Corset Diaries

by Katie MacAlister

  I set the little brass and enamel alarm clock next to my bed for six thirty, assuming that would give me plenty of time to get into the green wool riding habit and make the stables by seven, but it took me almost half an hour just to get into the corset and get it tightened (I finally managed it by pulling the laces through the bedstead, leaning forward until it was tightened enough). The riding habit presented another challenge, although not nearly so daunting as donning the corset by myself.

  I had to admit, I liked the riding habit the best of all the clothes I’d seen thus far. It was dark green, with a jacket cut high in the front that swooped down to cover my butt in the back, with a nonfrilly skirt. The only problem with the skirt was that it was longer on one side than the other. I didn’t understand why until I raced (as quickly as possible while being in the clasp of the Iron Maiden) to the stable, huffing and puffing as I stopped to pat Talisman on his chestnut nose.

  “Sorry . . . I’m . . . late . . . Alec . . . I . . . appreciate . . . you . . . saddling . . . him up.”

  Alec came around from Talisman’s off side, the morning sun glinting off his hair as he squinted at me. “You all right, then?”

  “Yeah, it’s just this corset. Makes it difficult to do anything quickly.”

  “Ah. Want a leg up?”

  “Please, unless there’s a mounting block some . . . uh . . . Alec, that’s a sidesaddle, isn’t it?”

  “That it is.”

  I looked at it with something akin to horror, gnawing on my lower lip as I considered what to say. I really wanted to go on a ride. I desperately needed to blow a few of the mental cobwebs away, especially the ones created when I thought about Max, and a ride sounded like the perfect way to do that. If I told Alec I’d never ridden sidesaddle, he might not let me go out on Talisman. I gnawed my lip a little more, then decided that it couldn’t be that different than riding astride.

  I am often so wrong about things.

  Alec hoisted me up, but my dress got tangled around the curved pommel, with the result that I was stuck halfway up.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, one hand on Talisman’s bridle, the other on my behind as it waggled in his face.

  “I’m . . . dammit. . . stuck! I think my dress is caught. Can you help me back down and let me try again?”

  He untangled my skirt enough to let me jump back down to the ground.

  “Sorry about that,” I said as I wadded up all the extra material on the left side of the habit. It bared my legs to above my knees, but I had no time for niceties. “It’s been a long time since I rode sidesaddle. I’ve forgotten that you have to gather up the dress first, then get on.”

  “You all right to try again?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Talisman! I’ll do better this time.”

  Alec bent to give me a leg up.

  “Stop grinning at my knees,” I said, frowning down on his head.

  He laughed, and I took a firm grip on the wad of material, another on the saddle, and stepped into his hands.

  This time I made it all the way into the saddle, but Talisman, evidently tiring of waiting for me to climb aboard, decided it was time to go. Alec had dropped the reins to hoist me up, which was all the encouragement Talisman needed. He set off at a brisk walk just as I was in the awkward act of swinging my right leg over the curved pommel.

  “Whoa, there,” Alec yelled, which was the wrong thing to do around a high-strung, well-rested horse. Talisman flattened his ears and took off at a fast trot.

  “What the—hey!” I yelled, and tipped over backward.

  Before you shake your head and ask how a person can tip over backward while seated in a saddle, let me explain that if you are a woman of size (a.k.a. “chunky”), you have to lean back a bit to swing your leg up and over the horse’s neck, in order to fit it next to the pommel, the proper position when riding a sidesaddle. That plus the fact that I’d never ridden sidesaddle and was thrown off balance by having to have both legs on one side of the horse, not to mention Talisman taking off like he did, resulted in me lying flat on my back, my head bumping against his crop, staring up at the sky as he trotted off to God knows where. It couldn’t have been comfortable for Talisman to have me like that, and heaven knows I wasn’t having any fun bouncing around on my back, but in the end it was Talisman who stopped. Abruptly. When Alec (having realized chasing Talisman wasn’t going to do any good) brought out the grain bucket and rattled some grain around inside it.

  Talisman and I parted ways at that point, he trotting smartly back to shove his nose in the bucket Alec cleverly held out, me to fall to the ground like a sack full of hams.

  “Are you all right?” Alec called out to me as he led a not very repentant-looking Talisman over to me. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  I got to my feet (not an easy thing to do when you’re wearing a corset) and brushed the dirt off my butt. “Just parts of me that have lots of padding. You, sir, are a very naughty horse, and I’m going to remember this!”

  Talisman snuffled my front to see if I had any goodies hidden away on my person, then blew his nose on me.

  “Want to try again?” Alec asked, looking as if he was trying hard not to laugh as I brushed the horse snot off my lovely, if slightly dusty, habit.

  “Stop it, it’s not that funny.”

  He stopped trying not to laugh and chortled happily until I socked him on the arm. “Sorry, Tessa.”

  “Oh, you are not. I don’t suppose Max’s stallion—”

  A couple of leftover snickers escaped him. “Not broken to a sidesaddle.”

  “Crap. All right, we’ll give this another go, shall we? Talisman, if you don’t want me to introduce you to the local knacker, you’d better not move one single hoof until I’m in place. Got it?”

  I managed to get into the saddle properly, my habit draped elegantly over the side, my right leg tight against the curved pommel. Alec adjusted the stirrup for me, checked the girth, then slapped Talisman on the rump, and we were off.

  I didn’t go very far, worried as I was about not being able to manage riding sidesaddle, but it only took me half an hour or so to find my balance and begin to relax as we trotted along the large pond north of the house. Birds chattered noisily in the lovely crisp morning air as we rode through a scattering of trees hugging the pond, cars humming on a road distant enough that I could pretend it was the drone of Victorian farm machinery. It was a lovely spot, the last of the late summer wildflowers fighting with ferns for space around the base of the trees, the moist, rich scent of fertile soil laying a pungent overtone to the smell of sunshine.

  Talisman had a rough trot that left my teeth chattering, but a lovely rolling canter. By the time we returned to the stable, I was feeling much more confident in my riding skills.

  “You look like someone pulled you backward through a hedge,” Alec grinned as we stopped in front of him. He was grooming one of the carriage horses, but came over to hold Talisman while I dismounted.

  “There was a hat to go with the habit, but I didn’t think it was worth the time to skewer it onto my head,” I explained as strands of hair loosened by the ride drifted around my face. “What time is it?”

  Alec pulled a pocket watch from his breeches pocket. “Getting on eight.”

  “Crap, I have to go. I was going to brush down Talisman. Hi, you must be Thorn the groom. I’m Tessa. You won’t say anything about my riding out so early, will you?”

  A tall, skinny kid of about nineteen or twenty shook his head and went back to cleaning tack.

  “Thanks, I appreciate . . . oh, good morning. I see you found your way down to the stable.”

  Melody, dressed in a horrible pink-and-blue print dress with three rows of ruffles and a big bow on her butt, came around from the far side of the horse Alec had been grooming. Her little chin set as her eyes squinted meanly at me.

  “You’re going to tell my dad, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged and brushed out the wrinkles in my skirt. “That depends. If you wan
t to play nicely, I won’t. In fact—hold on a second, Alec.” I stopped Alec as he was about to relieve Talisman of his saddle. “In fact, I’m willing to make a deal with you. You play along with this whole Victorian thing when the cameras are on, and I’ll teach you to ride.”

  “Dad said you’re not supposed to.” She frowned at me, a miniature version that was pretty darn close to her father’s scowl.

  “Yeah, well, your dad gave me carte blanche to change his mind, so that’s what I’m going to do. Either you can wait around until he thinks you’re old enough to learn to ride, or you can be a smart kid and realize that playing along with us won’t hurt you, in which case I’ll pop you on Talisman and give you your first lesson.”

  She looked at the horse, her lip quivering a bit as it prepared to commence pouting, but in the end she saw reason. “Only when the cameras are on?”

  “Yep.”

  Her lips compressed into a mulish look. “I don’t like it here.”

  “I got that impression. Needless to say, you’re here, and your father doesn’t seem to be entertaining the idea of sending you away. So you’re going to have to make the best of it.”

  “It’s not fair!”

  I laughed, not at her but at the idea that there was any guarantee of life working out as it should. “There’s not a lot in life that is fair, kid. You want to learn to ride or not?”

  Her face was so sullen that I thought she’d refuse, but in the end her desire to ride was greater than her need to be miserable. “All right. But I only have to be nice when the cameras are on.”

  “Right. The rest of the time you can be your usual surly self.” I pushed her gently toward Talisman’s head. “First lesson, always introduce yourself to your horse.”

  Her lip curled scornfully. “It’s a horse, it can’t talk.”

  “No, but you can. Go up to him, give him a pat, and tell him who you are.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s not. There’s more to riding a horse than just sitting on his back. You’re not afraid, are you?”

  Her little shoulders went rigid beneath the blue-and-pink ruffles as she glared at me for a second before marching up to Talisman, patting him on his nose.

  Four minutes later I had her up on his back, giving her my best advice (which wasn’t much) about how to ride in a sidesaddle. I led her around the stable yard a couple of times, showed her how to hold the reins, then walked beside her when she insisted on “driving” him by herself.

  “Sorry to cut this short,” I said as I grabbed Talisman’s bridle and led him back to Alec. “But we’re both late. I’m going to go riding again tomorrow morning. If you’re out here early enough, you can come with me.”

  “My dad says I’m not supposed to go riding with you,” she said self-righteously as Alec helped her down.

  “What?” I cried, hands on my hips as I glared at her. “After I go to all the trouble of . . . argh! I’m going to be late because of you—you know that, don’t you? I’m going to get a lecture from Ellis just because I was nice to you. What a little snot!”

  “I am not a little snot!” she yelled, her face flushing with anger.

  “You’re worse than a little snot; you’re a snot with hair on it.”

  “I am not!”

  I turned on my heel and started back for the house, hurrying as fast as I could manage, which, admittedly, wasn’t very fast, what with the corset and all.

  “I don’t think you’re nice at all,” Melody said, trotting after me. “I think you’re worse than a snot. I think you’re a big fat piece of dog poo!”

  I muttered various things to myself that I didn’t want to say loud enough for her to hear; gasping and wheezing I made my way up the steps to the French doors that opened into the scarlet drawing room, doors I had left unlocked on my way down to the stables.

  “I don’t like you at all, and I’m going to tell Dad that you gave me a riding lesson.”

  I threw open the doors and stormed through the room, the hellish little monster hot on my heels.

  “He’s going to be mad at you and won’t let you stay here,” she taunted. “And I’m going to laugh when he makes you leave.”

  I stopped before the door to the hall and smiled at her. “What a little tattletale you are. You’d better thank your lucky stars I’m not really your stepmother, kid, because if I was . . .”

  “I have a mom, and she’s nice,” Melody spat at me. “She’s not fat like you.”

  “Oh, really? Just where is this nice skinny mom of yours? Why is she letting your father keep you here when you’d rather be with her?”

  I regretted the words the second I spoke them. Her jaw tightened, making me even more ashamed of myself for snapping at her—who knew where her mother was? Maybe she was dead and Melody didn’t want to admit it. I was about to apologize when, with eyes hot with anger and tears, she said, “She’s in Wales. She’s having a baby. Dad said I can’t visit her until the baby is born. She has to stay in bed because of the baby. I hate the baby. I hate it here! I HATE YOU!”

  “Oh, boy, do I pick ‘em,” I said, leaning against the wall, watching through the door as Melody raced up the stairs. Poor kid, no wonder she was so nasty; she was obviously not coping well with life after divorce.

  “Then again,” I said to myself as I trudged my way up the stairs, waving to a startled Teddy as he emerged from the breakfast room, “who am I to throw stones? I certainly haven’t coped well with life after Peter’s death.”

  Thursday

  September 2

  6:17 P.M.

  Library

  The library is my new favorite spot in the house. Yesterday when I zoomed through it, I didn’t really have a chance to do more than glance at the newspapers and magazines Roger’s people had left for us, but today I talked Max out of his breakfast Times and settled down this afternoon to read it. The front page alone was a fascinating amalgamation of personal notices (“If the LADY who arrived at New Croydon Station by the train from Victoria about half past eight on Saturday evening, twenty-third of August, and who then put an elderly gentleman into another train, which was waiting for Victoria, will kindly COMMUNICATE with Mrs. M., 4, Hill-place, Upper-hill, Richmond, she will greatly oblige”), vital statistics, notices of everything from funeral homes to concerts, obituaries, legal notices, advertisements of all sorts (my favorite was for a woman who wanted to get rid of a clock that chimed every quarter hour. There was a distinct note of desperation in her offer to take “any reasonable sum” for it), and wonderfully colorful “testimonials” of medicinal substances.

  I know what you’re thinking. “Max,” you’re saying to yourself. “What happened with Max of the Manly Lips, Tessa?” Don’t think I’d forgotten Max’s parting words to me the night before. I hadn’t—far from it. They made a warm little glow of happiness inside me. I also looked forward to persuading him he was wrong. . . . But the trouble was finding the time to be alone with him to do the persuading. Among other things. I wanted to investigate his lips a bit more, too.

  I fully expected him to be more than a little snippy with me at breakfast after Melody tattled to him, so by the time I finished hearing Ellis’ lectures—on how a proper duchess behaves, why it’s wrong to keep a lady’s maid waiting, how my thoughtless actions of disregarding the schedule will ruin the project, and the ills sure to visit those women who improperly tighten their corset— and made it down to morning prayers only four minutes late, I was ready to take him on.

  It turned out there wasn’t a need to. Max smiled charmingly and held out his hand for me to take my place beside him. Evidently, Melody, pouting on Max’s other side, decided to heed my warnings and kept quiet about her early morning jaunt around the stable yard.

  “Max, do you have a few minutes?” I asked as we finished breakfast. “I’d like to . . . uh . . . talk to you. For a little bit. About methods of persuasions and such.”

  I swear his eyes darkened at my words. I know I blushed, which
was idiotic; I hadn’t done anything to blush about. Well, all right, if we’re being strictly honest, I was thinking about things that would be worthy of a blush, but he couldn’t know that.

  “I thought maybe after breakfast?”

  “You have to meet with Mrs. Peters after breakfast,” Barbara pointed out.

  “Oh, yes, very true. After Mrs. Peters, maybe we can get together—”

  “This is your day to be At Home, isn’t it?” Barbara asked, with a gay little laugh as Tabby, filming the breakfast, focused the camera on her.

  “Is it?” I tried to remember what an At Home consisted of. I was pretty sure all it meant was that I had to be home if anyone paid a call, but who was going to pay us a call? We were the only people in the whole of Britain living in a time warp.

  Barbara turned the smile on me, her eyes driving home the point that I was to agree with her. “Yes, it is. Don’t you remember, dear? Yesterday we decided that Thursday would be your day to be At Home, and Friday would be mine.”

  “OK. Sure. Whatever. So I’m At Home today. Can’t Max be At Home with me?”

  “I wish I could,” he said before Barbara could answer. “But Henry and I have to check in with the tenants today.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said, wondering if that was just a fancy way of saying they were going off for a drink or something.

  His right eyebrow made a lovely arch. I was amazed; he was ambi-eyebrowed. Not many men can cock either eyebrow to such effect. “No, I’m not. There are tenants, and it falls to me to make sure all is well with them. Henry offered to come with me.”

  “Ah. Right. Gotcha. Well then, perhaps this afternoon—”

  “That’s when you’re At Home,” Barbara said quickly. “This morning you will want to look over the household accounts. It is, after all, several days into the month. I would be happy to help you with them, but alas, I have the many tasks that you thrust upon my feminine shoulders to see to. And I simply must pay some calls this afternoon. What the neighbors—the landed gentry, of course—will think of my absence, I can’t begin to imagine.”