Behind Lady Murray’s back, Simpkins gaped at Anne with astonishment and incipient fury, and then realised what her plan was. She swallowed. ‘Quite right, m’lady,’ she said tonelessly. ‘It’s not the sort of work I like to see in a finished gown.’ She gave Anne a grim nod of approval, and probably at that moment almost regarded Anne as an equal.
Miss Murray’s gown was of white mousseline de soie covered with tiny raised gold spots, cut very low in the front, and with tiny puffed sleeves that left the neck, shoulders and arms bare. Salton, round-eyed, murmured to Anne that it was little better than a nightdress, and that she knew what her mother would have said if she had dared to go into a public place in such a thing. Anne’s help was required in sewing some padding into the bosom, for the deep décolletage revealed that Miss Murray had not been generously endowed by nature. She made up for it, however, by having golden hair which, since her crop was now growing out, Salton was able to arrange to great advantage. Caroline’s hair was only mouse-fair, but she was the prettier of the two, and plump as a young chicken, and she looked very well in her gown of pale blue silk with an overdress of spider-gauze.
Lady Murray had reached the stage of deciding which of her jewellery she would lend to her daughters for the occasion when, two days before the ball, she was stricken with a heavy cold, and retired to her chamber. Anne was summoned to the bed of pain.
‘You see, Miss Peters, how ailing I am,’ Lady Murray said tragically. ‘I may recover in time for the ball, but in case I do not, you must be prepared to chaperone Miss Murray and Miss Caroline. You must furbish up one of your gowns into something suitable to the occasion. Simpkins will help you.’
‘Thank you ma’am,’ Anne said, ‘but I’m sure you will be well again in time.’
Lady Murray waved her away, and Anne left, retaining a grave expression until she was outside the door. Then she could not repress a grin of delight. She was quite sure Lady Murray would not be better in time, and what unmarried female of twenty-three could help feeling an upsurge of joy at the prospect of going to a ball, even if she were only going as a chaperone. She had no intention of furbishing up an old gown: two days, even if she had to work all night, was long enough for her to make a new one, and she had not been looking in shop windows for the last six months for nothing. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she had sufficient of her wages saved to buy the material.
Simpkins’ recently acquired approval of her stretched far enough to advise against the expense. ‘For who knows but what her la’ship will decide to go at the last minute anyway, even if she is still sneezing? And then what chance will you have to wear it? And in any case, no one will see it. You’ll be sitting down in a corner all evening.’
‘I know all that,’ Anne said, ‘but I shall have the pleasure of it myself, don’t you see? I must have something pretty, just once, even if no one but me ever sees it.’
Simpkins sniffed. ‘Well, a fool and her money’s soon parted, if you ask me. But I’ll help you cut out and make up, if you like. Only you’d better not be too fine, or her la’ship’ll have it off your back before you can say knife. And you’ll have to wear a cap, or she’ll think you’re being forward.’
‘Of course, I understand. Thank you,’ Anne said, smiling so rapturously that the dresser felt almost sorry for a moment for the disappointment she felt was coming Anne’s way. Still, she shrugged, each to the devil his own way, and stumped off to answer my lady’s bell.
Lady Murray’s cold, far from improving, worsened to the point where even she could not think herself fit to attend the ball. So on the evening in question, it was Anne who went to the young ladies’ sitting-room to usher them downstairs. Her new gown was of Italian crepe, light grey, with a dusky-pink silk underdress, which she thought was both sober and becoming. The bodice was shawl-cut, and therefore revealed little of her bosom, but it had very clever Russian sleeves, which had robbed her of a great deal of sleep, for they were extremely difficult to set, and needed a great many tiny stitches. She had draped a shawl of plain grey Albany gauze caught around her elbows, and even with her hair covered by a Mameluke cap, she felt she did not look ike a dowdy.
Her opinion was soon confirmed. ‘Oh, Miss Peters, you do look nice,’ said the good-natured Caroline as she entered the room. ‘And you have such a way of wearing a shawl! I wish I might wear mine as well.’
Miss Murray only looked sour. ‘Do hurry up, Miss Peters. We have been waiting for you this age. Has Mama seen your dress? Does she approve it?’
‘Of course,’ Anne said quietly. In fact Lady Murray had been half asleep and not inclined to be disturbed and had waved her away without more than a glance.
‘Have you the sewing-things in your reticule in case anything should tear?’ Miss Murray pursued. ‘I’m sure it will be a dreadful squeeze.’
‘I have; but if you loop up your train as I have shown you, and don’t lean towards your partner when you dance, then you won’t have your hem trodden on,’ Anne said mildly.
‘It’s only that silly Gregory de l’Aude she leans towards,’ Caroline said wittily. ‘She’s spoony on him, and he has such big feet he can hardly help treading on some part of her if they are in the same room together.’
‘Miss Caroline, where did you learn such language?’ Anne rebuked her. If Miss Murray were put in a bad mood, it would be she who would suffer.
‘His feet are not big,’ Miss Murray retorted, reddening with anger. ‘They’re the right size for his height. Just because you only dance with little, undersized men, Caro—’
‘Now that’s enough, young ladies,’ Anne said hastily. ‘If you are quite ready, we had better go down to the drawing-room. You know your father hates to be kept waiting.’
Sir Ralph was alone, pacing up and down the room and occasionally wrestling his watch out of his tight fob in order to suck his teeth at it. Hartley Murray was dining with friends and going on to the ball with them, though Anne privately doubted whether he would arrive much before the end.
‘You’re late,’ Sir Ralph snapped as they entered. ‘The carriage has been ready ten minutes. Miss Peters, you understand your duties? I may be called away during the evening to one or other of the embassies. If I am not present at the end of the ball, it will be for you to see the young ladies are brought home safely.’
‘Yes, Sir Ralph.’
‘And pay particular attention to their partners. To be on the safe side, you had better not give permission for them to dance with anyone who has not actually been received here at this house.’
‘I understand, Sir Ralph,’ said Anne, seeing out of the corner of her eye the downward curve Miss Murray’s mouth had taken.
‘And take particular care to remain nearby during supper. It is important that you are seen to be present. There is a great deal of informality at the Tuileries, but remember we shall not be in Paris much longer, and it is by our own countrymen that we shall be judged when we are back at home.’
‘Yes, Sir Ralph,’ Anne said, suppressing a desire to blurt out questions. Not be in Paris much longer? What, then, was in the air? It was the first time that any hint had been given of the termination of their visit, and, looking at the frown puckering her employer’s brow, Anne felt sure he would not have given away so much now if his mind had not been on other things.
Chapter Three
Despite Sir Ralph’s complaints, they were still among the early arrivals when their carriage turned from the rue de Rivoli into the Carrousel. The First Consul, like the French kings before him, frequently used this enormous open square for parades and military reviews; today it was empty but for the ceremonial guard. The Murrays’ carriage drove round the central triumphal arch, surmounted with the great bronze horses of Byzantium which the French had stolen from the San Marco Basilica in Venice seven years before, and joined the tail of coaches working their way towards the main entrance of the palace. It was a splendidly ornate edifice, built in the Renaissance style for Catherine de’ Medici, and though the interior had suffered badly during the violent days of the Revolution, it had been restored, repainted, and stocked anew with fine furnishings, carpets, pictures and porcelain, many of which had come from other royal palaces, now in state hands.