Dressed in Black

Chapter 14

Henrietta's ball was scheduled for the day preceding Christmas Eve. She insisted on its not being mingled with the holiday, because then she would be less thought of by her guests.

"As if a young lady ought always to be thought of!" Harry said in response to her petty complaint. By then, he had given up his position in the Church of England. He was better suited to a life of selfish idleness. Besides – he had no need of the Church, as a large property and a large sum were promised to him, provided that he found himself a wife. Catherine had long been his object of interest, but she had begun of late to open up to the family, and be repugnantly sweet – in his eyes, at least. He gravitated towards coldly beautiful women of nondescript rank.

The whole while the preparations were being made, Catherine had locked herself up in her room with Sarah, and they talked and read all the day, with occasional meal breaks. Mr. Borne once called to see how she was "getting on," and, finding her more than usually merry, had left her feeling quite easy at heart. Of course there was talk of what she should wear, and though neither Sarah nor she had any taste for elaborate fashions – for them it was simplicity and taste that produced effortless elegance – with Miranda's help they made the hasty pick of a black silk ball gown from one of her Godey's fashion magazines.

"It is very pretty, I'm sure," she said after Miranda had gone to town to make the necessary arrangements, "but I don't at all feel right in going to a ball so soon after my dear papa's death..." She dropped her eyes, and her fine black eyelashes brushed her round ivory cheek with beads of tears entangled in them, which by and by dribbled down her face.

"Now, don't you go a blubberin', missy," Sarah said in her loud, cheerful way. "The dress has been sent fo', or a dressmaker, at any rate, and you'll wear it or be farred! – see if I don't make you – with all due respect!"

"Oh, Sarah!" she gasped, breaking down into a fit of laughter as they exchanged playful looks.

"Now, let me brush your hair, Miss Cathy, and make ye decent fo' the comp'ny downstairs. It's nigh on dinner time, my word!"

"You're quite right!" she raised herself from her chair by the blazing fireplace, and then crossed the room, sinking upon the upholstered stool at her toilet-table. She first washed her face, and then told Sarah to brush away.

"I mus' say, miss," she said after she had done arranging her curls in a simple yet elegant fashion that became her charmingly. "You're quite the bonny lass. Cert'nly, you're not a reg'lar beauty like Miss Slater, but despite your features being irreg'lar, you're main pretty."

"Thank you for that, Sarah, dear," she smiled, colouring self-consciously at the frank compliment.

*

The dressmaker came by the next morning, and on the one after, the dress was brought to Catherine's room, where both Catherine and Sarah gazed on it in doubtful contemplation. Sarah grasped her hand, trying to shake some cheerfulness into her grave mistress, almost wishing that Catherine were of that shallow disposition that could be made happy by the mere sight of finery.

"Come, Miss Cathy!" she exclaimed, untying the black silk bow from the box with her spindly fingers. "Shan't you try 't on?"

"Must I?" she winced, without meaning to hurt the girl's feelings. "It's bad enough that I am to wear it at the ball, where Henrietta says I must 'go out'. I do detest that term, Sarah – the entire notion of a young woman having to make a debut in Society in order to be accepted by her peers is preposterously one-sided. I say, young men aren't required to 'come out.' Why should we?"