The Disdainful Marquis (16 page)

They traveled on for two lackluster days, and it was only on the final approach to Paris that all of the company seemed to awaken at last. Rose and Violet were in full spate, commenting on the city, on the people they expected to see, and the fashions they glimpsed. Catherine was shocked to see that they did not even notice the poor, whose districts they had to ride through to get to the center of the city. The men and women in rags, far worse than any she had ever seen in England, the hovels in which they lived, and their hordes of huge-eyed starving children were not commented upon at all. But once the carriage drove through the wide white avenues where gentlemen and ladies of fashion promenaded, they noted every detail of every garment, and priced them down to their least penny.

The duchess beamed upon their excitement, but she told them she “had seen the town before.” Yet even she was soon talking about hunting up some dressmakers and getting togged out in “Frenchie fashions again.” By the time they rolled up in front of their hotel, the duchess was quite eager to alight and begin her inquiries as to where the gaiety was to be found.

The concierge was as obsequious as the duchess could have wished and groveled so much before her that she was in high good spirits when shown her rooms, even to the point of not beginning her usual tirade against the sanitation and grace of the establishment until he had bowed himself out of her presence. She had a large and airy chamber overlooking the street, and her companions' rooms were arranged around hers.

The duchess sat back with a grin of triumph.

“Well, gels, here we are in Paris. All dressed up with no place to go. Here, you Violet and you Rose, get yourself suited out fine and go down to the lobby; let the word go out that I have arrived. Then we'll see those invitations pour in. Catherine, you're free to do as you wish. Go tag along with the girls if you like. But be sure to tell everyone that you meet who you are and that the Duchess of Crewe has arrived. That should do it. Now, Gracie, my hair, if you please.”

And sitting back and enjoying her hair being brushed, the duchess closed her eyes and planned a future full of balls and fetes and sensations.

In spite of the duchess's confidence, Catherine was amazed, when she answered the duchess's summons at an unusually early hour before noon the next day, to see her sitting at a little desk, sorting through what seemed to be a dozen invitations.

“Tonight,” the duchess said to her companions, “dress up smartly, for we're off to no less than Count D'Arcy's ball. We've been asked to Lord and Lady Lynne's, and to Madame Martin's but we'd be fools to pass up the count's invitation, for that's the smartest of them all. Bound to be royalty there as well. So do me justice, lassies,” she said, in an unusually gay manner, “and who knows where we may be bound tomorrow night?”

“The old lady's in high alt,” Violet said as they went back to their rooms to pick through their wardrobes for suitably dazzling gowns.

“She thinks,” Violet explained to a puzzled Catherine, “that if she's daring enough, she'll yet get an invitation to an audience with the king. But she's out there, you know. For it may have been possible before all the nobs got their heads lobbed off for being royals. Now the throne's uneasy, I hear, and they don't want too much truck with a dizzy set like the duchess.”

“And what makes you so worldly-wise?” Rose asked cheekily.

“I spent some time with old Ollie, you know, and he had a few words for me.”

“A very few words, I'm sure,” Rose said, laughing.

Catherine colored, but Violet shot back, “Jealousy won't get you anywhere, old Rose.”

“It happens,” Rose said, with suppressed laughter, “that I spent some hours with old Ollie too, and he don't waste much time on talk.”

Catherine turned to her room quickly, so as not to hear much more of their chatter, which was turning more rancorous and more detailed than she wished to hear.

“Catherine,” Rose called, giving Violet an admonitory poke, “do come to our rooms tonight before we leave. We'll have to see if you've togged yourself up in enough style. For when Her Grace gives orders for us to dazzle, you daren't do less or your head will roll.”

*

Catherine gave herself one last glance in the mirror before sighing and turning to go to Rose's room. She could not, she thought, do better. She wore a high-waisted gown in creamy white satin, and bound her hair back with a pure white ribbon till only a crown of curls relieved the severity. The only touch of color was the azure of her eyes and the little gold pendant she always wore. She felt that if she were going to see royalty, she must dress in a distinguished, but unostentatious manner. The neckline of her gown, she realized, was lower than that of any of her others, but it had looked so perfect just as it had come from Madame Bertrand's that she had not dared tamper with it. Now, glancing in the mirror, even though the slope of her breasts showed daringly it no longer seemed so dashing—not, she amended, shocking at all compared to the dresses of the females she had seen at Sir Sidney's. The Vicar's words about becoming like the company one kept drifted into her mind, but she banished them quickly, and went out in search of Rose and Violet and their opinion of her dress.

When Rose called for her to enter, she stepped in, only to stand stock still and stare at Rose and Violet. For Rose was sitting at her mirror with the top of her gown down, chatting animatedly with Violet while at the same time carefully applying rouge from a little pot to the tips of her breasts. Catherine stood and goggled as Rose looked up. For a moment she looked only at Catherine's gown and cried out, “Oh don't you look a sight! Pure and cool and just lovely!”

And then, when she saw the expression on Catherine's face, she looked down at herself and sighed.

“It's to give my gown a better look, you see,” she said hurriedly, rapidly completing the job of anointing her nipples with carmine, and then blowing upon them and lifting the top of her gown back on.

“It's to give the gentlemen a better idea of the wares,” Violet said languidly.

Catherine looked at Rose in her thin salmon-colored gown and saw that the rouge did indeed emphasize the small part of Rose's bosom that was covered by cloth.

“And,” Violet said, in a cool voice, “to give them an extra treat a little later. If a chap's going to spring for the pleasure of Rose's company, he expects to find something out of the ordinary. And a little color in unexpected places adds excitement.”

Rose got up and looked daggers at Violet. She opened her mouth to make some rejoinder, but before she could, Violet moved.

“See here, Catherine,” she said, walking over to her, letting her drink in the splendor of her spangled black and silver gown, “Rose here and I, we are what we are. And it's no good pretending that we're all jolly little cousins off on a spree. I've been fighting with old Rose here all day, and there has to be an end to it. We can't watch what we say and what we do every moment you're about. We're out of leading strings a long time. I told Rose there's no sense in our having a to-do every time I say something she thinks isn't fit for your ears, for we'll only come to cuffs all day if we go on so. If you're to travel along with us, you'll have to take us for what we are.”

Catherine swallowed hard. And then she spoke.

“I know that, Violet. And yes, you are right, I cannot be an ostrich with my head in the sand. I knew that back when we met and I decided to accompany you. So Rose, there's no sense in fighting with Violet. She's quite right, you know.”

Rose still seemed agitated, but then she had a sudden thought.

“You know, Catherine, it won't be all bad for you. For you will know what you are about. Far more than most young misses do. For there's heaps we can tell you about gentlemen.”

“Oh Rose,” Violet laughed, “now that far I would not go. We really cannot tell this little miss all that we know.”

“Well, not all.” Rose pondered. “But if more young misses knew what we know, fewer gentlemen would have to seek us out.”

“And we'd be at a charity kitchen. Give over, Rose, do. We don't have to instruct Catherine. Not with her looks and style. It's only that we won't have to act so unnatural when she's about, and we'll all get on splendidly.”

Rose seemed satisfied and went back to gazing at herself in the mirror. She adroitly rubbed rouge into her cheeks, applied salve to her lips, spit into a little dish of black and with one finger swept shape and sultriness about her eyes. Noting Catherine's silence, she asked anxiously, “Is what Violet says acceptable to you, dear?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Catherine said, knowing full well that hypocrite that she was, she did not at all relish the thought of hearing all of their confidences. In fact, she wanted to hear none of them—she only wanted to run to her room and quake. But, she amended, she wanted more. She wanted to be home, safe at home again.

But as the silence in the room became ominous, with Violet smiling at her loftily and Rose looking at herself in the mirror uneasily, Catherine felt the burden of conversation fall upon her and searched for a safe, conciliatory topic.

“You can tell me how to go on,” she said. “For if we are to be honest with each other, I do not know how to…ah, discourage a gentleman, without being rude.”

Violet grinned wickedly. “That's hardly the sort of advice to be asking us.”

“Oh Vi, give over, do; we can too tell Catherine how to go about things,” Rose said, annoyed.

“What you want to know,” Violet went on, “is how to stay out of trouble. And I'm afraid we're poor persons to ask that of.”

“Well, Vi, you're a spiteful thing today,” Rose said, angrily. “I think it's just because Catherine's looks knock ours all to pieces tonight. She hasn't got a spangle nor a feather,” she said, eyeing the profusion of jet plumes set into Violet's elaborate coif, “and still she looks a treat. Well, then, I'll tell you, love. There's things you mustn't do with gentlemen and you'll find yourself safe as houses. You mustn't open your lips when you kiss, for one thing.”

Catherine went pale. This was not at all the sort of advice she had requested, but before she could speak, Violet began laughing.

“Oh Rose, and what of Sir Alistar?”

“True,” Rose said thoughtfully, “for he don't bother to kiss at all. Well, then, Catherine, I should say that so long as you stay upright at all times, you will avoid difficulties.”

Violet held her hand against her bodice—she was laughing so richly.

“And what of young Perry and Lord Sulley, then?”

“Oh,” Rose said, “and telling you to keep all your clothes on, which is what I was about to add, wouldn't do then neither, I suppose. Well then, Catherine, I'll tell you the best advice I can then.”

Rose screwed up her face in thought and then smiled triumphantly. “You must never do a thing with a gentleman that you have not done before. And you'll go on splendidly, I'm sure.”

At that, Violet's mirth got so out of control that she was gasping, and even Catherine had to join in.

Rose herself was chuckling good-naturedly. But when Catherine stopped, she decided to turn the subject as quickly as she was able to.

“Am I dressed properly then?” she asked.

“A treat,” Rose agreed. “But perhaps a little too refined. You never know with Her Grace. She wants you to catch all eyes. Here,” Rose said, plucking one white rose from the floral arrangement on her table. “Do put this in your hair, there on top, midst the curls, yes. That looks just as it ought. Now then,” she said, squinting thoughtfully at Catherine.

“Yes, I'm sure I'm right. You do look lovely, Catherine. But who will see you across a room? Not that there's anything the matter with your coloring—it's all milk and cream. But there's the problem. In candlelight, you'll just fade away.”

“You're right, Rose,” Violet said, taking a professional interest. “Footlights and party lights drab out a girl's coloring. A bit of lip salve, a bit of rouge, that's the ticket.”

And before Catherine could protest, they steered her to Rose's dressing table. Rose carefully applied salve to her lips, and though she was sure her furious blush would stay their hands, they carefully applied high color to her cheeks.

“Now don't blink or move,” Rose warned, “or you'll blind yourself. S'truth.”

When Catherine gazed at herself in the minor again, she dared not breathe. An exotic painted creature with darkly lashed huge blue eyes, pink cheeks, and violently red lips stared seductively back at her. Her hands went automatically to a cloth to wipe the vision away, but Rose stayed her.

“No, Catherine. That's just what Her Grace will expect. She'll dress you down if you come pale and ordinary. Now you look just as you ought. So leave it be.”

Rose and Violet accompanied Catherine to get her wrap, so Catherine could not even touch her face though she swore she could feel every gram of the cosmetics lying heavily upon her. They lingered in Catherine's room awaiting the duchess's summons. And when Gracie came to tell them to be ready, Rose took a small vial from her evening bag and went to Catherine's dressing table. She carefully put a drop from the vial in each eye and handed the vial to Violet, who did the same. Catherine saw, as if by magic, how huge and glittering their eyes now appeared to be, just as she had often noticed their eyes to be at night; she had assumed it was due to their excitement and candlelight.