Corset Diaries

by Katie MacAlister

  “Ah, there she is. Tessa, you remember Barbara’s friends Mr. Evans and his wife, Dorie?” Max stood in the hall, smiling up the stairs at me.

  I greeted the couple (dressed with excruciating accuracy), and made polite chitchat with them for a few minutes. Barbara came down sans Henry and took over for her friends, who were nervously eyeing Sam and Wilma. She sent me a pointed glance that had me saying, “Well, shall we go into the drawing room and have an aperitif?”

  I turned to lead the way, but I didn’t get very far.

  Riiiiiiiiip!

  “Good God, Charles, what have you done to the duchess’ dress?” Dorie gasped. My shoulders slumped as I turned around. The train lay in a heap on the floor.

  Charles’ face was bright red as he stuttered out an apology.

  “Think nothing of it,” I laughed with forced gaiety as I scooped up the annoying bit of fabric. “It happens to me all the time. I’ll just go have my maid tie this on again. Barbara, would you—”

  “Oh, yes, certainly, of course I will, Tessa. Dorie, darling, you and Charles come this way. Max! You are the host, you must come with me.”

  Max leaned close to me as the camera followed a chattering Barbara and her mortified friends into the drawing room. “Are you going to be all right with that?”

  “Yeah. Hey, would you happen to know if they had a stapler in 1879?”

  “Stapler? Yes, there’s a fastener in my office, but—”

  “Great! I’ll be along in a mo.”

  Max shot a quick glance over to where Teddy was opening the-door to more guests. “Tessa, you can’t staple your dress together. Ask Crighton to—”

  “Are you kidding?” I hissed, pushing him toward the front door. “You want me to die? She’ll kill me if she finds out. Just go deal with the guests and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  I ran off before he could protest any more. The fastener, a big black steel monster that looked somewhat like an old-fashioned sewing machine that had been on a diet, was on the desk in his estate room. It took me a couple of minutes to figure out that the fastener used only one staple at a time, which slowed me down some, but eventually I managed to get the train reattached by means of a straggly line of brass staples.

  Barbara gave me a curious glance when I slipped into the drawing room, but no one else seemed to notice my by now somewhat mangled train, and the next half hour was spent playing hostess to a bunch of people I didn’t know. Roger’s friends turned out to be not at all the brash, life-of-the-party sort of people I’d always imagined “show folk” to be. Instead, Neil and Harry were two quiet, witty men dressed in impeccable black-and-white dinner clothes. Neither, it should be mentioned, came close to being as devastatingly handsome as Max was in his dress blacks.

  Max, oh, my Max. The brilliant white of his starched shirt and collar set off the black of his hair and coat. He wore a white waistcoat, white tie, and blue studs in his cuffs. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and I had to struggle to keep from flinging myself into his arms and kissing the breath out of him.

  The other couple was from Ellis’ historical society, and were polite but a bit reserved in front of the camera. I was wondering where the fourth and final couple was when, just a few minutes before we were due to dine, Teddy opened the doors to the drawing room and announced the vicar and his wife.

  I glanced over to where Kip (standing in for Roger) was hiding behind Sam and Wilma. He shrugged and mouthed something at me. The historical society couple gasped when Penelope Hewitt sashayed into the room with a rustle of satin. She’d traded in her Scarlett O’Hara outfit for a Gibson girl dress, a very pretty, very low-cut dress in champagne satin. Unfortunately, it was also a dress that would have been worn about twenty years after the date we were supposed to be living.

  “Reverend Hewitt,” I said, getting to my feet to greet them, which occasioned another horrified gasp from the society couple. Duchesses, I remembered from the etiquette book, were not supposed to trot over to meet people; they were supposed to stand in stately elegance and allow the lesser folk to be brought to them.

  Well, not this duchess. “How nice to see you both. Mrs. Hewitt, you look absolutely stunning in that dress. Gown. Frock. Whatever it is, it’s simply gorgeous. Max, isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “Very fetching,” he agreed, bowing over Penelope’s hand.

  She giggled when he brushed his lips over the back of her hand, and elbowed her husband just in case he missed Max’s smooth move. “Oh, do you like it? It shows a terrible amount of my chest, doesn’t it? But I told Kevin that we simply had to dress up, because it’s just not every day one’s invited to such a posh dinner party. But you look lovely, Your Grace. You look just like the picture of a shepherdess on a box of face powder my grandmother had. She was ever so pretty, with her big white wig and the panniers and pink everywhere. The shepherdess, that is, not my gran.”

  It sounded awful, but I knew well what I looked like. I thanked her as she smiled happily at everyone, the outstretched wings of the stuffed dove that had been worked into an intricate hairdo bobbing in time with her movements.

  The vicar was in formal dress, this time the standard dress blacks that gentlemen in the late-Victorian era favored. He beamed at me, shook hands with Max, and seemed quite happy just to watch his wife chat as I introduced her to everyone.

  “Lady Melody. Mademoiselle Beauvolais,” Teddy said as Melody and Mademoiselle swept into the room.

  “We are come,” Mademoiselle said grandly, looking very pleased with herself in a green-and-blue patterned brocade with small silk ribbon and rose clusters gathered along the tulle edging at the bottom of the dress. She pirouetted for the company. “Do we not look extremely beauteous? This frock, it is very friendly to my coloring, yes? I do not look like at all the mousy governess.”

  Max frowned at his daughter, then turned to share the frown with me. Before I could explain the situation to him, Teddy’s graceful exit from the room was ruined when instead of backing out of the room, he stumbled forward as if he’d been shoved. Henry stomped in behind him.

  “Erm . . . Mr. Slough,” Teddy said, giving Henry a dirty look before quickly replacing it with his usual suave expression.

  “Ha! Thought I wouldn’t make it back in time, didn’t you?” he snarled at Barbara, who had leaped to her feet with a horrified, “Henry!”

  “It is a very fine frock,” Mademoiselle said firmly, a smile fixed to her face as she moved to stand between Henry and the camera. “It has boys, yes, but they do not march as the boys of the duchesse in the manner of the drunken stupor around her body. The boys on my dress are most orderly.”

  Everyone ignored her except Kevin the vicar, who helpfully whispered, “Bows, not boys.”

  Henry turned to the rest of us and spread his hands wide. “She tried to get rid of me! Sent me off on some wild hare’s chase for a certain type of pomade she said she had to have, but I know the real reason she tried to get rid of me. Well, it won’t work. I’m here, and now you’re going to hear the truth, whether you want to or not!”

  “Um,” I said, watching nervously. Behind Henry, Palmer slid open the connecting doors to the dining room. I couldn’t help but notice the eye patch had been supplemented by the return of the head bandage, complete with what looked to be artistically dabbed splotches of tomato sauce.

  “Naturally, the ladies, they are jealous of my frock,” Mademoiselle told the camera. Sam stepped sideways so he could film around her. She followed him. “It is to be understood, however, for I am of the temper most amiable. I do not mind their jealousy, not in the very least. This is why I was hired for such an important position. I have a very fine understanding of the English peoples.”

  Sam scooted around her, focusing on the three men in the center of the room.

  “Henry, perhaps this would be better left to a less public time—” Max said, putting his hand on Henry’s arm.

  “No,” the latter snapped, jerking himself away from Max and poi
nting at Barbara. “You’re her brother; you’ll side with her. I’m going to say my piece. I’m due a little consideration for putting up with her all these years.”

  “Henry!” Barbara shrieked.

  “You cannot film my very beauteous frock if you stand with your back to me,” Mademoiselle complained, but Wilma kept her from rushing in front of Sam.

  “Oh, look, there’s Palmer,” I said, waving at him. “And he’s got his bandage on; his head wound must have opened up again. How tragic. However, his appearance indicates that dinner is ready, so why don’t we all go into the dining room—”

  “I’m in love with Dorie Evans. We’re going to Barbados together, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us!” Henry announced to the room, setting his jaw.

  That is, it was set until Charles’ fist hit it, and then both the jaw and Henry crumpled.

  “You damned bounder! That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Charles roared as he stood over the fallen Henry.

  Kip was almost dancing with delight behind Sam, who was trying to catch everyone’s expressions at the same time.

  “It will not hurt,” Mademoiselle said, peering down at where Henry lay. “His clothes, they were not of the very best quality.”

  “That’s enough, Charles,” Max said, starting forward.

  “Stay out of this, Edgerton! This is between your brother-in-law and me.”

  “I will not stay out of this. This is my dinner party, dammit.”

  Charles straightened up from where he was glowering at Henry, still lying on the floor, rubbing his chin, and glaring back at Charles. “If you think I’m going to allow any man to insult my wife like that without beating the life out of him—”

  “No one is going to beat anyone while I’m around,” Max said.

  Charles’ nostrils flared as he challenged Max. “Right. I’ll take you down as well.”

  “Are they to fight the duel of honor?” Mademoiselle asked Kevin, who looked confused and shook his head. “It is most exciting. I hope they do. I greatly enjoy the manly pursuits such as that.”

  Max rumbled ominously.

  “DINNER IS SERVED!” I bellowed, throwing myself in front of him.

  Everyone turned to look at me. I glared at each one of the men, pinning them back with a look they couldn’t possibly mistake. “Now, we are going to walk into that dining room like civilized people and we are going to sit down and eat our dinner, because if we don’t, the entire staff is going to rise up as one body and kill me, and I very much want to go on living. This is a polite dinner party, not a barroom. If you want to brawl, you can do it on your time. Got that? Good.”

  “Tessa—” Max said. I turned my glare on him.

  “If any one of you so much as thinks about starting something, I’ll castrate you. Slowly. With a grapefruit knife. Now.” I took a deep breath and lifted my chin. “Shall we have our dinner?”

  Things went fine after that, at least with regards to Henry and Charles, although Barbara managed to get a kick in to Henry’s ribs while he was getting to his feet. The look she gave him probably could have peeled paint from a barn, but that was his concern, not mine. My concern was to get us through this wretched dinner party without anything else happening.

  “Oooh, look, Kevin, little menus in French,” Penelope said as she took her seat, picking up one of the individual menus Mrs. Peters had written up earlier. “Goodness, look at the wonderful treats! Salmon and bass and saddle of lamb and duck, and good lord, is that calves’ sweetbreads? How very elegant!”

  Mademoiselle snorted disdainfully at the menu. “It is not the very correct French, you understand.”

  I frowned down at the card set between two crystal wine glasses. I didn’t care about how good the French was; I had told both the housekeeper and cook that they were not to include baby cow parts in the dinner unless they wanted to see me throwing up. Clearly, they hadn’t taken that threat seriously.

  “What’s sweetbreads?” Melody asked, her scowl firmly in place.

  “Nothing you want to eat, trust me,” I said.

  “I’ll have some,” she said defiantly.

  She really did bring new meaning to the word pugnacious.

  “You won’t like it,” I warned.

  “I will so!”

  “Melody,” Max said from the opposite end of the table. “Children should be seen and not heard at dinner.”

  “That’s just stupid. I can talk if I want to!”

  Sam had positioned himself so he saw only Melody’s right side, which meant he could film with impunity. He swung the camera back and forth between Melody and Max, capturing every scowl of hers and frown of his.

  “Turtle soup,” Kevin the vicar said with obvious delight as Palmer began ladling out the soup, happily putting an end to what could have been another argument. “My godmother used to serve that every New Year’s Eve when I was a boy. What a treat it is to have it again.”

  I hadn’t the heart to tell him it was mock turtle soup.

  Despite the poor beginning and the tension rife in at least half of the members of the dinner party, things actually went very smoothly until the last course.

  Neil mentioned the upcoming shooting party, having been asked to be a member. “I’m very much looking forward to a quiet weekend in the country. It’s a shame we won’t be able to hunt, but I do hope you’ll let me take out that handsome stallion I saw.”

  “Yes, of course, if you’d like to, you’re welcome to ride him,” Max said, looking not at all happy with the subject.

  “How come he can ride and I can’t?” Melody asked, just as I knew she would. I tried to send her a little eyebrow semaphore that warned her off that subject, but she ignored me.

  “Because I said you couldn’t, and that is the end of that discussion. Eat your desert.”

  “You’re always telling me what to do. It’s not fair!” Melody glared at her father, slumping back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Melody, darling, I’ve warned you before about making such a terrible face. You wouldn’t want it to freeze that way, now would you?”

  Melody stared in outraged fury at her aunt.

  “Oh, clam up, Barbara. Let the poor girl have her say. It’s not often she can get a word in around you.”

  “Oh!” Barbara gasped, shooting her husband a look that promised horrible tortures the minute she got him alone.

  The threads of civility that had held us together during . the dinner began to unravel.

  “A man shouldn’t speak to his wife that way,” Charles said, his eyes narrowed on Henry, who sat across from him.

  “Don’t tell me how to treat my wife,” Henry snapped back, half rising from his chair.

  “I’ll bloody well tell you anything I want—” Charles also started to get up.

  “Gentlemen, I have a grapefruit knife, and I’m not afraid to use it!” I said loudly, brandishing the small serrated piece of cutlery.

  Both men sank back into their chairs, the hostility between them palpable enough to cut with a . . . well, a grapefruit knife.

  For a moment there was silence. Peace reigned. Everyone turned their attention to their plates of champagne ice and pears with raspberry sauce.

  It was a very brief moment.

  “You’re just as bad as she is,” Melody told Barbara, pointing at me. “You say you’ll do something, then you go back on your word.”

  “Now, dear, you know that’s not true. I have only your best interests at heart, and I’m sure Tessa has the same.”

  “This is the best champagne ice I’ve ever had—” Kevin started to say.

  “She does not!” Melody stood up, her hands fisted at her side as she faced her aunt, her face almost as red as her birthmark. “All she wants to do is have sex with my dad.”

  Barbara gasped. “Tessa!” she said, shooting me a look that should have killed me on the spot. I was a bit surprised by her reaction, having assumed she knew that Max and I were doing the bed tango
together—everyone else seemed to know.

  “I saw them together. They were both naked, and she said she likes him to touch her with his thingie! She’s just trying to be nice to me so Dad will have more sex with her. She doesn’t care about me at all—none of you do. I hate it here! I want to go home!”

  She threw her napkin onto her plate, the lovely white linen immediately staining red in the raspberry sauce as Melody raced out of the room in her usual tears-in-the-eyes fury.

  Max sat back with a groan, one hand over his eyes,

  “Since when have I ever been nice to her?” I asked under my breath, then smiled as Sam swung the camera around to face me. I looked around the table. Henry was smiling smugly at Barbara, who was glaring at me. Neil and Barry were watching the floor show with bright, interested eyes. The society people looked shocked to their back teeth. Mademoiselle was making eyes at the camera. Kevin looked embarrassed, Penelope had a worried frown, Teddy and Bret were biting their lips to keep from laughing, and Kip was making furious notes behind Sam’s back.

  I scooted my chair back. “Well, ladies, I believe we’ll retire to the drawing room and let the gentlemen have their port and cigars. Barbara, perhaps you would play for us?”

  As I stood, a horrible sound filled the room, the sound of expensive lace and material being ripped asunder as the brass fasteners that held it together gave way. I bent and pulled the train out from under the foot of the chair, throwing the devastated bit of material to Teddy.

  “Burn the blighted thing for me, would you, Teddy? Ladies, shall we?”

  Trainless, head held high, I led the way to the drawing room, praying all the while for the evening to end with no one being beaten, castrated, or killed by their furious lady’s maid.

  Wednesday

  September 15

  8:49 P.M.

  Library, waiting for morning prayers

  The last three days have been pretty peaceful, considering. You wouldn’t think they would be, what with Henry mad at Barbara; Barbara mad at Henry, Max, and me; Melody mad at Barbara, Max, me, and just about everyone else she knew; Roger furious that he missed the showdown at the dinner party; Ellis in a huff about the pink-and-white party dress; Teddy mad at Henry; Max annoyed with me telling Melody she could come to dinner without first clearing it with him; Mademoiselle pissy because she wanted to be the center of attention and wasn’t; and the entire kitchen staff ready to burn me in effigy for screwing up the dinner plans.