The Connoisseur

Chapter 5 - Transformed

“I took the liberty of laying out a few garments for you,” said Alexander.  “As lovely as you look, you may be a little conspicuous in that dress.”

“Mozart.”  The name suddenly sounded bizarre to Sophia, sounds rather than meaning.  “Mozart.”

“The greatest artist of the greatest art form humanity has yet devised.  As ideas for dates go, I think this is a banker.”

“Yeah.”  Sophia stared at the piano keys.  “Probably is.  Sorry, you said something before that?”

“Clothes?”

“That was it.  Wait, you’ve ‘laid some out’?  What sort of clothes are we talking?  You don’t know my size.”

“They’ll be whatever size is right.”

Sophia narrowed her gaze.  “And what size is that?”

“Oh, I will not get drawn on that question!  I know what twenty-first century women are like.”

“Do you?” said Sophia, folding her arms.

“Well, no.  But I’m hoping to find out.”  Alexander smiled from the corner of his mouth.  “What I mean to say is that this place will ensure everything is right for you.”

“So your...” Sophia gestured around her, searching for the word, “Bachelor palace knows what size I am?”

“It does.”

A bluebird, swift in mid-flight, had been painted on the side of a nearby vase.  Sophia had the strangest feeling that it was looking at her.

“Pick a door and you’ll find your dressing room on the other side,” said Alexander.  “And take as long as you need.  Adapting to old fashions is quite the challenge.”

“Eighteenth century,” said Sophia.  “It’s a bit further back than ‘vintage’.”

*

Alexander had called it a dressing room.  It was more like the most expensive suite in the most lavish hotel in Mayfair.  The sky-blue walls, ornamented with white stucco, at first drew Sophia’s eye as she stepped through from the gallery; then the light pouring through from an open balcony, wind gently rustling the muslin curtains; then the fabulous chairs, tables, vases, portraits, and a second piano, all painted in elegant patterns and gilded in silver.

Then she noticed the cavernous walk-in wardrobe.  Did Marie Antoinette really have one of those?  Probably not.  Then again, the real Versailles hardly opened onto any place in history.  Period accuracy didn’t seem to be a priority in Alexander’s house.

She drifted inside the wardrobe, her feet floating on the exquisite cream carpet.  Inside the wardrobe – mahogany, astounding marquetry decoration of birds and flowers on the gold-handled drawers – hung five of the most gorgeous outfits Sophia had ever seen.  Petticoats of red, green and white in water-thin muslin; gowns in silk and taffeta; shoes of silk brocade and the richest leather; redingotes, hats, gowns, caracos, chemises, draped skirts and sheer, fur-trimmed and free, striped and swirled and beautiful, and beautiful, and beautiful.

In her high-street dress, her mass-market handbag in hand, her perfume now smelling of nothing at all, Sophia felt invisible, a candle in the heart of the sun.  She stood motionless for some time, not seeing anything in detail, but letting the sight wash into her eyes all at once in a cavalcade of colour and vibrancy and splendour.

When the floodwaters eased, she noticed something about the mannequins on which the outfits rested.  They were her exact size.  She pinched a fold of white muslin, ran it through her fingers – like air, woven air – and a smile flew onto her features.

*

When she emerged an hour later, Sophia gasped.  Then she giggled.  Alexander was waiting for her by the piano, his appearance transformed from the charmer of the twenty-first century to a gentleman of the eighteenth.  He wore a matching ensemble of a cut-away knee-length coat, a waistcoat and breeches, all in scarlet, all supremely embroidered.  A frill of white shirt spilled artfully from his collar, matched by his white stockings and, most curiously of all, his white-powdered hair, drawn back across his scalp and tied with a length of black ribbon.

“My word,” he said, his eyes wide as he took her in.  “Sophia, you are a woman in your own time, but in the past you are a queen.”

Sophia’s giggles turned to full laughter.  “I feel like a clothes horse.”

“I mean it.  You carry it off.  You really do.”

“Well,” said Sophia, twirling a lock of curled hair, “Perhaps I do.  Thanks.”

She had chosen a white chemise and petticoat, both with charming lacework, and a narrow blue sash around her waist.  Above this she wore a long cream redingote, shot through with black stripes, in silk and cotton satin.  To her astonishment, she had found her dark hair to be more pliable to her touch than usual, and guided by the styles worn by the mannequins in the wardrobe, she had shaped it into a high mass of tumbling curls, topped by a brimmed cream hat that matched her dress.  Thin rings and a jewelled necklace, subtle luxuries, completed the set.

“Elegance defined,” said Alexander.  “Did you try any of the others?”

“I did,” said Sophia.  Irrepressible laughter kept interrupting her words.  “But if you were thinking I’d wear some of those corsets, you can think again.”

“It was worth a try,” said Alexander.  “I find the ones of this period quite charming.  It’s the Victorian ones you need to watch out for.  Lethal.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Be sure.”

“I am!  God, this is ridiculous.”  Sophia took off her hat and collapsed full length onto the chaise longue.  The gilded ceiling ornaments danced over the white plaster above.  “This is definitely real, right?  This isn’t all coming from the most spiked drink in history?”

“No.  Though maybe I should find out when the most spiked drink in history was drunk, and give the culprit a good seeing to.”

“Would you challenge him to a duel, sir?  Defend the lady’s honour?  Pistols at dawn in your...”  She looked his red outfit up and down. “...your very loud attire?”

“Indeed, madam.  The blaggard would be struck down for his grave insult to the fairer sex.  But not tonight!” 

He held out his arm.  Sophia leapt up, feeling all the giddiness of the wine she had drunk with Julie and none of the cruder effects.  Arm in arm, they walked towards the great doors of the gallery.

“For tonight, Sophia, there is only music, and lights, and joy.”

*

Nothing like a bit of dressing up!  It looks like Sophia's worries have been blown away by the wonder of the situation.  Do you think that's going to come back to bite her?  Or will all of Alexander's promises of the evening to come will be upheld?  Please vote and comment if you've enjoyed the chapter.

The picture is the basis for Sophia's outfit, a redingote from the 1790s (so she's slightly ahead of fashions by wearing it!).  The colossal wigs that people often think of when imagining 18th century fashions were actually on the way out by the closing decades of the century, replaced by more natural styles and hats like the one in the picture.  For all Sophia's comments on the narrow corsets, that redingote is still pretty thin at the waist...makes me glad to be a man, if I'm honest!