AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, I have. You’ve asked me that three times already, Madame Rossini.”
“We must make sure of everything.”
The way people fussed about me here kept surprising me, and all these little details! After dinner, Mrs. Jenkins had even handed me a brand-new toiletry bag so that I could brush my teeth and wash my face.
I’d expected the corset to cut off my air supply and squeeze the roast veal right out of me, but it was surprisingly comfortable. “I thought women fell down fainting in rows from wearing these things.”
“Oh, zey did. First, because they laced them too tight. And second, you could ’ave cut the air with a knife, because nobody washed, they just put on more perfume,” said Madame Rossini, shuddering at the idea. “Lice and fleas lived in their wigs, and mice even made nests in them. The most beautiful fashions, but not a good time for ’ygiene. You’re not wearing a corset like those poor creatures. You ’ave a special one à la Madame Rossini, comfy like a second skin.”
“I see.” I was terribly excited when I climbed into the hooped petticoat. “This feels like carrying a birdcage around with me.”
“Zis is nothing,” Madame Rossini assured me, as she carefully put the dress over my head. “The ’oop is tiny, not like they wore at Versailles at that time. Twelve feet in diameter! And yours is not whalebone but featherweight high-tech carbon fiber! But don’t worry, no one will see zat.”
Pale blue fabric patterned with cream-colored sprigs of flowers was billowing all around me. It would also have looked pretty good as a sofa cover. But I had to admit that, even with the enormous skirt and seemingly impossible length, it was very comfortable, not to mention a perfect fit.
“Enchanting,” said Madame Rossini, pushing me over to the mirror.
“Oh!” I said, surprised. Who’d have thought a sofa cover could look so good? And me in it. My waist seemed so small, my eyes so blue. Wow! Although my low décolletage reminded me of an opera singer about to explode.
“We’ll put a leetle lace in there,” said Madame Rossini, who had followed the direction of my eyes. “After all, it is an afternoon gown. In the evening, yes. You have to show what you ’ave got. I hope to have the pleasure of making you a ball gown! And now for your ’air.”
“Am I going to wear a wig?”
“No,” said Madame Rossini. “You are a young girl, and it is afternoon. If you make your ’air pretty and wear a ’at, that will do. We need do nothing with your skin, it is pure alabaster. And that pretty crescent-shaped mark on your temple could be a beauty spot. Très chic!”
Madame Rossini used heated rollers on my hair, and then skillfully fixed the front of it to my parting with hairpins and let the rest fall in soft ringlets to my shoulders. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and admired myself.
I couldn’t help thinking of that costume party that Cynthia had thrown last year. I’d gone as a bus stop, for want of any better ideas, and at the end of the evening, I felt like getting hit by a bus wouldn’t be so bad, because people kept asking me annoying questions about the timetable and when the next bus would come along.
Ha! If I’d only known Madame Rossini then! I’d have been the star of the evening!
I turned back to the mirror once again, fascinated, but that was all over when Madame Rossini came up behind me and put “the ’at” on my head. It was a monstrous confection of straw with feathers and blue ribbons, and I thought it spoiled the whole outfit. I tried to persuade Madame Rossini that I didn’t need to wear it, but she wouldn’t give way.
“No, impossible! Zis is not a beauty competition, ma chérie. We must have authenticity.”
I looked for my mobile in the jacket of my school uniform. “Could you at least take a photo of me—without the hat?”
Madame Rossini laughed. “Bien sûr, my dear!”
I posed, and Madame Rossini took about thirty photos of me from all sides, some of them even with the hat on. At least Lesley would have a good laugh.
“There, now I will go up and tell them you are ready. Stay here, and don’t touch that ’at! It is perfect.”
“Yes, Madame Rossini,” I said dutifully. As soon as she had left the room I tapped in Lesley’s mobile number, fingers flying, and texted her one of those hat pictures. She called back fourteen seconds later. Thank goodness, the reception here in Madame Rossini’s sewing room was good.
“I’m on the bus,” Lesley shouted into my ear. “But I have my notebook and pen all ready. Only you’ll have to speak up!”
Talking at top speed, I told Lesley all about what had happened, trying to explain where I was and what my mum had said. Although I was talking in rather a confused way, Lesley seemed to be following me. She was thrilled when I told her I’d brought her back a key from the past. She kept saying, in turn, “Wow, crazy!” and “Do be careful!” When I described Gideon (she wanted to hear all the details), she said, “I don’t think long hair’s so bad. It can look quite sexy. Think of A Knight’s Tale. But don’t forget to check out the ears he’s hiding under there.”
“They don’t make any difference. He’s a conceited jerk, and anyway he’s in love with Charlotte. Did you get that bit about the philosopher’s stone down?”
“Yes, I’ve made notes of it all. As soon as I’m home I’ll go online. This Count Saint-Germain—why does the name seem so familiar to me? Could it be from a film? No, I’m thinking of the Count of Monte Cristo.”
“Suppose he really can read thoughts?”
“Just think of something harmless. Or count backward from a thousand. In steps of eight at a time. Then you won’t be able to think of anything else.”
“I’ll try. Oh, see if you can find out anything about a little boy called Robert White who drowned in a swimming pool eighteen years ago.”
