'Are you certain you wish me to accompany you? I'm not quite sure...I mean...perhaps I shouldn't leave your uncle alone for so long...'
'Oh, fiddlesticks. He'd never notice you were gone unless you took his accounting book with you.'
'Ehem. That's as may be, but, but still...'
'Oh, please, Aunt.' Giving her my best doe eyes, I blinked up at her. 'You are the closest thing I have to a mother.' Because all the other candidates from my family are rotting six feet under. 'I wouldn't dream of doing this without you. Besides, didn't you always say you wanted me to make a good marriage? Didn't you always say I needed to find a wealthy, well-bred man to take care of me? Well, now I have. Sounds to me like all your deepest wishes are coming true.'
'Well...ehem...' Aunt Brank hesitated. She had said that. Repeatedly. Loudly. And now it had happened. The only problem was, in her imaginings, it had always been she who miraculously managed to arrange a marriage to some knight or colonel for poor, hopeless little me. Then she would gloat for the next two dozen years and share the story with all her friends, lording it over me.
Now, however, I had gone and somehow caught myself a husband. What's more, one who was richer and higher up on the social ladder than my aunt could ever have imagined. And the worst thing was: she still had no bloody clue how the heck I had done it!
I sympathized. I really did. For about two seconds. Then I returned to the business of taking my sweet, sweet revenge.
'Please.' Batting my eyelashes again, I took her bony hand in mine. 'I couldn't do this without you.'
After all, the victim needs to be present.
'Well, if you put it like that...'
'Excellent! Let's go. The others will be waiting for us.'
Aunt Brank blinked. 'O-others?'
'Oh yes, of course. Didn't I mention that?' Another round of innocent eyelash-batting. Holy moly, I was good at batting. Maybe I should try out for a local cricket team. 'We're meeting a few friends before we leave, and—'
That very moment, the sound of the front doorbell echoed through the house.
'Oh, that should be them. Shall I let them in?'
My aunt harrumphed. 'Your friends, eh? I know what kind of "friends" you surround yourself with, Lillian Linton. Are you sure those friends will be able to behave themselves in the high-class fashion establishments we shall be frequenting?'
'Oh, I'm pretty sure.'
'Very well, then. Let them enter.'
I pulled open the door and, with a broad smile, gestured in the two ladies waiting outside. 'Come in, come in! Your Ladyships, may I introduce my aunt, Mrs Hester Mahulda Brank. Aunt, it is my pleasure to introduce Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose, sister to my intended, and her mother, Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose, The Marchioness Ambrose.'
The two ladies curtsied with perfect poise. 'Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Brank,' the marchioness gushed. 'I've been longing to meet you. You must tell me how you managed to raise your niece to be such a wonderful, warm, well-mannered young lady.'
'Wrx,' my aunt said.
I nudged her with my elbow, whereupon her reflexes kicked in and she managed to sink into a wobbly curtsy.
'Very interesting,' Adaira nodded soberly, a little devil dancing in her eyes. 'I must say that I hadn't heard of the wrx parenting method before. I must try it on my future children.'
Have I mentioned that I love this girl?
'Well, shall we?' I asked and, before my dear aunt could awake from her paralysis, linked arms with her. 'I'm sure the horses are getting antsy.'
'H-horses?' Aunt Brank demanded, shaking her head as if waking from a dream only to find herself in a nightmare. 'What horses?'
'Oh, didn't I mention that? The marchioness was kind enough to offer us her coaches for the day.'
'Coaches? Plural?'
'Certainly. I told you all my friends would be coming didn't I?'
That very moment, the door flew open and Flora, Eve and Patsy stormed in, the former two with big, beaming grins on their faces, the latter with a big, weapon-grade parasol in hand. Just then, Ella appeared at the top of the stairs, and the moment she saw my friends, she clapped her hands in joy and came rushing down. The next moment, they were all crowding around me. Beaming, I turned towards my dear aunt.
'Auntie? I trust you remember Flora, Eve and Patsy?'
Poor Aunt. She couldn't help it. It was an instinctive reaction. Her bony cheeks reddened, and she raised a trembling finger, pointing at my friends. 'You...out with you, all of you, you load of good-for-noth—'
Then, suddenly, she cut off, and her wide eyes flew to the marchioness and her daughter, both of whom were watching with slight frowns on their faces.
'Um...I meant, out with you, all you good, fortunate girls. We have shopping to do.'
'Exactly.' Patting her shoulder, I led her to the door. 'Let's go.'
'Oh, I simply can't wait!' The marchioness gushed, taking my aunt's free arm and nearly making her faint from pure nobility proximity. 'This will be such fun!'
'Y-yes,' Mrs Hester Mahulda Brank managed. 'F-fun.'
I grinned.
Wasn't my life amazing?
***
Ding-dong...
The pudgy woman at the counter looked up, her face breaking into a supercilious smile when she caught sight of my aunt. 'Oh, bonjour, Madame Brank! I'm so 'appy to once again welcome you to my 'umble establishment. What can I do for you this time? A new gown for yourself? Or is it for your lovely girls, Anne and Maria? The two of them are such darling gi—'
Then she spotted me.
'Oh. It's about her, is it?'
I don't know whether you noticed—but if you have finely developed social skills, you may have gathered from the above greeting that my aunt's favorite seamstress and I are not exactly the best of friends.
Madame Juliette Legrand—or Judy Grand, as I was reliably informed her parents had baptised her—had been my aunt's seamstress ever since I had spilled lemonade on one of Madame Legrand's dresses when I was six years old, and the two had bonded discussing what horrible punishment to inflict upon me. Madame Legrand was an inventive woman. Born to a full-blooded British family of cockney tailors, she early on discovered she had as much talent for stitching as an elephant with mittens on. What she did have, however, was the inborn Cockney ability to drop her Hs, and her personal talent for faking her way through the eye of a needle. So, if she couldn't actually be a decent seamstress, she'd fake it or die trying. Thus, Madame Juliette Legrand, acclaimed seamstress from France, was born, and her shop, Madame Legrand – Purveyor of Haute Couture, opened its doors.
It didn't take long for people to catch on to her deception. There were several small, but significant hints. Firstly, there were the atrocious designs of her scratchy, cheap-quality dresses, with which she had tortured me since childhood. Secondly, there was the sign over her front door, which spelled 'haute couture' as 'odd couture'. Yet still, Judy insisted on being called 'Madame Legrand', and would give anyone who mentioned the good old English name 'Grand' a thorough tongue-lashing in an intriguing gibberish which, I think, was supposed to be French, but could equally well have been Russian or Gujarati.
In short, my dear aunt and she were perfect for each other. They were like two gossiping, judgemental, social-climbing peas in a pod, and they had made my life a misery for years.
Well...
Time for a little payback!
Smiling broadly, I stepped forward and curtsied. 'Mrs Grand. It's so grand to see you again! And oh my, your shop looks grand! Have you been renovating? That's just grand!'
Madame Legrand gave me a death stare, then sniffed and turned away to talk to my aunt over my head, her favourite direction.
'Are you sure you would like to waste one of my artworks on 'er, Madame Brank?'
My aunt cleared her throat. 'A, um, a dress is required. In white or blue, if you please.'
Madame Legrand's eyes went grand.
'You don't mean...'
'Yes. Lilly will be getting married soon.'
'Finally found some poor sod to unload her on, did you?' Madame Legrand sniffed at me. ''ho is the doddering fool?'
'That,' Lady Samantha said, stepping around the nearest rack of clothes, her voice making me suddenly understand where Rikkard Ambrose had gotten his cold tone from, 'would be my son.'
'Mrs Grand?' I beamed at her, treasuring this moment. 'May I introduce Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose, The Marchioness Ambrose?'
'M-Marchioness?' Madame Legrand croaked.
'Yes. I guess it's been some time since you've had someone this grand in your shop. But now, aristocracy has come to visit. Isn't that grand?'
The woman opened her mouth, her eyes filled with venom—then she caught sight of the displeasure on Lady Samantha's face and swallowed her anger, and almost her tongue along with it.
'Yes. Ehem. Grand. Very grand.'
'Show us the best of everything you have,' Lady Samantha commanded, in full Marchioness-mode, making my heart swell with love for the old lady. 'The very best.'
'I, um, hate to bring up so menial a subject...' Madame Legrand cleared her throat. 'But if you were so kind as to indicate a budget...'
Adaira narrowed her eyes at the woman. 'My dear friend Lillian is about to marry Lord Rikkard Ambrose.'
All colour fled from the fake Frenchwoman's face—amazingly, even the one she'd painted on.
'You don't mean...'
'Yes. The Rikkard Ambrose. Who, incidentally, happens to be my big brother. So, unless you want to be selling hankies on a street corner tomorrow, you had better stop stalling. There is no budget. The sky is the limit.'
'Yes, My Lady! Of course, My Lady! I'll be back directly, My Lady!'
Curtsying repeatedly, Madame Legrand vanished into the back room.
Turning towards Adaira and her mother, I beamed at them.
'Have I ever told you two that I love you?'
Adaira gave a little queenly wave. 'By all means, don't stop. I adore basking in the adoration of the masses.'
'And do you think your brother is going to love finding out that in regard to the budget of my wedding dress, "the sky is the limit"?'
'I imagine not.' Her eyes sparkling, she gazed over at the door to the back room, from whence Madame Legrand's frantic screeches were issuing, calling for silk and satin. 'And, if I know my brother, when he finds out, he will be coming here. And he will be...displeased with the owner of this establishment.'
My smile widened until it threatened to split my face apart. 'You, Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose, are an evil little witch.'
'Why, thank you.'
'Would you like to join my bridesmaid squadron?'
The joy I saw shining in Adaira's eyes tugged at something deep inside me. She grabbed me by the hand. 'As if I'd let you go down that aisle without me!'
'That's what I like to hear.'
The door to the back room flew open, and Madame Legrand bustled back in, chasing half a dozen hapless junior seamstresses in front of her.
'All right, enough talk, Ladies!' Patsy clapped her hands. 'Looks like it's time for the big event!'
Up until that moment, I had never really enjoyed fittings—mostly, because they weren't aptly named. My derrière always seemed to be insistent on making dresses not quite fit as they were supposed to. This time, however, a dress was being tailored from the ground up, just for me. And while Madame Legrand was about as talented at tailoring as a drunken dolphin, her downtrodden minions were actually quite good at their jobs, and turned out to be surprisingly pleasant, after they'd watched me put their boss in her place once or twice.
'H-here you go, Miss.' With a shy smile, one of the girls handed me a strip of blue cloth. I eyed it with trepidation.
'What am I supposed to do with this? It's a bit small for a scarf.'
The girl's eyes went wide. 'Oh no, Miss! It's not a scarf. It's a ribbon. You tie it into your hair, like this. You see?'
'Why?' I asked, confounded and genuinely curious.
'Err...because it looks pretty?'
'Ah. You think so?' I eyed myself critically in the closest mirror.
'Can't you tell?'
'Well... how can I put this...'
...over the last two years, most of the time I spent looking in the mirror was spent thinking: do I look manly enough? Should I buy myself a fake moustache?
'On second thought, maybe I shouldn't put it at all. Just give me the ribbon.'
'Certainly, Miss.'
Something suddenly occurred to me.
'By the way, what's your name?'
'Err...Lavinia, Miss. But most people just call me Vinnie. Why?'
'Well, Vinnie...' Regarding myself in the mirror, I tried to tie the ribbon into my hair. After three tries, I managed to snatch an appropriately big lump of hair and wrestle the bloody thing around it. Whether or not the end result looked pretty, however, was very much a matter of opinion. 'I'm going to become a lady soon.'
'Err...aren't you one now?'
I considered for a moment how best to explain the prospect of marrying Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the wealthiest and probably most powerful man in the British Empire.
'An extra lady-ish lady,' I finally said.
'Oh.'
'The problem is...' I gave another tug on the stubborn ribbon—and nearly yanked out half my scalp in the process. 'Ouch! The problem is, I'm not really good at this being-a-lady thing.'
'You don't say, Miss. I would never have guessed.'
I threw a quick glance at the girl, and the corners of her mouth were quirked up. Hm. This one had spunk. Good. She would need it.
'So, would you like to come to work for me as my lady's maid?'
'What?' The girl nearly swallowed the needle stuck in the corner of her mouth. All colour drained from her face.
'You heard me. I can't dress like this every day all by myself.' I gestured to the masterpiece in the mirror. 'Besides...' I crossed my fingers behind my back. 'I have a protective soon-to-be husband who just loves spending money on me. I'm sure he won't mind at all taking on a bit more staff to please me.'
'Y-you mean it?' Vinnie's eyes were wide as she stared up at me standing on my stool. The needle was still sticking out of the corner of her mouth. 'You really mean it, Miss?'
'Yes, of course. But if you'd prefer to stay here—'
'WhencanistartandwhereshouldIpresentmyself? I'mreadyanytimeyouwantme!'
'Here.' Pulling a card out of my pocket, I handed it to her. 'Come here any time during your lunch break the next few days.'
'Empire House?' Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. 'But...but isn't that where that incredibly rich, stingy bugger lives?'
'If you mean my future bridegroom, then yes, indeed.'
'Your...' Vinnie grabbed the figure next to her around the neck to steady herself. Fortunately, it was a manikin. 'Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Miss! I should never have said...I...Oh my God, what did I say?'
'Nothing but the truth,' I assured her with a cheerful pat on the shoulder. 'Although you did leave out "stony" and "ice-cold".'
'Oh. Um. You...you aren't angry?'
I cocked my head.
'Do I look angry?'
'N-no. That's what's worrying me. Most ladies would have tried to take me 'ead off for what I said, or at least tried to get me fired.'
'Well, I'm not so different.' I gave her a big smile. 'I just prefer an h to an f.'
It took her a few moments to get it. When she did, she stared at me as if I was mad. 'You mean...I'm still hired?'
'You had the guts to call Mr Rikkard Ambrose a stingy bugger.' I gave her another pat on the shoulder. 'You are definitely hired. Call at Empire House as soon as you can, and ask for Mr Victor Linton. Oh, and don't let yourself be put off by the gaunt, sallow faced goblin at the front desk. Or the huge bearded fellow with a sabre and turban. Or the man who owns the place. None of them will eat you alive, no matter all appearances to the contrary.'
'Err...all right?'
'Excellent!' I gave her another dazzling smile. 'You really are just what I've been looking for. I have a sudden desire to double your salary.'
'But you haven't even told me what it'll be yet!'
'Which makes the whole thing far more interesting. Tell me how much you'd like so I know how double it, will you?'
'Um...you want me to pick my salary?'
'Why not? Sounds like a novel approach.'
'So you can double it before I even start working?'
'I knew you were a smart girl. I'm glad I hired you.'
'Err...um...and I think I'm glad I'm going to work for you.'
"Hand me that pair of shoes, will you? I'd like to see how they go with the dress.'
'Certainly, Miss. Right away, Miss.'
Ten minutes later, I was staring at myself in the mirror. Or was it myself? I wasn't quite sure, because the woman in the mirror was a vision. A vision with a somewhat generous derrière, yet still, a vision. A snow-white, floor-length gown fell in elegant curves around her, decorated with patterns of lilies and forget-me-nots that seemed so real I was tempted to pick them off the dress and smell them. Her posture was straight and confident, her face full of happiness, and her eyes shining with hope for the future.
Ella stepped up to me from behind, gazing at the mirror with awe. At me. 'Beautiful,' she whispered.
Patsy nodded, and tapped the gilded, lavishly decorated frame of the mirror. 'Yes, not bad, as mirrors go.'
Eve gave her a kick to the shin.
'Ouch! Yes, yes, not bad. If you really have to marry him, you might as well knock his socks off!'
I smiled at my friends in bliss. Could life get any better?
Just then, from the front part of the store, I heard the jingling of the bells over the entrance, followed by the energetic voice of an older lady:
'What do you mean, you cannot attend to me because you have your whole team working on a bride, Madame Legrand? I have been a customer of this store for years, and I'll have you know that my husband holds a very important position in the House of Lords, you know. Who is this female who is monopolizing all of your attention? The Queen of England?'
'Well, not quite, Lady Metcalf, but...ehem...well...'
My grin widened, as my question was answered.
Yes, life could get better. A lot.
'Oh, Lady Metcalf!' Popping my head around the corner, I beamed at the old viper, who nearly keeled over when she saw me. 'What a grand coincidence to see you here! Why don't you come back here? I'd love to hear your opinion on my wedding dress.'
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Regarding what the characters discuss in this chapter about the color of the wedding dress, it might interest you to know that, before the Victorian age, wedding dresses actually came in all sorts of colours, most often blue. It was Queen Victoria who, at her wedding with Prince Albert, started the trend that has now become an almost universal tradition, to wear white during the wedding.
Oh, and for anyone who does not live in a country formerly part of the British Empire: cricket is an (originally British) sport that involves hitting a small ball with a wooden bat. I have tried to understand the rules in order to explain them to you here—and I failed, miserably. My sincerest apologies ;)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Gujarati: A Indo-Aryan language from Northwestern India, with a long and distinguished history that stretches back to antiquity. It is still spoken today by approximately 70 million people. Impressively, Gujarati was the mother tongue of Mahatma Gandhi and Muhammad Ali Jinnah, who can be considered the fathers of the countries of India and Pakistan, respectively.