These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘She is twenty years behind him!’

‘Do you think it signifies? I would not give Justin a bride his own age. I’d give him this babe who must be cherished and guarded. And I’ll swear he’d guard her well!’

‘It may be. I do not know. She looks up to him, Davenant! She worships him!’

‘Therein I see his salvation,’ Hugh said.

Twenty-five

Léonie Curtsies to the Polite World

Lady Fanny stepped back to obtain a better view of her handiwork.

‘I cannot make up my mind,’ she said. ‘Shall I put a riband in your hair, or – no, I have it! – a single white rose!’ She picked one up from the table at her side. ‘You can well spare it from your corsage, my dear. Where is the little buckle Justin gave you?’

Léonie, seated before the mirror, held out the pearl-and-diamond ornament. My lady proceeded to fasten the rose with it above Léonie’s left ear, so that it nestled amongst the powdered curls that were skilfully arranged to resemble a coiffure. The friseur had worked wonders. The curls clustered thickly about the queenly little head, and just one had been coaxed to fall to the shoulder.

‘It could not be better!’ said my lady. ‘Give me the haresfoot, wench!’

Léonie’s maid handed it to her, and stood ready with the various pots.

‘Just a touch of rouge, I think,’ said Fanny. ‘The veriest suspicion – so! The lip-stick, girl!… Keep still, my love, I must not overdo it. There! Powder, girl!’ The haresfoot fluttered over Léonie’s face. My lady studied the effect intently. ‘It’s very well. Now for the patches! Two, I think. Don’t wriggle, child!’ Expert fingers pressed the patches on: one below the dimple, one above the cheekbone. ‘Famous!’ cried my lady. ‘Mercy, look at the time! I must hurry! Stand up, Léonie, and you, girl, hand me the dress!’

Léonie stood up in her under-dress of lace, ruffle upon ruffle of it falling over a great hoop to her ankles, and watched my lady shake out the folds of soft white brocade. Fanny flung it deftly over her head, so that not a hair was disturbed, pulled it over the hoop, twitched it into place, and told the maid to lace it up. Léonie’s feet peeped from beneath the lace petticoat in shoes of white satin with heels that were studded with tiny diamonds. Buckles flashed on them – yet another present from Avon. Léonie pointed her toe, and regarded the effect gravely.

Fanny came to arrange a lace fichu about Léonie’s shoulders. Out of the lace they rose, sloping and very white. Fanny shook out the ruffles, tied the ribbons, and fastened the two other roses into place over the knot with a pearl pin.

‘Why, madame, what is that?’ asked Léonie quickly. ‘It is not mine, I know!’

Fanny kissed her lightly.

‘Oh, it is naught but a trifle, my love, that I had a mind to give you! I beg you will not heed it!’

Léonie flushed.

‘Madame, you are very good to me! Thank you!’

Someone scratched on the door; the abigail went to open it, and came back into the room with a small silver tray, on which were two packages, and white roses in a silver holder.

‘For mademoiselle,’ smiled the maid.

Léonie ran forward.

‘For me? Who sent them?’ She bent over the tray to read the cards. ‘Rupert – M. Marling – M. Davenant! But how they are kind! Why do you all give me presents, madame?’

‘My sweet, ’tis your first appearance. I suspect Hugh asked Justin what flowers he should send.’ She picked up the bouquet. ‘See, child, the holder is so cunningly wrought! What says the card?’

Léonie held it between her fingers.

‘“To Léon, from Hugh Davenant.” Voyons, I am not Léon to-night, but Mademoiselle de Bonnard! What can this be? – from M. Marling – oh, the little ring! Madame, look!’ She slipped the wrappings from the last package, and disclosed a fan of delicately painted chicken-skin mounted on ivory sticks. ‘Oh, this clever Rupert! Madame, how did he know I wanted a fan?’

Fanny shook her head mysteriously.

‘La, child, don’t ask me! Stop skipping round the room, stupid! Where are Justin’s pearls?’

‘Oh, the pearls!’ Léonie ran to the dressing-table, and extracted the long, milky string from one of the boxes there.

Fanny twisted it twice round her neck, cast another distracted glance at the clock, sprinkled scent on to a handkerchief, and over Léonie, gave a last twitch to the brocade gown, and hurried to the door.