by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER X
AN ORGY OF SHOPPING!
OH, what an afternoon we've had!
Talk about "one crowded hour of glorious life." Well, Million and I havehad from two to six; that is, four crowded glorious hours of shopping! Iscarcely know where we've been, except that they were all the mostexpensive places. Any woman who reads this story will understand me whenI say I made a bee-line for those shops that don't put very much in theshow-window.
Just one perfect gown on a stand, perhaps, one filmy dream of a lingerieblouse, a pair of silk stockings that looked as if they'd been fashionedby the fairies out of spun sunset, and a French girl's name splashed inbold white letters across the pane--that was the sort of decoration ofthe establishments patronised by Miss Million and her maid.
As before, the maid (myself) had to do all the ordering, while theheiress shrank and slunk and cowered in the background. For poor littleMillion was really too overawed for words by those supercilious and slimyoung duchesses in black satin, the shop assistants who glided towardsus with a haughty "What may I show you, Moddom?" From "undies" (allsilk) to corsets (supple perfection!), through ready-made costumes toafternoon frocks and blouses and hats and evening-gowns I made myrelentless way.
After the first few gasps from Million of "Oh, far too expensive.... Oh,Miss!... Haven't they any cheaper than.... Twenty? Lor'! Does she meantwenty shillings, Miss Beatrice? What! Twenty pounds? Oh, we can't----"I left off asking the prices of things. I simply selected the garmentsor the hats that looked the sweetest and harmonised the best with my newemployer's black hair and bright grey frightened eyes. I heard myselfsaying with a new note of authority in my voice: "Yes! That'll do. Andthe little shoes to match. And two dozen of these. And put that with theothers. I will have them all sent together." What did money matter, whenit came to ordering an outfit for a millionairess?
I grew positively intoxicated with the mad joy of choosing clothes underthese conditions. Isn't it the day-dream of every human being who wearsa skirt? Isn't it "what every woman wants?" A free hand for a trousseauof all new things! To choose the most desirable, to materialise everyvision she's ever had of the Perfect Hat, the Blouse of Blouses, and tothink "never mind what it costs!"
And this, at last, had fallen to my lot. I quite forgot that I was notthe millionairess for whom all this many-coloured and soft perfectionwas to be sent "home"--"to the Hotel Cecil, I'll trouble you." I onlyremembered that I was the millionairess's maid when one of theblack-satin duchesses, in the smartest hat shop, informed me that I"could perfectly wear" the little Viennese hat with the flight ofjewelled humming-birds, and I had had to inform her that the hat wasintended for "the other lady."
"We'll do a little shopping for me, now," I decided, when we left thathat-shop divinity with three new creations to pack up for Miss Millionat the Cecil. I said: "I'm tired of people not knowing exactly what Iam. I'm going to choose a really 'finished' kit for a superiorlady's-maid, so that everybody shall recognise my 'walk in life' at thefirst glance!"
"Miss! Oh, Miss Beatrice, you can't," protested Million, in shockedtones. "You're never going to wear--livery, like?"
"I am," I declared. "A plain black gown, very perfectly cut, anexquisite muslin apron with a little bib, and a cap like----"
"Miss! You can't wear a cap," declared little Million, standing stockstill at the top of Bond Street and gazing at me as if I had planned thesubversion of all law and order and fitness. "All very well for you tocome and help me, as you might say, just to oblige, and to be a sort ofcompanion to me and to call yourself my maid. But I never, neverbargained for you, Miss Beatrice, to go about wearing no caps! Why,there's plenty of young girls in my own walk of life--I mean in whatused to be my own walk! Plenty of young girls who wouldn't dream ofbeing found drowned in such a thing as a cap! Looks so menial, theysaid. Several of the girls at the Orphanage said they'd never put such athing on their heads once they got away. And a lady's-maid, well,'tisn't even the same as a parlour-maid! And you with such a nice headof hair of your own, Miss Beatrice!" Million expostulated with almosttearful incoherence. "A reel lady's-maid isn't required to wear a cap,even if she does slip on an apron!"
"You shut up," I gaily commanded the employer upon whom I now depend formy daily bread. "I am going to wear a cap. And to look rather sweet init."
And I did.
For when I'd spent the two quarters' salary that I'd ordered Million toadvance to me, I looked at myself in a long glass at the establishmentwhere they seem particularly great on "small stock sizes"--my size. Ibeheld myself a completely different shape from the lumpy little bunchof a girl that I'd been in blue serge that seemed specially designed tohide every decent line of her figure. I was really quite as graceful asthe portrait of Lady Anastasia herself! This was thanks to thebeautifully built, severely simple gown, fitted on over a pair oflow-cut, glove-like, elastic French stays. The dead-black of it showedup my long, slim throat (my one inheritance from my great-grandmother!),which seemed as white as the small, impertinently befrilled apron that Itied about my waist. The cap was just a white butterfly perched upon thebright chestnut waves of my hair.
And the general effect of Miss Million's maid at that moment was ofsomething rather pretty and fetching in the stage-lady's maid line, frombehind the footlights at Daly's. I'm sorry to have to blow my owntrumpet like this, but after all it was the first time I'd ever seenmyself look so really nice. I thought it was quite a pity that there wasno one but Million and the girl in the "maids' caps department" toadmire me! Then, for some funny, unexplained reason, I thought ofsomebody else who might possibly catch a glimpse of me looking likethis. I thought of the blue-eyed, tall, blonde manager of the bank whereMillion has opened her account; Mr. Reginald Brace, who lives next doorto where we used to live; the honest, pleasant-voiced person whom I lookupon as such a good match for Million the young man who's arranged tocome and have tea with her at her hotel next Thursday.
He will be the very first caller she's had since she ceased to be littleNellie Million, the maid-of-all-work.
