’s Magazine
this month.
Shall I fetch it?” Penelope asked.

“Don’t be
ridiculous. People of your status cannot wear what can be commonly
found in every household that can sew,” Madame snapped.

“My
status?”

“Hmmph, you
will have a status by the end of the season, girl, so start
practising. If you believe you are better than everyone, then
others too will treat you with the same sort of deference. You will
be with the dowager and the duke. You cannot embarrass them by
acting no better than a scullery maid.”

Penelope
frowned. How could one pretend to be better than one was?

“Measure your
words before you speak. Keep them waiting, as if even conversing
with you is a privilege. Hold your head high and walk into a room
knowing that every eye is on you, and it shall remain on you
because the delicate turn of your ankle, the fine blue veins on
your wrist, the flush in your cheeks, and the soft swell of your
bosom is more alluring than any other woman present in that room.
Understood?” Madame barked.

Penelope
flushed and stared at her wrist as if she had never seen it before.
As for walking into a room knowing every eye would be on her … the
thought itself turned her knees to jelly.

“Silk amber
with a slight puff and long sleeves is what I suggest for her first
ball. It will go well with her brown hair and eyes. A bit of clancy
lace in cream peeking below her skirts, amber silk slippers, and no
jewellery.”

“The cut?” the
dowager asked.

“Do not worry,
your grace. It will be modest, her bosom adequately covered. Men
like to imagine and think vulgar thoughts, but present them with
boldness and they run scared.”

“Very well, I
leave the decision up to you. The other dresses?”

“Emerald green,
peach down, white satin, Paris green and coquelicot,” Madame
suggested, pulling out the materials from the wooden container.

“Not the
coquelicot, too bold ... Not bold, but it may clash with her creamy
brown skin,” Lady Radclyff said.

“Hmm, this
French blue?”

“Perfect,” the
dowager said.

“I suggest a
celestial blue for Lady Radclyff and this burgundy for you, your
grace.”

Lady Radclyff
spent a blissful time rummaging around in the wooden box while the
dowager poured over the style plates.

“Trimmings
should be simple. Rosebuds, lace, ribbons and pearls. Each dress
will have just one trim. I want to keep it subtle and let her own
beauty shine through. I want the ton to see
her
, not the
clothes,” Madame said thoughtfully.

“That’s
generous of you,” the dowager remarked.

“I have enough
ladies willing to dance the edge of propriety with my clothes. I
can play with styles while dressing them. They need to take
advantage of fashion being well past their first bloom. For them I
create clothes that distract the eyes from sagging, wrinkled
features. Miss Fairweather needs none of that excess.”

Penelope looked
up from the frothy lace in her hands. That had almost sounded like
a compliment. Madame, who dressed princesses, dowagers and
countesses; who had seen the most beautiful women, couldn’t
possibly consider her passable. Could she?

***

Hours later in
her room, Penelope finally collapsed on the bed. Her dinner sat on
the tray turning cold. She felt too tired to eat, her mind swimming
with all of the things that had been bought for her in a few short
hours. Her new wardrobe consisted of kid gloves, silk stockings,
velvet slippers, riding dresses, morning gowns, bewitching ball
gowns, hats, parasols, silk shot fans and a whole lot more.

Her dressing
table was brimming with pots, lotions and scents. It was like a
fairy tale. Never in her life had she imagined that she would own
so much. The entire thing must have cost the duke a fortune, and
instead of being pleased, she was miserable. After all that was
being done for her, all the pounds and shillings spent, what if she
turned out to be a disappointment?

Over the course
of the day she had lost her fear of Madame and learnt to see the
kind heart beneath the rough exterior. But even as she became used
to Madame, her heart had continued to sink as more and more things
were purchased for her. The money had been paid, the bills signed,
and lotions and pots of cream opened and used. She could no longer
go back. She would have to attend the season.

What a strange
dream, Penelope thought. Madame Bellafraunde stood in her room
holding Lady Bathsheba in her arms. She was tickling the goat under
the chin and making odd cooing noises.

Penelope
giggled sleepily.

Madame
Bellafraunde’s head swivelled towards the bed. She set the goat
down and snapped, “Up, girl, I don’t have all day.”

Penelope jerked
up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

“It’s really
you?”

“Who else did
you expect? It is past five. At your age I used to be up at four.
Now hurry up and wear one of your despicable gowns and come
downstairs. We have work to do.”

“Five in the
morning?” Penelope squeaked.

“No, in the
evening. Of course it is morning. Now up you get. I have been
unable to drag your maid out of bed, so dress yourself. Your cup of
tea is getting cold. Drink quickly.”

“Madame?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you
care so much?”

Madame put the
goat down and came and sat by Penelope.

“The duke is
paying me a pretty penny,” she replied

“I don’t think
that’s the only reason,” Penelope said, picking up the tea cup.

Madame glanced
at her in surprise, “Is that your intuition talking or your
intelligence? I suspect the latter … Now, to answer your question,
I am helping you for three reasons. Firstly, the duke is truly
paying me a handsome sum to order you about. Secondly, I feel sorry
for girls like you that have to marry to improve their situation. A
spinster leads a dreadful life being constantly dependent on the
goodwill of others. And lastly, turning you into a lady is a
challenge. I was intrigued.”

Penelope nodded
and dashed a hand across her tired watering eyes.

“Don’t cry, it
will make your eyes red and you cannot afford to look more
terrible. Slather your face in some of the rose essence I gave you
before you come down.”

Penelope choked
out a laugh and forced herself out of the warm, cozy bed. She felt
better after splashing water on her face. And now that the shock
had worn off and she knew what to expect, the day ahead didn’t seem
so bad.

***

The Blue Room
had been altered. The furniture had been pushed to one side to make
an empty space in the middle. Penelope could now admire the thick
powder blue carpet with its swirly cream design in its entire
glory. A giant pianoforte had been brought in from the music room
on Madame’s demand, and it now sat in a corner dwarfing the
fireplace.

“Dancing is an
art, an art that allows a woman to subtly attract a man’s attention
to her figure. It is not important who you dance with but who is
watching you dance. A tiny movement of the hip and a delicate sway
of the body can create fantasies in a man’s mind, while keeping the
woman’s respectability intact,” Madame Bellafraunde said, rising
from a chair in the corner.

Penelope
awkwardly bent her knee to curtsy and Madame scowled.

“Dancing is for
elegant creatures who have mastered the basics. Change of plans, my
dears,” Madame said turning to her maids, “we need to teach the
girl the basics. We shall begin with the entrance. Leave the room,
Miss Fairweather.”

“Leave?” she
squeaked.

“Yes, yes,
leave. Go on out, out over the other side of the door ... That’s
it. Now, as soon as your name is announced at a ball, every eye in
the room will turn towards you and you must make good use of those
moments. You will step into the room with your head held high, your
hand delicately clasping the gentleman’s arm, or if you are in
company of only women, then keep your fan closed and hold your
skirt with one hand, while the other should be gently holding your
reticule ... Don’t mangle the bag, girl ... Here, this is how to do
it.”

Penelope
faithfully copied Madame.

“Keep your mind
blank and pretend that you are a princess and everyone standing
before you is wearing pink bloomers.”