CHAPTER THREE
MAY
1
SOLLY LOVED TO WATCH Maisie getting dressed.
Each evening she would put on her dressing jacket and summon her maids to pin her hair up and thread it with flowers or feathers or beads; then she would dismiss the servants and wait for her husband.
Tonight they were going out, which they did most evenings. The only time they stayed in, during the London season, was when they were giving a party. Between Easter and the end of July they never dined alone.
He came in at half-past six, in his dress trousers and white waistcoat, carrying a large glass of champagne. Maisie’s hair was decorated with yellow silk flowers tonight. She slipped out of her bedroom gown and stood naked in front of the mirror. She did a pirouette for Solly’s benefit then began to dress.
First she put on a linen chemise with a neckline embroidered with flowers. It had silk tapes at the shoulders to tie it to her dress so that it would not be seen. Next she drew on fine white woolen stockings and fastened them just above her knees with elastic garters. She stepped into a pair of knee-length loose cotton lawn drawers with pretty braiding at the hems and a drawstring waist, then put on yellow silk evening slippers.
Solly picked up her corset from its frame and helped her into it, then drew the laces tight at the back. Most women were helped to dress by one or two maids, for it was impossible for a woman to manage the elaborate corset and gown alone. However, Solly had learned to perform these services himself rather than go without the pleasure of watching.
Crinolines and bustles were no longer in fashion, but Maisie put on a cotton petticoat with a flounced train and a ruffled hem to support the train of her gown. The petticoat was fastened at the back with a bow, and Solly tied it.
At last she was ready for the gown. It was of yellow-and-white striped silk taffeta. The bodice was loosely draped, which flattered her large bosom, and caught at the shoulder with a bow. The rest of the garment was similarly swagged and caught at the waist, knee and hem. It took a maid all day to iron it.
She sat on the floor and Solly lifted the dress over her so that she was sitting inside it like a tent. Then she stood up carefully, putting her hands through the armholes and her head through the neck. Together she and Solly arranged the folds of the drapery until they looked right.
She opened her jewelry box and took out a diamond-and-emerald necklace and matching earrings that Solly had given her on their first wedding anniversary. As she was putting them on he said: “We’re going to be seeing a lot more of our old friend Hugh Pilaster from now on.”
Maisie muffled a sigh. Solly’s trusting nature could be tiresome. The normal suspicious-minded husband would have divined the attraction between Maisie and Hugh, and would be bad-tempered every time the other man’s name was mentioned, but Solly was too innocent. He had no idea he was putting temptation in her way. “Why, what’s happened?” she said neutrally.
“He’s coming to work at the bank.”
“Why is he leaving Pilasters? I thought he was doing so well.”
“They refused him a partnership.”
“Oh, no!” She knew Hugh better than anyone did, and she understood how badly he had suffered because of his father’s bankruptcy and suicide. She could guess how broken he was by the refusal of a partnership. “The Pilasters are a mean-spirited family,” she said with feeling.
“It’s because of his wife.”
Maisie nodded. “I’m not surprised.” She had witnessed the incident at the duchess of Tenbigh’s ball. Knowing the Pilasters as she did, she could not help wondering if Augusta had somehow stage-managed the whole incident in order to discredit Hugh.
“You have to feel sorry for Nora.”
“Mmm.” Maisie had met Nora, some weeks before the wedding, and had taken an instant dislike to her. Indeed, she had wounded Hugh by telling him Nora was a heartless gold digger and he should not marry her.
“Anyway, I suggested to Hugh that you might help her.”
“What?” Maisie said sharply. She looked away from her mirror. “Help her?”
“Rehabilitate her. You know what it’s like to be looked down on because of your background. You overcame all that prejudice.”
“And now I’m supposed to work the same transformation on every other guttersnipe who marries into society?” Maisie snapped.
“I’ve obviously done something wrong,” Solly said worriedly. “I thought you’d be glad to help, you’ve always been so fond of Hugh.”
Maisie went to her cupboard for her gloves. “I wish you’d consulted me first.” She opened the cupboard. On the back of the door, framed in wood, hung the old poster she had saved from the circus, showing her in tights, standing on the back of a white horse, over the legend “The Amazing Maisie.” The picture jerked her out of her tantrum and she suddenly felt ashamed of herself. She ran to Solly and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Solly, how can I be so ungrateful?”
“There, there,” he murmured, stroking her bare shoulders.
“You’ve been so kind and generous to me and my family, of course I’ll do this for you, if you wish.”
“I’d hate to force you into something—”
“No, no, you’re not forcing me. Why shouldn’t I help her get what I got?” She looked at her husband’s chubby face, creased now with lines of anxiety. She stroked his cheek. “Stop worrying. I was being horribly selfish for a minute but it’s over. Go and put your jacket on. I’m ready.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips, then turned away and put on her gloves.
She knew what had really made her cross. The irony of the situation was bitter. She was being asked to train Nora for the role of Mrs. Hugh Pilaster—the position Maisie herself had longed to occupy. In her innermost heart she still wanted to be Hugh’s wife, and she hated Nora for winning what she had lost. All in all it was a shameful attitude and Maisie resolved to drop it. She should be glad Hugh had married. He had been very unhappy, and it was at least partly her fault. Now she could stop worrying about him. She felt a sense of loss, if not grief, but she should keep those feelings locked away in a room no one ever entered. She would throw herself energetically into the task of bringing Nora Pilaster back into the good graces of London’s high society.
Solly came back with his jacket on and they went along to the nursery. Bertie was in his nightshirt, playing with a wooden model of a railway train. He loved to see Maisie in her gowns and would be very disappointed if for some reason she went out in the evening without showing him what she was wearing. He told her what had happened in the park that afternoon—he had befriended a large dog—and Solly got down on the floor and played trains for a while. Then it was Bertie’s bedtime, and Maisie and Solly went downstairs and got into their carriage.
They were going to a dinner party, then on to a ball afterwards. Both would take place within half a mile of their house in Piccadilly, but Maisie could not walk the streets in such an elaborate gown: the hem and train, and her silk shoes, would be filthy by the time she arrived. All the same she smiled to think that the girl who had once walked for four days to get to Newcastle could not now go half a mile without her carriage.
She was able to begin her campaign for Nora that very night. When they reached their destination and entered the drawing room of the marquis of Hatchford, the first person she saw was Count de Tokoly. She knew him quite well and he always flirted with her, so she felt free to be direct. “I want you to forgive Nora Pilaster for slapping you,” she said.
“Forgive?” he said. “I’m flattered! To think that at my age I can still make a young woman slap my face—it’s a great compliment.”
That wasn’t how you felt at the time, Maisie thought. However, she was glad he had decided to make light of the whole incident.
He went on: “Now, if she had refused to take me seriously—that would have been an insult.”
It was exactly what Nora ought to have done, Maisie reflected. “Tell me something,” she said. “Did Augusta Pilaster encourage you to flirt with her niece?”
“Grisly suggestion!” he replied. “Mrs. Joseph Pilaster as a pander! She did nothing of the kind.”
“Did anyone encourage you?”
He looked at Maisie through narrowed eyes. “You’re clever, Mrs. Greenbourne; I’ve always respected you for that. Cleverer than Nora Pilaster. She’ll never be what you are.”
“But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ll tell you the truth, as I admire you so much. The Cordovan Minister, Se?or Miranda, told me that Nora was … what shall we say … susceptible.”
So that was it. “And Micky Miranda was put up to it by Augusta, I’m sure of it. Those two are as thick as thieves.”
De Tokoly was miffed. “I do hope I haven’t been used as a pawn.”
“That’s the danger of being so predictable,” Maisie said waspishly.
Next day she took Nora to her dressmaker.
As Nora tried on styles and fabrics Maisie found out a little more about the incident at the duchess of Tenbigh’s ball. “Did Augusta say anything to you beforehand about the count?” she asked.
“She warned me not to let him take any liberties,” Nora replied.
“So you were ready for him, so to speak.”
“Yes.”
“And if Augusta had said nothing, would you have behaved the same way?”
Nora looked thoughtful. “I probably wouldn’t have slapped him—I wouldn’t have had the nerve. But Augusta made me think it was important to take a stand.”
Maisie nodded. “There you are. She wanted this to happen. She also got someone to tell the count you were easy.”
Nora was amazed. “Are you sure?”
“He told me. She’s a devious bitch and she has no scruples at all.” Maisie realized she was speaking in her Newcastle accent, something that rarely happened nowadays. She reverted to normal. “Never underestimate Augusta’s capacity for treachery.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” Nora said defiantly. “I haven’t got too many scruples myself.”
Maisie believed her—and felt sorry for Hugh.
A polonaise was the perfect dress style for Nora, Maisie thought as the dressmaker pinned a gown around Nora’s generous figure. The fussy details suited her pretty looks: the pleated frills, the front opening decorated with bows, and the tie-back skirt with flounces all looked sweet on her. Perhaps she was a little too voluptuous, but a long corset would restrain her tendency to wobble.
“Looking pretty is half the battle,” she said as Nora admired herself in the mirror. “As far as the men are concerned it’s really all that matters. But you have to do more to get accepted by the women.”
Nora said: “I’ve always got on better with men than women.”
Maisie was not surprised: Nora was that type.
Nora went on: “You must be the same. That’s why we’ve got where we are.”
Are we the same? wondered Maisie.
“Not that I put myself on the same level as you,” Nora added. “Every ambitious girl in London envies you.”
Maisie winced at the thought that she was looked up to as a hero by fortune-hunting women, but she said nothing because she probably deserved it. Nora had married for money, and she was quite happy to admit it to Maisie because she assumed that Maisie had done the same. And she was right.
Nora said: “I’m not complaining, but I did pick the black sheep of the family, the one with no capital. You married one of the richest men in the world.”
How surprised you would be, Maisie thought, if you knew how willingly I’d swap.
She put the thought out of her mind. All right, she and Nora were two of a kind. She would help Nora win the acceptance of the snobs and shrews who ruled society.
“Never talk about how much anything costs,” she began, remembering her own early mistakes. “Always remain calm and unruffled, no matter what happens. If your coachman has a heart attack, your carriage crashes, your hat blows off and your drawers fall down, just say: ‘Goodness me, such excitement,’ and get in a hansom. Remember that the country is better than the town, idleness is superior to work, old is preferable to new and rank is more important than money. Know a little about everything, but never be an expert. Practice talking without moving your mouth—it will improve your accent. Tell people that your great-grandfather farmed in Yorkshire: Yorkshire is too big for anyone to check, and agriculture is an honorable way to become poor.”
Nora struck a pose, looked vague, and said languidly: “Goodness me, such a lot to remember, how shall I ever manage?”
“Perfect,” said Maisie. “You’ll do very well indeed.”