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I've coiffed my hair, buttoned, laced, and pinned myself into ladylike perfectionor as close as I can get to it. But inside, I'm still reeling from my visit with Mother and our argument. I behaved terribly. Tonight I'll go to her and apologize, feel her warm arms around me again.
Still, I wish I could tell my familyFather especially--that I've seen Mother. That somewhere beyond here in another world, she is alive and loving and beautiful as we all remember her to be. I have no idea what I'll find when I go downstairs, and I'm torn up with hoping and wishing. Father might walk in, looking well fed and well groomed in his fine black suit. He might hold out a gift for me, something wrapped in gold paper. He might call me his jewel, might even get sour-faced Brigid to laugh at his tales, might hold me close. He might. He might. Might. Is there any opiate more powerful than that word ?
"Perhaps I could come along with you," Ann says as I try to tame my hair for the hundredth time. It doesn't want to stay neatly coiled atop my head as a lady's should.
"You'd be dreadfully bored within five minutes," I say, pinching roses into my cheeks that flare and fade straightaway. I don't want Ann along when I'm not sure of what I'll find.
"Will your brother be coming today?" Ann asks.
"Yes, God help us all," I mutter. I don't want to encourage Ann where Tom is concerned. Two springy curls flop down low on my forehead. I've got to do something with this hair.
"At least you have a brother to annoy you."
In the washstand mirror, I catch a glimpse of Ann sitting forlornly on her bed, dressed in her best with nowhere to go, no one to see. I'm going on and on about the trials of seeing my family, while she'll spend the entire day alone. Assembly Day must be excruciating for her.
"All right," I sigh. "If you're up for the torture, you can come along."
She doesn't say thank you. We both know it's a mission of mercy, but for which one of us, I can't say yet. I take in the sight of her. White dress straining at the seams over her chubby body. Wisps of lank hair already escaping from her chignon, hanging in her watery eyes. She's not the beauty I saw last night in the garden. "Let's do something with that hair of yours." She tries to see around me in the mirror. "What's wrong with my hair?"
"Nothing a good brushing and several pins can't cure. Hold still."
I take down her hair. The brush yanks through a knotty snarl at the base of her scalp. "Ouch!" "The price of beauty," I say by way of apologizing without really apologizing. After all, she said she wanted to come along.
"The price of baldness, you mean."
"If you'd hold still, this wouldn't be so difficult." She's suddenly so still she could be mistaken for a stone. Pain is underrated as a tool of motivation. I put what seems like a thousand pins in to hold her hair in place. It's not half bad. At least it's an improvement, and I'm feeling a little impressed with myself, actually. Ann positions herself in front of the mirror. "What do you think?" I ask.
She turns her head left and right. "I liked it the other way."
"There's gratitude for you. You're not going to be this sullen all day, are you? Because if you are"
Felicity pushes open the door and leans provocatively against the frame, playing the coquette. " Bonjour, mesdemoiselles . 'Tis I, the Queen of Sheba. You may save your genuflecting for later." The laces of her corset have been cinched so tight that her br**sts are pushed forward noticeably. "What do you think, darlings? Am I not irresistible?"
"Beautiful," I answer. When Ann hesitates, I nudge her foot with mine.
"Yes, beautiful," she echoes.
Felicity smiles as if she's only just discovering the world. "He's coming, I can't wait for him to see what a lady I've become these past two years. Can you believe it's been two long years since I last saw my father?" She twirls around the room. "Of course, you must meet him. He'll adore you all, I'm sure of it. I want him to see that I'm getting on well here. Does either of you have any scent?"
Ann and I shake our heads.
"No perfume at all? I can't go without smelling lovely!" Felicity's mood is dropping fast.
"Here," I say, pulling a rose from a vase on the window-sill. The petals crush easily, leaving a sweet, sticky juice on my fingers. I dab it behind Felicity's ears and onto her wrists.
She brings her wrist to her nose and inhales. "Perfect! Gemma, you are a genius!" She throws her arms around me, gives me a little kiss. It's a bit disconcerting, this side of Felicity, like having a pet shark that thinks itself a goldfish.
"Where's Pip?" Ann asks.
"Downstairs. Her parents came with Mr. Bumble. Can you imagine? Let's hope she sends him packing today. Well," Felicity says, breaking away. " Adieu, les filles . I shall see you anon." With a low bow, she is gone in a haze of roses and hope.
"Come on, then," I say to Ann, wiping the last traces of flower from my fingers. "Let's get this over with, shall we?" The front parlor is crowded with girls and their various family members when we arrive downstairs. I've seen better organization on India's infamous trains. My family is nowhere to be seen.
Pippa comes over to us, head bowed. A woman in a ludicrous hat complete with feathers trails behind her. She is outfitted in a dress better suited for a younger woman and for evening wear at that. A fur stole hangs from her shoulders. There are two men with her. I recognize the bushy-whiskered Mr. Bumble straightaway. The other I take to be Pippa's father. He has her dark coloring.
"Mother, Father, may I present Miss Gemma Doyle and Miss Ann Bradshaw?" she says, her voice almost a whisper.
"How do you do? It's so charming to meet Pippa's little friends." Pip's mother is as beautiful as her daughter, but her face is harder, a fact she's tried to hide with plenty of jewels.
