Even hideously embarrassed and wishing herself dead, Selena noted those words. Flint would be impressed.
Meanwhile Blue Gown was frowning. Blue Gown held strong views on blacks, and was present solely to oblige Pink Gown, who held identical views and was receiving a nigger- woman in her salon only because Mr Pimenta had first cajoled, then begged, and finally screamed in her face a dreadful secret never made know to her before: Meshod Pimenta had overextended his credit and was in desperate need of Captain Flint's trove of gold and silver coin. Mrs Flint must therefore be received — and in this matter there was to be no denial — for Captain Flint must at all costs be indulged in the hope that he might be persuaded to become a little more open about how much he'd got and where he'd damn-well got it!
Pink Gown knew all this. Blue Gown didn't. She'd not been told.
"So," she said nastily, "who are your friends, Mrs Garland? Where do you come from?"
Selena thought of the master's special house, and the master on his back, half-naked, eyes bulging, and choked on his own vomit. She thought of Flint, peering at her through holes drilled in the cabin wall. She thought of Long John, probably gone from her life forever… and tried to invent a family history on the spot.
It wasn't very good. It wasn't very convincing. Blue Gown and Pink Gown sneered. More questions followed. Awkward questions, drawing evasive answers. When tea was served, even Selena's obvious familiarity with the etiquette of teacups didn't help. They sneered at that too.
Selena was sunk in despair and fighting the tears. She stared at the floor and hoped that they'd leave her alone. But they didn't. It just got worse.
Then the door burst open and a third lady rushed in, too fast for Thomas to announce her. This one had a silver-laced gown.
"Esther! Zafira!" she cried, then, "Oh!" as she caught sight of Selena and turned her delicate nose up. Silver Gown's views on the place of blacks in society were even stronger than those of Pink Gown or Blue Gown,
"Judith!" said Esther Pimenta, and took fright. This could irreparably damage her standing in Charlestown society. Mrs Judith Harrow was not exactly a friend; she was more of a rival.
"This is Mrs Garland," said Mrs Pimenta defensively, "the wife of a most important and prosperous merchant."
"Mrs Garland," said Mrs Harrow, nodding briefly. That done, she set about ignoring the insufferable presence of a black, for she had come with more satisfying sport in mind. Triumphantly she waved a newspaper at Esther Pimenta. "Look! Look!" she said. "The latest edition, just arrived, of Le Mercure de France! Only five weeks old! And it describes La Pompadour's latest gown!"
Esther Pimenta gritted her teeth. The entire world of fashion was led by France, and the entire world of French fashion was led by the beautiful thirty-one-year-old Madame de Pompadour, official mistress to King Louis XV. Wretched outposts like London or Charlestown could only follow and adore, and Esther Pimenta had made it her business to be first with the news from Paris. Mrs Harrow was here to gloat.
Selena was forgotten as the three ladies fell upon the newspaper, brows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes peering as they fought to pull meaning out of the article in question.
"See! It is about La Pompadour — there's her name!"
"Douilles de lacet... what's that?"
"What's that word? That one there — "
Selena stared. They couldn't read French! She was amazed. She'd been raised as companion to Miss Eugenie Delacroix, the master's daughter, a society belle who had enjoyed the finest clothes — endless hours had been spent making alterations to her vast array of gowns — and whose education had encompassed the arts of elocution, etiquette, dancing, drawing… and a mastery of the French language. To which end a
French governess had been on hand to ensure that the girls spoke with the accent of Versailles as they read aloud from the latest journals and books shipped in from Paris.
Selena's life had turned upside down since then. Rejected by Miss Eugenie, she'd seen things and done things these Charlestown ladies couldn't imagine. She'd grown fast in a hard world, and in that world she was more than a match for them, for all their status as married women — white women — with rich husbands. How ironic to discover that she was also their superior in their world.
"May I see?" she said. She had to say it several times before they noticed. Even then it was only with utmost bad grace that they handed her the newspaper.
"Hmm," she said, "douilles de lacet — lace sleeves '… Madame was enchanting in lace sleeves worn treble: long and trailing at the wrist, but narrow at the bend of the elbow where they were gathered with ribbons of lace en suite. The effect brilliant, cascading…"'
Selena looked up and saw their faces. Round eyes, round mouths. It was hard not to laugh. She read on, unconsciously sitting up and straightening her back as she did so, and speaking in the clear, precise manner of her upbringing, not the lazy speech she'd fallen into in the company of seamen.
After that things happened by quick stages. First there was a discussion on La Pompadour's outfit, with Selena accepted first as an equal, then as leader, for these Charlestown ladies had few ideas of their own and were accustomed to being ruled by their dressmakers. Next, Esther Pimenta called for her collection of moppets — Parisian fashion dolls, not toys — of which she had a number, and which she loved dearly but did not properly understand. Selena duly explained them, showing how their tiny pleats, seams and cut, gave detailed guidance to the dressmaker. Finally they went into Mrs Pimenta's dressing room, where she kept her gowns, and Selena explained them, too. As she talked, a great truth was hammered into three thick heads: namely that Mrs Garland — be she black as the Devil's boot — was an outstandingly beautiful and clever woman: graceful, cultured and charming.
When Selena finally emerged from Mr Pimenta's house, it was in triumph, head high and servants grovelling, with Tom Allardyce gaping in her wake. And in due course…
Mrs Garland was invited back.
Mrs Garland became a friend.
Mrs Garland was introduced to Mrs Pimenta's entire circle.
She was loaned some of Mrs Pimenta's gowns.
And within a week, she had become the sensation of Charlestown.
Chapter 16
"Sixty-seven days to go," said Israel Hands, looking at the log-calendar outside Silver's tent.
"Aye, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "An' it'll be sixty-six when the bell strikes noon and we take out today's peg. But remember, it ain't reckoned by the Astronomer Royal at Greenwich — it's only our best guess." And with that he hitched up his pack and started off along the path into the trees, with Billy Bones and two dozen hands following along behind.
There was a planked pathway now for heavily laden men to make their way off the sandy beach and on to the firm ground beyond, and there were well-hacked paths through the jungles, connecting the island's four forts: Fort Silver above the southern anchorage, Fort Foremast in the far north, Fort Hands by the swamps in the middle of the island, and Fort Spy-glass protecting the main lookout station.
Silver had elected to build four small forts rather than one big one because he didn't plan to hide behind walls but to strike Flint from behind and at night. With four forts, Silver's men would have the chance to move round the island secretly, knowing there was always safe shelter nearby once they'd struck their blow.