‘Is that really true?’
‘Yes.’ I glanced down at my corset and striped trousers. ‘You wouldn’t believe how I look right now - it’s so different from the usual. Trust me.’
‘I want to know where you were last night.’
‘I’ll tell you as soon as I’m finished dressing.’ That would give me a little more time to prepare a convincing variation of the lie I had told Ella.
‘Were you with a man?’
I rolled my eyes. Of course that would be the first conclusion my aunt would come to.
‘Will he make an honest woman of you?’ she demanded.
‘No,’ I hissed. All this talk was distracting. Angrily, I fumbled at a waistcoat button which wouldn’t do what I wanted. I needed to get these clothes off fast.
‘What? What kind of rake have you gotten yourself mixed up with?’
‘I didn’t mean no as in “no he won’t make an honest woman of me”. I meant no as in “no, I wasn’t with a man”.’
‘Oh.’ She pondered that for a moment, and then demanded: ‘Well, where were you, then?’
Quickly I looked around for a place to hide the top hat. There wasn’t any place I could see, so I just chucked it out of the open window. I would get it later when all the hubbub was over.
‘Like I said, Aunt, I’ll tell you when I’m finished preparing my special look.’
‘What kind of special look? What exactly is it that you are doing in there?’
‘Um… Ella will tell you. I’m too busy with dressing.’
I climbed out of the trousers and stuffed them inside my second dress in the wardrobe. When I turned to her, Ella was gaping at me in horror.
‘What am I supposed to tell her?’ she mouthed.
‘Think of something,’ I mouthed back and then transferred my attention to the dress I would have to worm myself into.
Handing it to me, Ella hurried to the door.
‘Err… Aunt, well, Lilly is… Lilly is…’
Furiously I tried to struggle into the crinoline while Ella stood at the door and with a quivering voice told my aunt some nonsense story about how I was doing my hair in a special new style. God, couldn’t she think of a good lie for once? It would be a special day when I decided to style my hair at all, let alone in some special way. My brown locks always looked as if a hurricane had just gone through them in any case, so why bother?
But amazingly, my aunt seemed to swallow the story. She stopped trying to come in, and, after a time, went off grumbling.
Five minutes later I was completely dressed, styled and mentally prepared. Ella had even lavished her skills on me and provided me with a hasty yet luscious hairdo, to give at least a little bit of credence to her story. She squeezed my hand in silent encouragement. Finally, I took a deep breath, unbolted the door, plastered a bright smile on my face and stepped out into enemy territory.
My aunt was waiting for me on the landing, her thin arms folded in front of her chest, the glower of her narrow eyes directed at me like that of the ancient Roman god Jupiter at some poor wrongdoer he was just about to smite with a thunderbolt. All she was missing was the toga and the long white beard.
‘Where were you?’ she demanded, the beady little eyes in her vulture-like face narrowing with suspicion. ‘And be warned - I will brook no evasions this time!’
‘Oh, me?’ I said brightly. ‘I was at Patsy’s and stayed the night. Just came back, in fact. Don’t you remember? I told you the day before yesterday that I would stay at her place.’
Keep it simple. Don’t say anything else. Just keep it simple and for God’s sake, don’t blink.
My aunt’s glower flickered. I waited, holding my breath. I had gambled on her nature: my dear aunt was suspicious to the bone, but she also didn’t actually care tuppence about how I spent my time, as long as it didn’t threaten her social standing or the contents of her purse. If I had gotten myself killed last night she wouldn’t have cared, if I had done it in a nice, quiet manner. I saw the suspicion gradually lift from her bony face to be replaced by her usual expression of mild distaste. ‘Um… err… yes, now that you mention it I do recall something of the kind,’ she said slowly. ‘The day before yesterday, you say?’
‘Exactly,’ I confirmed, letting my smile grow even more bright and confident. ‘Where did you think I was? Did you think I spent the night in prison?’
Her mouth thinned. ‘Lillian! Don’t even joke about such a thing! It is unbecoming of a lady!’
‘Of course. I am sorry.’
Behind me, I heard Ella carefully step out of the room. She had obviously listened and knew that the danger of actual bloodshed was passed.
‘Shall we go down to breakfast?’ I suggested. ‘I am hungry after my walk.’
Nodding, and still frowning slightly, my aunt turned and led the way down the stairs. Behind her, I let out a deep breath. Thank the Lord for uncaring relatives.
~~*~~*
Breakfast. The most important meal of the day, it is said. And, in many families under the glorious rule of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, an occasion for the entire household to gather around the table and make polite small talk about their plans for the day, while consuming luscious delicacies. I had read once, when for some reason I had peeked into a cookbook, that in the usual upper middle-class family, the following was brought to the table, for one breakfast:
? fresh sausages
? boiled eggs
? a cold ham
? porridge with fresh cream & butter
? kippers
? a pheasant pie
? fresh curds and whey
? corn muffins
? fresh bread
? marmalade
? honey
? coffee
? tea
The cookbook had also suggested that a red and white chequered tablecloth should be avoided since it could have adverse effects on the digestion.
Breakfast at my uncle’s house was slightly different. For one thing, my dear Uncle Brank only owned one tablecloth - a dark brown one, so stains would not be visible and it wouldn’t have to be washed so often. For another, the meal was not quite so opulent. And as for the polite small talk at table, that was inhibited slightly by the fact that my uncle wasn’t actually present.
Mr Brank had not come down into the dining room to take his meals for years, not since his sister and her husband had died, leaving him the task of looking after six of these strange, unpleasant little creatures commonly referred to as ‘girls’. Mr Brank was not fond of female company. He’d had to acquire a wife at some point in his life, of course, in order to produce an offspring who could someday take over the business, but at least she was a sensible, economical woman. These… ‘girls’ were another matter entirely.
Thus it was that when we arrived in the dining room that morning, the big chair at the head of the table was empty, and my aunt bore an especially sour expression on her thin face. Leadfield, our only servant, who held the position of butler, valet, scullion and shoeblack all at the same time, was waiting for us and bowed as far as his ancient back would allow.
‘Breakfast is served, Madam.’
‘Thank you, Leadfield,’ my aunt said in a cool voice, repeating the ritual that had taken place in our household for over a decade. With another bow and a sweep of his bony arm Leadfield directed us to the table.
‘Will Mr Brank be joining us at the breakfast table today, Leadfield?’ my aunt asked, continuing the ritual.
‘The master is very busy and left early for work this morning,’ Leadfield gave the expected answer. ‘I brought him his breakfast earlier, up in his study.’
‘I see.’