So three delightful hats were carried down to Miss Merriville’s job-carriage — now dignified by the presence on the box of Owen, the trustworthy footman chosen by Mr Trevor, and approved by Buddle.
“Well, wasn’t that famous?” said Frederica, her eyes sparkling with mingled triumph and mischief. “Three hats for very little more than the price of one!”
“Frederica, they were shockingly expensive!”
“No more than we can afford. Oh, well, they were not precisely dagger-cheap, but hats are most important, you know! Don’t tease yourself, love! The next thing is to decide upon a ball-dress for your come-out. Didn’t you like any of the dresses we saw at Franchot’s? Not even the one with the Russian bodice, and the inlets of blue satin down the front?” Charis shook her head. A little disappointed, Frederica said: “I thought it would be particularly becoming to you. However, if you didn’t care for it — What did you think of that very pretty one of white satin, over a pink bodice?”
“I thought you would look charmingly in it! Pink always becomes you.”
“Chan’s, we are not talking about a dress for me, and, even if we were, nothing would prevail upon me to make a figure of myself in a dress designed for a girl! Besides, you know very well that Miss Chibbet is making me exactly what I want, for you were with me when I purchased that orange-blossom Italian crape, and the satin for the petticoat!”
“Yes, and I know very well what I want, too,” said Charis. “Please, Frederica, say I may have it!”
“But, dearest —!” exclaimed Frederica. “Of course you may have anything you want! Unless you’ve set your heart on something quite unsuitable, and I know you haven’t, because you have such good taste. Where did you see it?”
“I’ll show you presently,” promised Charis, giving her sister’s hand a grateful squeeze.
More she refused to disclose, only shaking her head when questioned, and folding her pretty lips tightly together. But when they reached Upper Wimpole Street, she took Frederica to her own bedchamber, and laid before her the latest number of the Ladies’ Magazine, opened to display a sketch of a willowy damsel elegantly attired in a three-quarter dress of white sarsnet fastened down the centre with rosettes of pearls, and worn over a white satin petticoat. “W-what do you think, Frederica?” she asked, directing an anxious look at her sister.
Critically surveying the sketch, and mentally eradicating from it such additions to the ensemble as a purple-puce shawl, a tiara, and a black lace head-veil, Frederica came to the conclusion that Charis’s instinct had not betrayed her. She was a tall girl, though not (mercifully) as tall as the lady depicted, who appeared to be quite seven-foot high, and the long smooth line of the over-dress would admirably become her. “I like it!” she said decidedly. “It’s simple, and yet not in the common way. You are perfectly right, Charis: it would be excessively becoming to you! Particularly those soft, graceful folds to the petticoat, without any flounces or trimming round the hem.”
“I knew you would say so!” breathed Charis.
“Yes, but — ” Frederica paused, a frown gathering on her brow. She raised her eyes to the melting blue ones so pleadingly fixed on her face, and said: “You would like Franchot to copy it, I collect. But would she? I am not very sure, but I fancy that London modistes use only their own designs.”
“No, no, no!” said Charis, with unusual vehemence. “I mean to make it myself!”
“No, that you shall not!” replied Frederica. “What, make your first appearance in a home-made dress? Never! Charis, if you knew for how long I have dreamed of presenting you with everything fine about you —!”
“You shall! I promise you shall, my darling — my best of sisters!” Charis declared, warmly embracing her. “Only listen to me! I know I’m not clever, or bookish, and I don’t paint, or play the pianoforte, but even my aunt will own that I can sew! Yes, and I can cut things out, too, and set a sleeve! Why, don’t you remember the dress I made to wear at the Squire’s party, and how everyone tried to discover whether Aunt Scrabster had sent it from London, or whether we had found a dressmaker in Ross, or Herefordshire, no one else knew anything about? Even Lady Peasmore was hoaxed, for she told Marianne that there was a certain sort of something to my dress which clearly showed that it had been designed by a modiste of the first stare! And I like doing it, you know I do, Frederica!”
This was unanswerable, for Charis was indeed a notable needlewoman; but it was not until Miss Winsham, alone with her favourite niece, said stringently: “Let her! If she makes a botch of it — which she won’t, for this I will say: she may be a ninnyhammer, but she has cleverer fingers than you, Frederica! — it will keep her occupied, and out of the way of that encroaching coxcomb next door!” — that Frederica agreed to the scheme.
X
Miss Winsham being only too glad to depute the duty of chaperoning her nieces to Lady Buxted, the Misses Merriville set out alone on the evening of the Alverstoke ball, Miss Winsham, at the last moment, flinging up a window to demand whether they had provided themselves with pocket-handkerchiefs, Buddle adjuring them to take care not to allow their skirts to brush against the step of the carriage, and Owen handing them tenderly into this vehicle. Each of the sisters looked forward to the party in the expectation of spending a delightful evening; neither betrayed (or, indeed, felt) any of the nervousness common amongst young ladies making their first appearances in society. Charis, untroubled by ambition, and unmoved by the extravagant compliments she received, was confident that the party would be enjoyable, because she always did enjoy parties: people were so kind! No fears assailed her that her hand might not be solicited for every dance, for such a thing had never happened to her. If she had thought about the matter at all, she would have said that it arose from the circumstance of having so many acquaintances in Herefordshire; and if it had been suggested to her that in London, where she was unknown she might be obliged to sit amongst the chaperons for a considerable part of the evening, she would have accepted the warning perfectly placidly, and without the smallest feeling of pique.
Frederica was not without ambition, but it was centred on her sister. Once satisfied that Charis was in high bloom, and that the gown Charis had made for herself would challenge comparison with Franchot’s most expensive creation, she knew no qualms: Charis’s beauty, and her unaffected manners, would ensure her success. As for herself, being (in her own view) so far past her prime as to have become almost an ape-leader, her only concern was to provide Charis with an impeccable background. She could see no difficulty about that. She had been the mistress of her father’s household for too long to suffer agonies of shyness; the orange-blossom dress made for her by Miss Chibbet, and given a touch of a la modality by Charis’s clever fingers, was just the thing for a lady who, without being precisely stricken in years, knew herself to be beyond the marriageable age; the diamond necklace, bestowed by the late Mr Merriville on his wife, gave her dignity; and the little Alexandrian cap with which, deaf to Charis’s protests, she had completed her elegant toilette, clearly demonstrated that she was to be ranked amongst the dowagers.