‘I shall take a bath at once,’ she announced from its anonymous shadows, ‘and you can fetch my breakfast while I am doing so. Get on with it, now!’ And she quaked a little, amazed at her own boldness. It was rare she dared to speak so to Dorcas; but today, after all, was special.
Again Dorcas laughed and for a moment Tilly heard an echo of the anger and contempt that was so often in her housemaid’s voice and shook again; but Dorcas seemed biddable this morning and went away. Tilly heard her drag the enamel bath across the landing and into her room, and let her tense shoulders relax. It was all right. She wasn’t going to be hateful. Everything would be all right.
The bath wasn’t nearly hot enough, for Dorcas had been too idle to bring up more than one can of really hot water, but it didn’t matter. Tilly soaped and rinsed herself happily enough, imagining Frank doing the same in his lodgings on the other side of the village, almost in Knightsbridge in fact, not a very nice place for the dear man to live. Then she blushed a little at the road down which her thoughts went leaping.
Dorcas had told her, long ago, in great detail all the things that brides and grooms did and had frightened the small Tilly almost senseless, especially when she told Tilly that her Papa did it with Dorcas’s mamma, Mrs Leander; that had upset Tilly most of all, even though she pretended not to believe it. Papa with Mrs Leander? Ridiculous. As ridiculous as thinking of Papa with Mamma; dreadful, so not to be imagined. Ever. And she had almost succeeded in banishing it all as just more of Dorcas’s lies, until at last Mamma had told her, amid many tears, that what Dorcas had said about brides and grooms was, after all, quite true. But nowadays the grown-up about-to-be-married Tilly wasn’t frightened by her thoughts in the least. She was in fact a little startled by the pleasure they gave her: but they were secret thoughts after all, so who could know of them? Perhaps she should be frightened, but she could see no reasons for finding Frank alarming. He had always been so kind to her, had sat with her and held her hand and kissed her very sweetly, all this past year. No, there was no need to be afraid of Frank, however hard Dorcas tried to make her so.
Nor, she thought as she dreamily rubbed up handfuls of bubbles in the chilly water, need I feel ashamed, surely? I am to be a wife, am I not? It is Dorcas who makes these things sound coarse and ugly, but it cannot be so for a husband and wife who love each other as Frank loves me and I love Frank; we have no need to pay any attention to the foul talk of Dorcas Leander. She felt very brave, very Miss Matilda Kingsley and not at all anxious Tilly as she sat in her bath thinking on her wedding-day morning.
But her fears came back in a rush when Dorcas returned, for she had her mother with her; and Tilly scrambled out of her bath as quickly as she could, reaching for her wrapper and very aware of Mrs Leander’s mocking and appraising stare at her nakedness, and pretending not to care. She had long ago learned to pretend about everything in front of Mrs Leander; it was the only way she could deal with the way the older woman made her feel. I wonder, she thought suddenly, if Mamma has to pretend with her as well?
‘Your Mamma has sent me with this, Miss.’ Mrs Leander held out a flat blue velvet box. ‘She says you’re to go to her as soon as they are on and you are dressed and ready, so that she may see you and judge if you should wear her earrings as well.’
Tilly took the box and opened it gingerly and then sat down at her dressing-table a little abruptly. The box contained a string of pearls; large and creamy, a little uneven in their shape and knotted into a single rope. They lay on the rather faded satin lining in a sumptuous tangle and she caught her breath with delight at the sight of them.
‘Oh!’ was all she could say, and she held them up to her face with slightly shaking fingers and stared at the way their cool gleam was set off by her flushed cheeks.
‘Though for my part, I can’t see what the woman’s thinking of.’ Mrs Leander went on to Dorcas in a conversational tone, as she turned away and helped her to lift the bath to one side of the room. ‘Seeing as pearls means tears, as any one of any sense knows. It’s not what I would give you, my dear, to wear on your wedding day!’ And she and Dorcas both laughed, making it clear in every note that they expected Dorcas to have a much better time of it altogether when she should wed.
It must have been her guardian angel, Tilly decided later, who had sharpened her tongue, or it could have been her anger at the insulting tones Mrs Leander used in speaking of poor Mamma; but whatever it was she lifted her head and looked at the pair of them very directly and said in loud clear tones, ‘Well, whenever that will be, of course. You must be quite set about, Mrs Leander, that Dorcas has reached two and twenty and not turned off yet! Now, if you please, Dorcas, I will have my breakfast and then we shall set about my dressing. I wish only some tea and a sippet of bread with some strawberry jam. Be about it, if you please.’
They went, neither of them saying another word, and with her hands shaking more than a little, Tilly picked up her hairbrush and began to deal with the tangles in her hair. She would have to make her peace with Dorcas, of course, for she was the only person who could dress her hair right, but never mind. For the present she felt amazingly pleased with herself. Not only was she to wear Mamma’s pearls, but she had dealt with the servants as they should be dealt with. She felt very much the married lady already.
She had managed to put on her own underwear by the time Dorcas returned with her tea and bread and jam, leaving only her stays to be tied. Her drawers, trimmed with deep French lace, looked very fetching above the white satin wedding boots (which also needed buttoning) and her crinoline frame lay ready, heaped beside her bed. Her chemise, with its matching trim of French lace, drooped on her shoulders and she stood there clutching its front as Dorcas came in and with an ill grace set her breakfast tray on the dressing-table.
‘You had better lace me first,’ Tilly said, trying to maintain her authority, and standing very straight. Dorcas turned and stared insolently at her for a beat, and for a dreadful moment Tilly was afraid she’d gone too far; but then Dorcas relaxed her shoulders and laughed.
‘Oh, what you look like, you poor wretch! Trying to be the madam with me what knows better than anyone what you really are – oh, give over! You don’t have to be something you ain’t with Dorcas, now, do you? Me as has been your best friend all these dunnamany years! Come here, do. You look like you’re afraid the cat’ll walk by and gaze at you –’
With expert fingers she started work on the stays, looping the strings through the hooks and tugging and twisting, and slowly Tilly’s meagre bosom began to take some sort of shape as the stay busks came together and pushed her chest wall into the fashionable concave shape, until she could hardly breathe, and her breasts lifted poutingly above the French lace; and at last she could let go of her chemise, for it was firmly held in place now. Dorcas tied the strings with a flourish and then set to work on the white satin boots, talking busily all the time.
‘Now, you eat your bit of breakfast and then we’ll get your hair dealt with. And I’ve a rabbit’s foot and a hint of rouge here – no, don’t you fuss. You’ll be glad of it before the day’s out, take my word for it – and then I’ll advise you to take a nip o’ daffy. It’ll give you a bit of courage, will a drop o’ gin, and you’ll need it I’ve no doubt when you see the sort of setup your Pa’s arranged. They’ve been running around in Ma’s kitchen since before dawn, you never saw the like! There’re tables set all over the drawing-room as well as the dining-room and your Pa’s study, and your Mamma’ll be hard put to it to find a place to lay her head if she gets her megrims today. So, you have your daffy and I’ll fetch you more if you give me the wink.’
She stopped then and looked up at Tilly, staying crouched at her feet. ‘You can trust me, you know, Tilly. I’m your friend, you know that. Who’s been your closest and dearest playmate these dozen years and more? Why, I have! You’ll not cast me away now you’re to be a married lady, will you? It’d not be in your nature and I’d be surprised if your Mr Quentin would adm
ire it in you, for all I’m just a servant –’
Tilly was all remorse at once and reached down and took Dorcas by the shoulders. ‘Oh, Dorcas, of course I shan’t! It’s just that – well, you can be so cruel sometimes –’
‘Cruel? Me?’ Dorcas got to her feet and began to dust off her skirts. ‘I’m not cruel. I just speak as I finds, and I’m honest. If that’s a sin, then of course –’
‘Oh, no, it’s not a sin. But you can be so – well – so heedless sometimes, and say such cutting things.’
‘Oh, such stuff!’ Dorcas said lightly and shook her head and then hugged Tilly roughly. ‘You shouldn’t be so foolish, missy, and so I tell you! You need to grow a skin or two more to make yourself a little less of a goose. That’s what makes your Papa so cross, you know. You shrink away from him and stare at him with those great cow eyes and irritate him beyond measure. If you spoke up for yourself more as you did to Mamma and me – well, let it be. You are as you are, I dare say.’ And again she hugged her and then half pushed her, half led her to the chair beside the dressing-table.
‘You sit there and brush your hair, now, and eat your breakfast and I’ll make your bed. Who knows who’ll be up here afterwards to see you?’ Then she giggled. ‘Look at it, Tilly – the last haven gone for ever! From now on he owns you, bed and all. You’ll be lucky if you get half the sleep you need, looking at your lusty lad! Now let me tell you –’
And she was off, talking in such farmyard terms that Tilly couldn’t bear to look at her and buried her face in her tea cup and chewed her sippets of bread as loudly as she could to keep the words out of her ears. But she said nothing to stop her. It was too comfortable to have Dorcas being friendly again to take such risks as that.
By the time the wedding breakfast was only halfway through, Tilly had a most powerful headache. It was partly due to the tightness of her stays – for Dorcas had managed to lace them even more just before putting her into her dress – and partly because of the noise and heat and the fuss of it all.
She had blushed all the way to Holy Trinity Church hard by the corner of the spanking new Ennismore Gardens, which Mr Elgar was building in Brompton New Town, for the workmen who were putting up new houses had shouted at the bridal carriage, and waved their hats and building tools and sent up mocking huzzahs. The church itself had been very hot and full of people, for Papa was a well respected business man, in partnership with so many – including Mr Elgar, the building contractor – and they had all come to see his daughter turned off, and Frank too had many friends with the same ambition. Tilly had stolen glances at them as she had walked slowly up the aisle on her Papa’s arm, overawed to see so many dashing and elegantly dressed young men in the first stare of fashion looking at her, and feeling very grateful for the veil which hid her blushes and kept out the dust that made her eyes feel hot and sandy.
She had hardly been aware of the ceremony, so alarmed was she by the need to remember all she had to remember and when she found herself walking back down the aisle on Frank’s arm, she clung to him almost desperately, not sure she could manage to walk all the way out, and that had made her shoulders very tight and painful. And then there had been the rice which stung her now-unveiled cheeks and which Frank’s friend had thrown with such abandon, and the squealing of the young ladies who had accompanied so many of Papa’s friends, and then Mamma had almost fainted in the crush – oh, it had been dreadful.
And now she sat between Papa and Frank at the long table which had been set up in the drawing-room with its wreaths of smilax and stephanotis, by the great vases of lilies which filled the air with their heavy scent – so heavy it made her head feel quite swimmy – and all she could think of was the steady throbbing in her temples and her aching wish to be out of her stays and lying down somewhere quiet where she could sleep.
She was grateful then for Dorcas. She had been everywhere, ever since they had come back from the church. She had welcomed her back into the house at her Mamma’s shoulder as Mrs Leander stood at the front door, very splendid in purple silk and quite out-shining Henrietta Kingsley in her blue taffeta as she greeted every arrival with a glass of champagne wine which had been kept on a block of ice in the cellar this past three days, and then bustled about serving them all with more wine the moment a glass was half empty. And when she had done that, it had been Dorcas who had helped Tilly to her room to cool her burning forehead with lavender water – which she urgently needed to do – and to use her chamber pot – which she had needed even more, with her stays being so tight and all. It had also been Dorcas who had powdered her crimson cheeks with some concoction of her own, thus making her more presentable to her guests, Dorcas who had half carried her downstairs again to take her place beside Frank (who was getting boskier by the minute as he threw back a prodigious quantity of champagne wine) and it was now Dorcas who leaned over and murmured in her ear and pulled back her chair so that she could get to her feet and escape.
Her Papa seemed not to notice her going any more than Frank did, for he was sitting silent over his wine looking as blank eyed as the glass which held it, and clearly perfectly happy to be alone in the midst of the general hubbub, and Tilly leaned on Dorcas and let her lead her away.
One or two of the guests did look at her with some pity, but it didn’t seem to matter. Brides were expected to have a fit of tremors on the afternoon of their wedding day; it was, her Mamma had told her on one of those rare occasions when she and Tilly had any sort of conversation, a sign of gentility in a girl to show anxiety as the night of her nuptials approached. Indeed, it would show a sad lack of feeling not to be alarmed, and Dorcas seemed to know just when to allow Tilly her chance to show she had such feelings.
She took her upstairs and with swift fingers took off the veil – now sadly crumpled – and the wedding dress and set them to one side and then released the stays which had been biting more and more cruelly, and Tilly sighed with deep gratitude and lay on her bed as Dorcas, with rare solicitude, drew her curtains and tiptoed away.
She woke suddenly to stare round the room in terror, not sure where she was or why. She knew it was daytime because of the light coming round the edge of the curtains, but she never went to bed in daylight, so why was she here? And then she remembered and took a deep breath of relief. It was her wedding day and she had suffered a dreadful headache – and she lay there for a moment, wondering whether this was the first thing that happened to females when they were married. They got headaches like Mamma. And then sat up gingerly, to test how she felt.
It was wonderful. Her headache had quite vanished and she felt alive and energetic again and to her surprise, remarkably hungry. She had eaten nothing of the wedding breakfast which had been spread before her – again much to onlookers’ approval, for brides were supposed to be above such common matters as food – and now her belly rumbled in protest.
She slid out of bed and reached for her silk wrapper which lay over the foot of it and pulled it over her half-unlaced stays, and crept to the door. She needed Dorcas to get her back into her clothes so that she could return to the wedding party, and perhaps find some food; and she pulled on the door gently; not sure what she would do if by any chance any of the guests had found their way upstairs.
Below her she could hear music, for Papa had hired a violinist as well as a lady to play the pianoforte for the dancing, and her spirits lifted even more. It would be very agreeable to dance a little, to be in Frank’s arms and whirling round with all of them looking at her and admiring her being Mrs Francis Xavier Quentin. She gazed down the long corridor, which was rather dim, for all the bedroom doors but hers were closed, and wondered how she was to find Dorcas. It would be a waste of time ringing bells, for she would never hear anything in the kitchen above all the hubbub, even if she was there. Perhaps if Tilly crept to the head of the stairs she could peer over and catch the eye of someone friendly who would go and find Dorcas for her. After all, there was nothing strange in a bride wanting the attentions of her maid.
She slipped out of her room and crept towards the stairhead. In her haste she forgot the creaking board that lay outside her door until it gave its usual protesting little squeal and she heard, from inside the empty room that lay alongside her own, someone say sharply, ‘Sshh!’
‘Wassa matter?’ someone else said, and there was a soft giggle and the ‘sshh’ came again. ‘Stop it – Stop it! –’
Tilly froze and tried to think what she had heard. Someone in the empty bedroom? Why? There should be no one there – and again there was laughter, a deep rumbling sound this time, and suddenly Tilly was angry. Guests had no right to be in these rooms. Papa had arranged a very fine party in the drawing-room below and provided lots of extra space on the floor below that in the dining-room and his study. There was no need for strangers to be in this part of the house. And emboldened by her deep awareness of her new status as Mrs Quentin rather than Miss Kingsley, she marched to the door and knocked on it sharply.
‘Oh, Christ!’ someone hissed behind it and the other person laughed again as the first speaker hissed. ‘Hush, you idiot!’ It was more than Tilly could bear, and she pushed the door open.
It was not difficult to see what was to be seen, with the late September afternoon light flooding in through the half-drawn curtains.
The big bed in the centre of the red Turkey carpet was piled with blankets and uncovered pillows in heavy striped ticking, but these had been pushed to the back, by the brass bedhead, and Tilly stared at the shiny rails and remembered, absurdly, the day the bed had been delivered. It was after Papa had seen all the new designs at the Great Exhibition four years ago and had decided that his house would be the most fashionable in all Brompton Grove. He had changed the furniture in all the rooms, even the servants’, but this one had never been used by a guest or anyone else; so the brass rails were still partly wrapped in calico strips. Tilly stared at them, and then at the piled blankets, anything rather than look at what was happening at the foot of the bed.
London Lodgings Page 2
