Misfit Maid

‘Miss Wormley should be accommodated next to you, I thought,’ Lady Hester said, leading the way to the adjoining room as soon as Maidie had put off her pelisse and bonnet.

Maidie noted that her ladyship’s glance ran swiftly over her plain stuff gown, and settled for a moment on her tightly banded hair. She put up a self-conscious hand to smooth it, and could not but be relieved that Lady Hester made no comment.

The room next door was almost as well appointed as Maidie’s own, and Miss Wormley lost herself in a stuttering speech of thanks, which Lady Hester kindly dismissed. Her own room, as she showed them in case Maidie should be in need of her, was in an opposing corridor on the other side of the house, but his lordship, it appeared, occupied one of the two principal bedchambers, the only ones located on the first floor along with several saloons.

‘The other will be for his wife, when Laurie finally decides to gratify us all and make his choice.’ As she led the way downstairs again, and into the drawing-room that abutted the dining-room, Lady Hester added, ‘I dare say that if Dorinda had not died, she would have hustled him into matrimony years ago, though not without a battle of wills. She was as strong-minded as Laurie himself, was Dorinda. I suppose I should have made more of an effort with him in her stead, but you may have noticed that Delagarde is a difficult man to push.’

Yes, she had noticed, Maidie thought. He was a difficult man, she suspected, in every circumstance. But her interest in his possible marriage was, to say the least of it, tepid. Now, in any event. Had he had the good sense to marry earlier, no doubt her campaign would have met with less resistance. She felt it to be typical of him that he had remained a bachelor, as if he had known that it must aid him to thwart her.

They were soon installed in the drawing-room, a pleasant apartment done out in cream and straw to the walls and mantel, and to the cushioning of the light finely turned sofas and chairs that characterised Chippendale’s designs.

‘And now, my dear Maidie,’ pursued Lady Hester, when they were all partaking of a dish of tea, ‘we must make some plans. I thought, as a first step, that when you have had an opportunity to relax a little, we might make a visit to one of the discreet dressmaking establishments.’

‘Discreet?’ repeated Maidie.

Miss Wormley murmured something indistinguishable but, beyond directing a brief questioning look at her, Lady Hester took no notice.

‘I do not suggest a trip to Bond Street just yet, for I know you will not wish to appear where we may give rise to comment—at least, not until you have been officially presented to some of our more prominent hostesses.’

Maidie’s brows went up. ‘What you mean, Lady Hester, is that I am at present dressed too unfashionably to be seen.’

Lady Hester burst out laughing. ‘You are very frank! I was trying to be diplomatic.’

Maidie shrugged. ‘I prefer plain speaking. Besides, even had I not been made aware of my shortcomings in dress by Adela, I have sense enough to know that I cannot be so careless if I am to appear in society.’

‘Lady Mary has never been one to concern herself over her appearance,’ said Miss Wormley, hurrying into speech. ‘And—and she has decided views of her own.’

This became apparent, when the three ladies presently arrived at the quiet premises in Bloomsbury which housed the creations of Cerisette, a French modiste who had set up in business but three years since, on her escape from the troubles in Paris. Informed that the young lady was about to make her debut, Cerisette first directed their attention to a series of made-up gowns, all created in the now popular muslins with high waists, and all of them without exception, Maidie noted, in the palest of hues, whether sprigged or plain. She gazed upon the display, which was predominantly white, with a scattering of pastels, and resolutely shook her head.

‘No, no. These will not do at all!’

‘My dear Maidie,’ protested Lady Hester, coming up to her and eyeing the offending garments with a frowning countenance, ‘these are very suitable. All young females are accustomed to wear only the most modest of gowns when they are just out. What in the world is wrong with them?’

Maidie drew a breath. ‘It is not the styles, ma’am. I will be as modest as you please, only I cannot and will not wear anything made up in pastels.’

She saw the doubt in Lady Hester’s face, and knew that the moment had come. She drew a breath, and told herself she was being ridiculous. What did it matter what Lady Hester thought? Or anyone else, come to that? But it would not serve. In everything else, she might shrug off criticism or rebuke, but this was her one point of vulnerability.

‘What is it, child? What troubles you?’

For answer, Maidie went to one of the long mirrors with which the salon was furnished, and, with a tremble in her fingers which she could not control, once again removed her mustard-coloured bonnet. She looked at her own face, sighed deeply, and reached up to remove the pins that held the offending tresses in place.

‘What in the world…?’ began Lady Hester. But she was not attended to.

‘Worm, take these, if you p-please,’ Maidie uttered nervously, handing the pins to her duenna, who was hovering at her elbow. She took the rest of them out, and dragged her fingers through the mass of curling locks that, loosed from their moorings, sprang up about her face, forming a virulent ginger halo. She stared at her reflection in the acute misery that always attacked her when she obliged herself to look at it, and then turned, in a good deal of trepidation, but unsurprised to encounter the startled look in Lady Hester’s countenance. But it was not she who spoke first.

‘Bon dieu!’ came from Cerisette, who was standing stock-still, staring blankly at that extraordinary head of hair.

Tears started to Maidie’s eyes, and she felt the arm of her duenna come about her. Lifting her chin, she winked the hint of wetness away, and stared defiantly into Lady Hester’s face.

‘My poor child!’ said that lady gently. ‘It is not nearly as bad as you think.’

‘It is p-perfectly h-horrid,’ Maidie uttered unsteadily. ‘I look just like a marmalade cat! And when L-Lord Delagarde sees it, he will undoubtedly show me the d-door.’

Lady Hester’s eyes danced, but she refrained from laughing. ‘He will do no such thing, I promise you. Besides, we will have you looking altogether respectable before he has an opportunity to see it.’

A faint surge of hope lit Maidie’s breast. ‘Can—can anything be done about it?’

‘Assuredly.’

‘There now, you see, my love,’ said Miss Wormley comfortingly. But it was she who whisked her handkerchief from her sleeve, and fiercely blew her nose.

‘A good cut will make all the difference,’ Lady Hester said bracingly. ‘How fortunate that you have kept the length! We will have my own old coiffeur to you this very day.’

‘You don’t feel that I should do better to keep it the way I have been doing,’ Maidie suggested, with unusual diffidence. ‘Not that I care what anyone thinks of my appearance,’ she added hastily, and with scant regard for the truth, for in this aspect she was as sensitive as any young female, ‘but we must not forget that my object is to attract.’

‘No, we must not forget that,’ agreed Lady Hester, with an amused look.

‘Should we not keep it hidden?’ Maidie asked, too anxious to notice the hint of laughter. ‘It is far less noticeable when it is tightly banded to my head.’

‘Ah, but I have always found it to be an excellent thing to make a virtue of necessity. You will not, I know, wish to dupe any likely candidates for your hand into thinking that you are other than yourself.’

‘Oh. Er—no, of course not,’ agreed Maidie, with less than her usual assurance.

‘Since we must needs expose it, then,’ pursued Lady Hester, with only the faintest tremor in her voice, ‘let us by all means make the very best use of it that we can. I know that you will feel very much more confident once you see that it can be made to look quite pretty.’

Maidie was doubtful, but she bowed to Lady Hester’s superior knowledge. Besides, she found the whole matter of her hair so distressing that she knew her judgement on the subject to be unsound.

‘It is all the fault of my great-uncle Reginald,’ she said candidly, reviving a little of her usual spirit. ‘I know he could not help bequeathing me his hair, but as he was the only one of his family to catch it from my great-grandfather, it does come through him. I dare say he did not intend it, and it is the only thing he gave me for which I have any regret.’

‘His lordship was very fond of dear Maidie,’ confirmed the Worm helpfully. ‘But he saw nothing amiss with the colour of her hair, did he, my love?’

‘Yes, but he was a man. It made no difference to him.’

‘It need not be a problem to you, Maidie,’ Lady Hester assured her.

But Cerisette did not agree. When the customers turned to her once again, she broke into voluble protestation. Had she known in the beginning that mademoiselle was possessed of this so strong a head, assuredly she would not have shown her the pastels. Mademoiselle had shown good sense to refuse them. She could not risk her reputation upon mademoiselle appearing in anything but white. Fortunately, for the debutante, white was comme il faut.

‘Well, it is not comme il faut for me,’ declared Maidie stubbornly. ‘I cannot possibly wear white.’

In that case, returned Cerisette, drawing herself up, she could not possibly assist mademoiselle.

‘Dear me,’ said Lady Hester haughtily. ‘Then we shall take our custom elsewhere.’ Turning to Maidie, she smiled warmly upon her, murmuring reassuringly, ‘Come, child. I will not have you offended by this creature’s whim. Do not allow her to upset you. These French modistes are prone to take pets for the least little thing.’

But Maidie had turned mulish. She might be self-conscious about her hair, but she was not going to be driven ignominiously from Cerisette’s door. She resisted Lady Hester’s attempt to sweep her away.

‘One moment, if you please, ma’am.’ She turned to the modiste. ‘Perhaps you are not aware, madame, that I am the daughter of the late Earl of Shurland. I am also extremely wealthy. Since I require an entirely new wardrobe for the Season, you might reflect on how much my custom could enrich you.’

She was glad to see the shock gather in the woman’s face, and turned on her heel to march out before she could reply. Not much to her surprise, the modiste ran after her with a mouthful of apologies.