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Chapter 5
“Chin a little higher.” Mrs Anderson ordered, her accent incredibly posh with the vowels rounded as she addressed Violette from across the room. Violette did as she was asked, lifting her chin a little higher. “Not that high, you look rather like a duck with its bill in the air.”
Violette lowered her chin again, angered at the comparison. Apparently, Mrs Anderson was still unhappy with the position, for she crossed the parlour toward her and adjusted her chin herself, jerking it into place.
“There, that is better.”
“Am I allowed to move?” Violette asked, talking through gritted teeth, worried that if she spoke freely, she would push her chin out of point.
“A little,” Mrs Anderson said with full seriousness. “Now, to conversation matters. Take a seat whilst you practice the pianoforte. We will discuss what is suitable for a young lady to speak of when in the company of a gentleman.”
Frowning, Violette took her place at the offending instrument, feeling more than just a little discomforted.
“Can I not just engage in normal conversation?” Violette asked, squinting as she stared at the sheet music and attempted to play the opening bars of music.
“Your father tells me that what you consider normal conversation for a young lady is a little out there,” Mrs Anderson said tightly, standing beside the piano. “Sit a little taller.” Violette abided by the order. “Now, if I were a gentleman come to listen to you play the piano at this moment, what would you talk about?”
“I…” Violette paused, concentrating on the piano playing for a minute as she considered her answer. “I would ask how the gentleman is.”
“A good start. What next?”
“I might discuss the races,” Violette said with a smile, pausing with her hands over the piano keys as she turned her head excitedly to her tutor. “Did you hear of the races at Ascot this week? Good Hunting came in first, quite a win according to the papers, streaking ahead of all the competition—”
“Lady Violette,” Mrs Anderson cut her off.
“Yes?”
“What possesses you to think a gentleman would want to talk to you about the races?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Violette asked, trying to play the piano again. “I have heard many gentlemen talk of the races with just as much interest as I have.”
“Yes, but they do not expect a lady to entertain such conversations,” Mrs Anderson said tiredly.
“I see…” she paused, chewed her lip, and saw an opportunity for some fun. “So, it would be better if I were to talk of something much duller, like my embroidery or the current piece I am trying play abominably ill. Oh, or maybe I could talk about the new lace for my ballgown. Would that interest them?”
“It is what they expect you to talk of.”
“That cannot be true, I am sure!” Violette said, laughing. “They will think all ladies quite nonsensical if they talk of such matters constantly. I have a mind, Mrs Anderson, the same as any man that may be standing where you are now. Why can I not talk to him of a subject that would interest us both?”
“Because you want him to think well of you, not ill of you!” Mrs Anderson’s insistent tone made Violette cower a little on the stool and look down at the keys rather sombrely. “I said, sit up.” She sat straight again. “I can see this is not getting us very far. Perhaps we should try something else instead?”
“Wonderful,” Violette said, sighing with the words as she abruptly broke off from playing the pianoforte. With the movement, she played a wrong key that twanged awfully in the air, making Mrs Anderson wince so much that her nose scrunched up in objection.
“Let us practice our lesson of old,” Mrs Anderson said, turning around so quickly that the black curls around her forehead whipped around with the movement. She walked across the room and collected a book from a nearby shelf set within the white plaster walls, before returning to Violette’s side. “Posture and French.”
“At the same time? Are you certain my simple mind can accommodate such a thing?” Violette teased, earning another rebuking stare from Mrs Anderson. “It was merely a jest.”
“Clearly one I did not find amusing. Now…” she said, placing the book sharply on Violette’s head as she stood to her feet. “Walk across the room without letting the book fall. I will call out words to you and you will say them back to me in French.”
“Very well,” Violette said, stepping forward whilst having to bob her head to keep the book straight on her head. She took a few more steps, crossing the room before Mrs Anderson pressed her on her French.
“Incredible.”
“Incroyable.”
“Foolish.”
“Insensée.”
