âNo, it was my, um, pleasure,â I said and rubbed my arm.
The hot guy shook his head. âIâll ring the police. I bet that thug wasnât expecting to be collared by such a charming young lady. Really, well done,â he said.
Gemma Goodwin, charming, without her boob enhancers and bronzer? My face broke into a grin as Lady C steered me towards a nearby bench, moved a discarded magazine and we sat down. I bit my thumbnail.
âMega unladylike, wasnât it â me running like that, shouting âoi!â I just couldnât stand by and watch that bugâ¦that loser steal someoneâs handbag. Iâd do it again.â
âJolly glad to hear it. You seem to have this idea that minding oneâs manners and dressing modestly equates with being, well, something of a lily-livered wimp.â Lady C pulled a leaf out of my hair. âWhereas ladies display strength of character, they are fair and charitable.â She beamed. âQuite simply, I was impressed.â
âYou, um, arenât disappointed?â
Her eyes sparkled. âGemma, my dear, Iâm beginning to understand why you and Abigail are such good friends. With a new hair colour and clothes, you could be in with a real chance of pulling this off. I used to run intensive etiquette courses and might just be able to teach you everything you need in the next ten days until the final. Tonight weâll start with table manners. I brought some of the more adventurous foods you might encounter, like asparagus, mussels and quail eggs.â
Urgh! Sheâd better teach me the etiquette for throwing up.
I picked up the magazine. It was a TV guide for next week. Oh my God! Million Dollar Mansion was advertised on the front. I flicked through and came to a full page photo of the Earl of Croxley, a slim, grey-bearded man with a pipe, in a tweed suit. Lord Edward, his son, looked a moody so-and-so, as if the camera was his worst enemy. Yet I could forgive his Victor Meldrew expression because of those tousled honey curls and broad shoulders. Phwoaar!
On the opposite page were the other finalists. With dyed black hair greased back and an expensive suit, the divorced Baron of Marwick was in his sixties and looked like his middle name was Smug. His son, Harry Gainsworth, wore a flash tie and mega gold watch. Their family had owned Marwick Castle for less than a century. Both held glasses of champagne and in their interviews called the Earl of Croxley a âboring old fartâ.
Whereas the Croxleys⦠Once more I gazed at the photo of Applebridge Hall. My eye caught tatty gardens and crumbling brickwork â talk about shabby chic. I read the Earlâs warm tales about his grandparents and Elizabethan ancestorsâit must be hard for him, all that history suddenly at risk. But could little old me really help save the Croxleysâ mansion?
âShame, isnât it, that Abbeyâs dad and the Earl arenât on talking terms â that Abbey and Rupert arenât in touch with their cousin,â I said.
âIt is, dear. I believe Edward made some attempt to contact them when he wasâ¦ooh, almost twenty. Abigail and Rupert were still at junior school. He sent them cards and the occasional book. But Richard never passed them on.â
âThat stinks! Does Abbey know?â
âYes. Richard told the children it was for the best. That they were too young to understand the reasons for the estrangement and what was really going on. The cards eventually stopped.â
Blimey. This was hardcore falling out, not to let the kids at least have contact. Without warning, I sneezed and sniffed loudly.
Lady C tutted and passed me her dainty lace handkerchief.
âSee?â I said. âWe could change my appearance â even with my own style and hair colour, Iâve been mistaken for your niece. But everything else about me is wrong. I talk while I eat and, thanks to Uncle Pete, I know more about brick-laying than cross-stitch or croquet.â
âLadies arenât stuck in the nineteenth century, my dear,â said Lady Constance. âExpert knowledge in any area is admirable.â
At that moment the National Anthem blared out from her handbag. That was some ringtone. Lady C took out her phone.
âHello, Abigail⦠Pardon? School? Oh, dear. Oh dearie, dearie me. Noâdonât mention that. Ah, and thereâs something elseâ¦?â A pained expression deepened her wrinkles. âYes, quite. What a shame. Leave it with me. Speak later, poppetâ¦â She ended the call.
âBad news?â I said.
Lady C stared at me for a few seconds. âAbigail misunderstood the start date of the final. Filming actually begins on September the first.â
âThis Saturday?â I squeaked. âThat only gives us four days! And wasnât there something else â about a school?â
Lady Câs shoulders sagged. âThatâs irrelevant now, seeing as your transformation is quite impossible. Poor Abigail. You were her only chance.â
Uh oh â another adrenaline rush as my conscience pricked. Months ago, Abbey had taken me in, after I left Dadâs so that he could turn my bedroom into a nursery for his new girlfriendâs twins. Truth be told, I still owed her big time. My heart raced, meaning I was about to do something stupid⦠Urghâlike deceiving people and pretending to be posh. An uncomfortable twinge pinched my stomach. Yet just one look at Lady C reminded me just how important this was to Abbey. And if you couldnât step out of your comfort zone to help mates, then I reckoned it was what Abbey would call âa pretty poor showâ.
âWhat the hell,â I heard my sing-song voice say. âLetâs give it our best shot. Applebridge Hall, here I come!â
If anyone could imitate my best bud, it was me.
LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY
Monday 27
August
âCommentsâ
10.30p.m. After several pleasant hours of reading, here in my beloved library, Iâve just bobbed back online to close down the laptop. How extraordinary that already several people have commentedâfor that I thank you.
Drunkwriter, your poem wasâ¦thought-provoking. Historybuff, Applebridge Hall was indeed built almost five hundred years agoâby the first Earl of Croxley, who fought against the Spanish Armada. EtonMess, close as cousin Abigail and myself are, I, um, donât profess to know any of her personal measurements. Nor whether she prefers tights to stockings⦠For details regarding her appearance, you must wait to see her on the show. Which reminds me of terrific news, blog-readersâshe just rang, to confirm her arrival this Saturday.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_fc2aee7f-a973-5663-b5d5-08464a92e2ce)
Ever wondered how it might feel to go on one of those makeover shows where they revamp your look for The Big Reveal? Well, take it from me, youâre torn between dying to peek and fearing you wonât recognize the reflection at all. Especially when you quite liked the former youâI would miss my rub-in tan and Dairy Milk hair.
I glanced at my packed suitcase as I waited for the Million Dollar Mansion car to drive me the hourâs journey to Applebridge Hall. Lady C had pinned up my newly dyed, strawberry-blonde hair. The nail polish was clear, the chicken fillets gone and the make-up toned down. Nor did my outfit show legs or cleavage.
I hadnât needed as much help from Lady C as Iâd expected, appearance-wise. After all, Iâd lived with Abbey for months now and knew just how much mascara she liked to apply to her lashes (think more wiry daddy-long-legs and less furry tarantula).
Lady C yawned and pointed towards Abbeyâs full-length mirror. Weâd hardly slept for the last four days. It was like suffering from an almighty hangover.
âTime to take a look, dear,â she said.
I tiptoed forward. âShiitt!â
âGemma! After everything weâve practised this week. How terribly disappointing that you still use that ghastly word.â
âWhat? Ohâ¦Sorry.â I giggled. âBut itâs wicked! I do look just like Abbey.â Apart from my cuddlier tum and freckles. I swivelled from side to side, eyeing the knee-length navy skirt and red polo shirt. I wore KMid high nude shoes and gold stud earrings and a little silk red scarf around my neck⦠There was a definite classy air hostess vibe going on!
âNow, youâll have men fighting to open doors for you.â
I shrugged. âWhy should they? Guys, girls, weâre all equals.â
âYou think thatâs how men treated you, in your old clothes?â She smiled and shook her head. âRight, youâve got my mobile phone number, dear. Donât hesitate to ring if you need me. Now, remember, cutleryâ¦â
âWork from the outside inâ¦â I said and gave a big yawn, remembering to cover my mouth.
âAnd alcohol?â
âDonât clink glasses or get drunk.â
Carrying my suitcase, I left Abbeyâs bedroom and followed Lady C into the lounge.