‘Thank you, Otto, no more for me,’ Frédérique said at table. ‘I can never eat before going to a ball, you know what I’m like.’
‘Still as nervous as ever?’ asked Otto. ‘I thought it was only before a girl first comes out in society that she can’t eat. You poor girl!’
‘Freddie, what have you been doing to your dress? I do hope you haven’t ruined it,’ said Madame van Erlevoort anxiously.
‘No, Mama dear, I took Mathilda’s advice in the end and left everything as it was. Ooh, I can’t wait to show you,’ she went on, turning to Otto. ‘I’ll be all ethereal in my blue tulle — you know, as if I’m floating. Ah, here come the Philistines!’
She was referring to the Van Rijssel foursome, who were charging into the dining room with little Nico in front, blowing his ear-splitting toy trumpet. They had come to eat their orange with wine and sugar in the dining room; Madame van Erlevoort placed Nico beside her and prepared his dessert with care, after which the flaxen-haired rascal gobbled the sliced fruit while the juice trickled down his chin, pausing now and then to blow his trumpet.
Tina, Jo and Etienne hotly disputed the next portion, getting their forks entangled in the process, while Freddie told Otto about the people they would likely encounter at the Eekhofs.
‘Well, the Hijdrechts will be there, and so will Eline Vere, as well as the Van Larens, and Françoise Oudendijk. Don’t you think Françoise is prettier than Marguerite van Laren? Tell me, Otto, which of them will you be courting? Oh, Nico! My poor ears! Nico!’
Tooterootoo, tooterootoo, sounded the trumpet.
‘Nico, you’re driving me demented with that din. Put that thing down this instant and eat properly. Look what you’ve done to your jerkin!’ scolded Mathilda.
‘Oh, he just likes his music — don’t you, poppet?’ gushed Madame van Erlevoort, and she put her arm around the child just as he aimed his trumpet at her ear and gave a loud blast in a shocking show of disrespect.
. .
Afterwards, Freddie and Etienne played with the children while their grandmother retired to her boudoir and Otto smoked his cigar in the company of Mathilda, who had taken up her embroidery. The table was cleared by Rika, the maid, much hampered by Nico, whom she feared would upset her tray stacked with plates and glasses. The clock struck eight at last and Miss Frantzen came to fetch the children.
‘Ciel de mon âme!’ exclaimed Frédérique from the depths of the sofa, where she was half smothered by Tina, Jo and Madeleine, and she extricated herself from their tentacular embraces. ‘I must get upstairs; Mathilda, will you come and help?’
‘Very well,’ responded Mathilda, rising. ‘As for you, children, you must be off, it’s bedtime!’
‘No, I won’t go to bed, first I want to see Aunt Freddie looking all pretty!’ Tina bleated. ‘And I want to help, too.’
‘Aunt Freddie doesn’t need your help; anyway, she always looks pretty,’ said Mathilda. ‘Be off with you now, and go with Miss Frantzen like good children.’
Freddie rushed away, and as Madame van Erlevoort was resting Mathilda was able for once to impose her will. She shooed her foursome up the stairs, pausing on each tread to stop Nico from hopping down again and Madeleine from playing with Hector.
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Freddie!’ called Mathilda, ‘just as soon as the children are upstairs!’
Freddie shouted from her room that she was waiting, and began to brush her long, wavy hair, Cleopatra’s cascading tresses. . Mathilda was to do her hair; she was so clever at it. Then she laid out her accessories: fan, gloves, pocket handkerchief, and slipped on her dancing shoes of pale-blue satin. A nervous blush coloured her milk-white complexion as she beheld herself in the cheval-glass, curving her lips into a smile to make the dimples appear in her cheeks. Not too bad, she thought, not too bad.
Half an hour later Mathilda appeared, accompanied by Martha, the upstairs maid who did duty as a chambermaid, and Frédérique sat down at her dressing table in her chemise and her blue dancing slippers.
‘Just as simple and pretty as last time, please, Tilly!’ said Frédérique, with Martha standing at the ready with combs, curling tongs and hairpins. ‘Oh, how chilly it is in here! Martha, put something on my shoulders, will you?’
Martha draped a brightly coloured shawl about her shoulders, and before long Mathilda’s deft fingers had completed her hairdo.
‘There!’ she said, adjusting the curly fringe on her brow. ‘Simple, neat, and it won’t sag, either. Happy now?’
Frédérique studied her reflection and touched her fingertips to the sides of her hair.
‘Yes, very,’ she said. ‘And now. . now for my floaty tulle.’
The shawl was flung aside and rapidly retrieved by Martha, who bustled about tidying the garments that lay scattered about the room. Mathilda lifted up the cloud of delicate azure and let it sink, light as a sigh, over Freddie’s head.
‘It’s like being a fairy, or a water nymph!’ said Freddie with raised arms, while Tilly and Martha went down on their knees to fluff out the billowing skirt. La, la, la, hummed Freddie, tapping her feet.
‘Do keep still, Freddie. Martha, hand me a pin; that bow has come undone.’
‘How do I look, Martha?’
‘Ooh, lovely, Miss!’
‘Isn’t it a bit bare at the side now, Tilly?’
‘Not at all, it’s all ribbons and bows anyway. What more do you want? You’re all aflutter. Oh for goodness sake, Freddie, do try and keep still.’
The door began to creak, as an unseen hand gently pushed it ajar.
‘What is it this time?’ exclaimed Mathilda crossly when she saw Ernestine in the doorway, shivering and wraithlike in her white nightdress.
‘Please, Mama,’ she said timidly yet with an undercurrent of mischief. ‘I only meant to. .’
‘Ernestine! You’ll catch your death of cold out there in your nightdress! How disobedient you are!’
‘Quick, Tina, hop into my bed, you’ll be nice and warm there; mind my bodice, though!’ cried Freddie, adding in a whisper: ‘Oh, Tilly, never mind.’
Tina had already clambered into Freddie’s bed and proceeded to nestle down like a dove among the blankets, happily reaching out her little fingers to touch the blue satin of Frédérique’s bodice, which was still lying on the pillows.
Mathilda sighed and shrugged, resigned as ever, but moved the garment out of harm’s way. With a rustle of moiré skirts, Madame van Erlevoort was the next to appear in the doorway.
‘Doesn’t Mama look lovely!’ cried Frédérique. ‘You’ll see, Tilly, I’ll be the last to be ready! Oh, do hurry up!’
Mathilda laced up the back of the blue-satin bodice while Madame van Erlevoort looked on, smiling proudly at her diaphanous water nymph. Then came a light, scuffling sound from the landing, and looking round she spied Johan and Madeleine, both shivering in their nightwear.
‘This is the limit! You’re driving me to despair!’ Mathilda burst out; she left Frédérique standing with her bodice half-laced and flew to the door. ‘How could you be so naughty? You’re making Mama very sad. You’ll be ill tomorrow, all of you. Go upstairs at once, this minute!’
Her voice was so sharp that the youngsters almost began to cry, but Madame van Erlevoort came to their rescue.