Staring out the window, lost in her daydream, Nell did not notice that Mr. Bentley had approached her. When he cleared his throat, she was abruptly returned to the present. "Ah, Mr. Bentley. You have brought me another book by the author of
Mansfield Park
?"
"Indeed I have. This one is a parody of the more lurid tales of Mrs. Radcliffe and others."
Nell frowned. "A parody? But I had rather have another such as I read before."
"None of her other books are in at the moment, but I will endeavor to hold on to them for you when they are returned."
"Thank you." Nell accepted the volumes he offered her, feeling slightly disappointed.
But time had slipped past and she had other errands to accomplish. She rose with a shake of her skirts to rid herself of the lingering daydream and her annoyance that Mr. Bentley had interrupted it. She followed the librarian across to his desk to sign for the volumes, and then she proceeded on her way.
Nell's basket was almost full by the time she stopped at a discreet shop on a side street where a modiste's sign (Madame de Vigne) hung beside the door. In the bow window was a gown of superior workmanship and style. Nell stood for a lengthy time contemplating it, and then with determination she pushed open the door. A little bell tinkled to announce her arrival and it wasn't long before a woman appeared in the archway of the simply furnished room.
"Mademoiselle," the woman said in a heavily accented voice. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I am interested in having a gown made, but there is a certain amount of hurry. I would like it to be ready for Friday evening."
"That would not be impossible," Madame de Vigne admitted, her gaze traveling down the length of Nell's long frame. "What had you in mind?"
"I saw a gown in
La Belle
Assemblée
which would be perfect." Nell reached toward the journals she recognized lying on a table, and opened one to the page she had memorized. "This one," she said, tapping the illustration. "I should like it in sprigged muslin, trimmed in a forest green."
The modiste considered the drawing for a while before nodding. "Yes, I could make it, but--forgive me for asking--have you any idea what such a gown would cost?"
Nell felt the color rise to her cheeks. No shopkeeper had ever asked her such a question before. The woman's eyes, she thought now, were critical. Perhaps she regarded Nell's height with disfavor, or she scorned the fact that Nell carried a basket like a country girl, or she found Nell's gown too old-fashioned. "I have no idea what such a gown would cost in Bath," she admitted. "In the country I might have it—material and labor—for under a guinea. I'm sure it must cost more here."
"Indeed it does, mademoiselle. If you provided me with the material early tomorrow morning, I would be able to present you with a finished gown on Friday afternoon for two guineas."
"Two guineas! Goodness." Nell's quarterly allowance from Aunt Longstreet was no more than five pounds. Two guineas seemed an exorbitant amount of money to spend on one dress. And yet… Nell really wanted to have a fashionable new gown, just this once. And she would need slippers to go with it. Nell bit her lip, frowning down at the dress design in the journal. "How much is the material likely to cost me?"
Madame de Vigne offered a Gallic shrug. "That would depend upon where you purchased it. You are tall, mademoiselle, so you would need to purchase three yards of the fabric. At Frasiers you might have it for ten shillings, perhaps."
"I see." Nell sadly shook her head. "Thank you, madame, but I believe I won't be able to make such a purchase."
As she turned to leave, Madame de Vigne put a staying hand on her arm. "I have a bolt of cloth, not a sprigged muslin, but it would suit you very well. Wait here."
She disappeared through the archway and Nell seriously debated whether she shouldn't just leave before the woman returned. But she stood her ground, staring at the long cheval glass across the room which mirrored her perfectly. Her walking dress did indeed appear dingy in the late afternoon sunlight.
After several minutes, during which Nell scrutinized her reflection more closely than was her wont, the French woman returned with an emerald green fabric in her arms.
"This," she said, stroking it almost reverently, "is a remnant from a gown I made some months ago. It is too strong a color for most ladies to wear, but I believe you could display it to advantage. But the gown would have to be more…"
She waved her expressive hands in the air, shaping and smoothing the outline of a woman's figure. "How would you say it? More simple, less ornate and frilled than the gown you are considering. Let us be honest. You are not in the first blush of youth, mam'selle. The dress you have chosen, it is well enough, I suppose, for the young girl making her come-out. But you, you have a few years of maturity. And your height!
Mon dieu
! You must convince the gentlemen that they admire such stature."
"But I don't imagine they do, madame," Nell suggested.
"Bah! What do they know? Not one gentleman in five understands the first thing about fashion. So, you have only to convince them that only on one of such height could such an elegant gown show to advantage, and
voilá
! They believe your height is to be admired."
Nell's lips twisted ruefully. "Would that it were so simple, madame. But no matter. The question here is whether I could afford such a gown as you describe, and I very much fear that I could not."
"But that is precisely what you can, and must, do, mam'selle. You cannot go about Bath in such undistinguished garments. No gentleman will take a second look at you."
Nell laughed. "But, madame, I am not interested in having gentlemen take a second look at me."
"Bah!" Madame de Vigne exclaimed again. "Every young woman not yet married is interested in having young gentlemen notice her."
"Then let us suppose that such is my aim," Nell offered. "That does not change the fact that I am unable to afford a new wardrobe, much less the elegant gown you suggest."
Madame's eyes narrowed, considering her. "But you thought that you could afford one such item for two guineas."
"Well, I was debating the possibility until I realized that I must purchase the fabric, and find myself a pair of matching evening slippers. Much as I should enjoy such a gown, I fear my allowance does not run to so great an expense."
"Then your allowance is inadequate."
"Quite likely." Nell sighed and stroked the fine emerald satin cloth before regretfully dropping her hand.
Madame gave a little puff of disgust. "Then you must ask for more."
"Madame would not say so if she knew the source of my income." Nell shook her head. "I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time. "
"Two pounds five shillings, the material included."
"Show me what you have in mind."
Madame searched among the fashion journals and extracted one from the stack. Moistening her index finger, she paged rapidly through until she reached the illustration she sought. "This," she said, tapping it with her finger. "This, in the emerald satin, but without all the ornamentation. A tight corsage, short sleeves slashed in the Spanish style, the robe draped to the side. You would make a very fine figure in it, mam'selle."
Nell told herself it was rash to spend so much of her allowance on one fashionable gown. She reminded herself that she would likely have nowhere to wear the gown once she and Aunt Longstreet returned to Westmorland. She cautioned herself that she would not look so charming in the dress as the model in the illustration did. And she said, "Thank you, madame. I shall have it if you can make it up by Friday."
* * * *
Friday arrived with a change in the weather. Instead of the sparkling sunlight that had graced the golden stone of Bath for a week, there was a drizzling rain that made everything look sadly bedraggled. Nell had waited as long as she dared before hurrying to Madame de Vigne's, but she had been forced to bring the gown home in a drenching rain.
She hovered as her aunt's dresser, an ancient and stiff-lipped woman, checked the gown for water damage, and sighed when informed that there was none. The dresser, however, regarded Nell with astonishment as she held the gown up for inspection. "And what would you be needing something so fine for, Miss Armstrong?" she asked.
“My aunt and I are going to a concert this evening. She must have mentioned it to you."
"Indeed, but she made no mention of new gowns. I believe she is to wear her half-mourning from after her papa died."
Nell had refused to allow the woman's disapproval to lower her spirits. Tonight, for perhaps the first time in her life, she intended to indulge in a real fantasy--to attend a social function dressed as a proper member of society and escorted by a gentleman of the first stare. That would be a memory to carry back to Westmorland with her, one she could weave daydreams around for years to come, if she chose.
Naturally, Aunt Longstreet had been informed by her dresser of Nell's new gown. When she joined her niece in the parlor, she regarded this confection with a critical eye. "Must have cost you a pretty penny. Don't expect me to be paying for it."
"I won't, Aunt Longstreet."
"Much too dark a color for a girl your age, and plain as a sack. Couldn't afford a few roses or a pearl trim, eh? Better if you hadn't bothered."
"I quite like it, myself," Nell admitted, giving the décolletage a slight tug upward. She was not accustomed to wearing so revealing a gown, though Madame de Vigne had laughed at her concern and said, "
Mon dieu
, yours will be the most modest gown there!"
Any further comment Rosemarie might have made was interrupted by Sir Hugh’s arrival. The baronet was impeccably turned out, as always, with shirtpoints just high enough to give Aunt Longstreet a target for her derogatory remarks. He merely grinned at her and turned toward Nell, where his eyes arrested. It was obvious that he had expected to find her once again sporting her aunt's old-fashioned raiment and that the sight of her in a fashionable gown left him at a loss for words.
At length he bowed and said, "Miss Armstrong. What a charming gown."
"Thank you, Sir Hugh. It’s in honor of your arranging our musical evening. It would be a pity to be in Bath and not attend such an event."
"A lot of caterwauling and discordant racket," Rosemarie interposed. "The only decent music ever composed is that to which one can dance."
"An interesting theory," Sir Hugh said. "I'm fond of waltzes myself."
"Waltzes? Nonsense! A flagrant attempt to display the human form in public," Nell's aunt declared. "It's that hussy's German influence."
Nell, not wishing to get into a discussion of the Prince Regent's wife, decided to turn the topic to one of more immediate concern. "Is it still raining, Sir Hugh?"
"Scarcely at all, and my carriage is right outside your door. If you are ready, ladies…"
Nell allowed him to drape her ancient pelisse around her shoulders, but she refused to close it tightly, unwilling to crumple her new gown. She wore her only decent jewelry, her grandmother's pearls, and white kid gloves. Madame de Vigne had suggested how to dress her hair: the front in ringlets and the back in plaits fastened with tiny bows of the emerald satin. Mrs. Hodges had helped Nell dye an old pair of white kid shoes a color of green which did not perfectly match the gown, but which seemed perfectly adequate to Nell. Who, after all, was going to pay attention to her shoes?
From the moment they arrived at the concert Aunt Longstreet appeared to be searching the company for someone. Sir Hugh asked if he might help her to locate anyone in particular, and she snapped that there was not a soul on earth she was interested in seeing.
Nell exchanged a sympathetic look with Sir Hugh and took her seat on Sir Hugh’s right, as her aunt was on his left. She was keen to hear what he had to say of Mrs. Dorsey but dared not inquire with her aunt so close by.
Nell had never been to so elaborate a concert before. She and her aunt had been invited to small gatherings in their neighborhood where musical entertainments were provided, but these had been simple and usually consisted only of local players. Tonight, the program informed her, there would be a world-famous singer, and the best musicians from all across the country. Her excitement gave a rosy glow to her cheeks, and a luster to her eyes, though she was only conscious of a joyous anticipation of the music and a deep satisfaction with her new gown.
“Will your sister be here this evening?” she asked Sir Hugh.
“No, Emily had other plans. And I am afraid she is not such a lover of music as you are yourself.”
“First sensible thing I’ve heard about her,” Rosemarie muttered, but her attention was quickly drawn away by the arrival of a grand dame with three ostrich plumes of such height as to bring down her immediate scorn. “Will you look at that, Helen? Those feathers are taller than the ones your mother and I wore to be presented at court! Pity the poor fellow who sits behind her this evening.”
Nell was vastly relieved to see that the woman did not sit down in front of them, but some distance away to their right. Although Aunt Longstreet’s voice had not been loud enough for more than their immediate neighbors to hear, Nell was well aware that her aunt would have had no compunction in voicing her displeasure if her view had been blocked—never mind that she might not care to see the singers and the musicians.
Whoever Aunt Longstreet was looking for apparently did not come, as she gave a sniff of annoyance and finally settled back in her chair just as the first musical number was announced. Nell was immediately caught up in the singing. She leaned slightly forward in her seat, intent on the whole experience—the man and woman who sang, the musicians with their sonorous instruments, the glory of the piece itself. When the first selection came to a conclusion, she felt almost stunned with the wonder of all those elements coming together to offer her a far richer musical experience than she had ever had before.
“Tell me,” she said, turning to Sir Hugh. “Are all the performances in Bath so fine?”