Chapter VIII

Catherine was furious with herself. She paced her room, for once gladdened that there was nothing to be done during the day in this great, rambling home the Sidneys entertained in. For she did not think she could bear to make polite converse and exchange idle pleasantries when she was so bedeviled by her own thoughts.

It had only been a kiss, she thought—there was no need for the incident to overset her so. But it had. And that was the fact with which she had to deal. She had, she told herself strictly, been kissed before, so there was little sense in making such a pother about it. In fact, she remembered, she had been kissed exactly three times before (she had kept careful track). Once, when she was just fifteen, and Fred McDermott had been seventeen. It had been a hasty little kiss, stolen while they were at a picnic. And had been memorable in that it had excited not her senses, but rather her pity, since Fred had been horrified by his impulsiveness and had spent the rest of that lovely summer Sunday apologizing to her and castigating himself.

When she was seventeen, Mrs. Fairchild’s son-in-law, on a visit from Sussex, had taken too much port, surprised Catherine in the hallway of his mother-in-law’s house, and delivered an overheated, messy salute upon her lips, along with a great deal of unpleasant fumbling, until she had broken away and run off. But then it had been a shameful incident, and Mrs. Fairchild herself, some months later, was overheard to confide to Jane that her daughter had not picked a “right ’un” and was suffering for it.

The third kiss had come when she was twenty and had gone walking out with Tom Hanley. Tom had been a pleasant-looking chap, an aspiring law clerk on vacation from London, visiting his aunt in Kendall. But that relationship had not gone beyond a few visits. For at their last meeting he had seemed preoccupied and solemn. And when he had left her, he had kissed her once—one brief chaste kiss—and then he had looked at her and sighed deeply. Within a month Catherine had heard of Tom’s engagement to a young woman in London, daughter of one of the partners in his firm.

So, Catherine thought, it was not as though she was inexperienced. But nothing had prepared her for the embrace she had received last night. She could scarcely believe how overwhelmed she had been by the marquis’ attentions. And she did not know how she could face him again, for surely he must have known how she felt. And if he did, she was sure that it would only reaffirm his belief in her immorality. And as for her kicking him! But in truth she had been outraged—she had never struck another being since her childhood. She had to do something, and, fool that she was, she had kicked a peer of the realm. And then slapped him. And that, she was sure, was worse.

When the pangs of hunger recalled Catherine to her immediate world, she decided that she must carry on as before. She must assume an icy dignity in the marquis’ presence. She must not allow herself to look for him or to scan the company for his presence. For if she continued to be fascinated by him, she would, she chided herself, end up in the same case as Rose and Violet in some fashion.

As Catherine dressed for dinner, she took special care with her appearance. She rang for the little French maid and managed to communicate well enough, even though she realized with sinking heart that her long-ago French lessons were hardly adequate to equip her to ask for fresh water properly. She wore her finest new gown of a deep sapphire blue, just to show him that she had not been overset by him. And brushed her hair and drew it back in a severe and startlingly sophisticated style to show him that here was no little miss to trifle with.

When she went down to dinner, she looked neither to the left nor the right, but seated herself in the manner of a grande dame. She chatted lightly and superficially with the Vicar, who seemed vastly amused at something and who enjoyed her company in a very proper fashion. It was only when the dinner was over and the guests were at their regular pursuits of gaming or dancing, or meeting with one another in darkened parts of the house, that the Vicar, who stood at her side watching the dancers told her that the marquis and his man had gone.

The house party, he told her in an aside, was already beginning to break up, and since the marquis had left, others were beginning to make noises about going on to Paris. “Which much displeases our host,” the Vicar said, “since he needs to keep his house full. Otherwise he is left alone, with only thirty servants or so, a few constant hangers-on, and, of course, dear Lady Sidney.”

Catherine felt deflated. And noticed that the music, dancing, and chatter all around her seemed suddenly less interesting, less enthralling. While the marquis was in evidence she had always felt on the verge of an adventure; now all this newfound splendor seemed oddly flat. And she murmured her sympathies for her host with compassion.

“Oh, don’t pity dear Ollie overmuch,” the Vicar said, grinning, “for he has found compensation, as you can see.”

Looking up in the direction the Vicar nodded to, Catherine saw her host, smiling and whispering, deep in conversation with Rose. Rose towered above him by several inches and had to hang her head down to hear his whispered comments. But as they watched, the ill-matched couple seemed to come to some sort of understanding, and Sir Sidney, with a little bow and beaming smile, left the room. Catherine could see him going upstairs. It was rather unusual, she thought, for the host of such a great house party to absent himself from his guests, especially since if he needed anything above stairs, he had a clutch of servants he could summon.

But as the Vicar kept watching Rose silently, with a gentle smile upon his own face, Catherine did the same. And saw that within a few moments of her host’s departure, Rose brushed some invisible lint from her skirt and then quietly left the room to go up the stairs quickly in Sir Sidney’s wake. “Business as usual,” yawned the Vicar. And Catherine felt her heart sink. It was one thing to know of Rose and Violet’s interests; it was quite another to see them in action. Catherine felt deeply ashamed although she had done no more than watch.

Throughout the evening she clung to the Vicar’s side like a devoted daughter. Her attendance upon him seemed to afford him great pleasure. And when he pointed out Violet’s departure with an ancient viscount, she was so glad of the Vicar’s presence, and so determined to stay with him, that he had to gently, and then less gently, hint to her that he wished to absent himself for only a few moments; he would return immediately, but he really had to be alone for a few moments. When she saw that he was gesturing vaguely in the direction of the gentlemen’s withdrawing room, she grew dizzy with embarrassment and vowed to stop clinging to him like a limpet.

But when, in his absence, she found herself approached by no less than three other gentlemen with speculation in their bold, assessing eyes, she gave up her resolve and fairly flew to the Vicar’s side again when he reappeared. And there she stayed till she saw the duchess making her stately way upstairs to her room.

For the next days Catherine stayed close in her rooms during the day, and took tea with her companions, but said little to them. For she had seen them disappear with such a variety of gentlemen each night that she felt she was not yet able to converse normally with them. She did not want them to see her revulsion, for in all, they were pleasant and helpful enough to her. And yet she could not reconcile their actions with her own standards, much as she lectured herself about tolerance and different values for different persons during the long days that she was alone in her room. At nightfall she would dress with care, for the duchess’s eye was sharp, and on the one occasion when she tried to dress demurely and unspectacularly, the dowager had barked that she didn’t employ sparrows—what was the matter with the gel anyway? And she would spend each evening in close converse or, at least, in close companionship with the Vicar.

She soon discovered that he thought her situation vastly entertaining, and, further that he really did not care about her predicament at all so long as it afforded him pleasure in observing it. Sadly, she began to discover that he was using her in much the same way that, she had to admit, she was using him. So it was with heartfelt relief that she heard the duchess declare, after a week at Sir Sidney’s establishment, that they had tarried long enough. “The company’s becoming flat,” the duchess said, sending Gracie about her packing. “We’ll take our leave tomorrow. I hear Paris is brimming with fashionables, and I’m eager to be off.”

The Vicar had made one great sacrifice and was there to see them off the next morning. Their host and hostess were still abed, having made their good-byes in the night. As Catherine prepared to step into the coach with the others, the Vicar stayed her for a moment. There was a vaguely sorrowful look in his eyes as he took her hand.

“Good-bye, Catherine,” he said. “I wonder if we shall meet again? I think not, for I do not go on to Paris. I am one of Ollie’s constant hangers-on, you see. I am not one to lecture on morality, I fear, and I cannot offer you any assistance. For not only do I live upon the sufferance of my fellowman, but I am too old, too lazy, and, in the end, too unconcerned with my fellowman and woman now. But I do tell you, for what it is worth, that you do not belong here. Country chicks cannot keep company with parrots and cockatiels, you know. And it is mortally easy to become that with which you constantly associate, by slow degrees. You cannot hide forever, Catherine. And there are all sorts of lures in this wide world, especially for young things. I should know,” he said, shaking his head. “I have set enough. Go when you can, Catherine,” he whispered, bowing over her hand. “And go while you can. Home, where you belong.”

“Thank you,” she said, more chilled by his words than she dared show. “And I will. I promise, as soon as I am able.”

He smiled sadly and then laughed quietly.

“Whatever you do decide, never fear, I shall know of it. For I hear of all things—that is what makes me so valuable a guest. Good-bye, my dear. It was pleasant being needed as a man again for a few days. Good luck.”

He handed her into the coach, and, with a wave, they were off.

“Well you certainly made a conquest,” the duchess grinned before she settled herself to sleep, in her usual traveling mode. “The Vicar don’t give a demn for anyone in the world, but he seems to have been taken with you. But he don’t spend a brass farthing on a female,” she laughed, and allowed Gracie to tuck her up into a cocoon of wraps for the journey.

This time the duchess was in no hurry. For, she said to her companions as they dined that night in a small wayside inn, she was “shaken to pieces” by the journey and “wearied unto death” by the constant partying at Sir Sidney’s.

They traveled on for two lackluster days, and it was only on the final approach to Paris that all of the company seemed to awaken at last. Rose and Violet were in full spate, commenting on the city, on the people they expected to see, and the fashions they glimpsed. Catherine was shocked to see that they did not even notice the poor, whose districts they had to ride through to get to the center of the city. The men and women in rags, far worse than any she had ever seen in England, the hovels in which they lived, and their hordes of huge-eyed starving children were not commented upon at all. But once the carriage drove through the wide white avenues where gentlemen and ladies of fashion promenaded, they noted every detail of every garment, and priced them down to their least penny.

The duchess beamed upon their excitement, but she told them she “had seen the town before.” Yet even she was soon talking about hunting up some dressmakers and getting togged out in “Frenchie fashions again.” By the time they rolled up in front of their hotel, the duchess was quite eager to alight and begin her inquiries as to where the gaiety was to be found.

The concierge was as obsequious as the duchess could have wished and groveled so much before her that she was in high good spirits when shown her rooms, even to the point of not beginning her usual tirade against the sanitation and grace of the establishment until he had bowed himself out of her presence. She had a large and airy chamber overlooking the street, and her companions’ rooms were arranged around hers.

The duchess sat back with a grin of triumph.

“Well, gels, here we are in Paris. All dressed up with no place to go. Here, you Violet and you Rose, get yourself suited out fine and go down to the lobby; let the word go out that I have arrived. Then we’ll see those invitations pour in. Catherine, you’re free to do as you wish. Go tag along with the girls if you like. But be sure to tell everyone that you meet who you are and that the Duchess of Crewe has arrived. That should do it. Now, Gracie, my hair, if you please.”

And sitting back and enjoying her hair being brushed, the duchess closed her eyes and planned a future full of balls and fetes and sensations.

In spite of the duchess’s confidence, Catherine was amazed, when she answered the duchess’s summons at an unusually early hour before noon the next day, to see her sitting at a little desk, sorting through what seemed to be a dozen invitations.

“Tonight,” the duchess said to her companions, “dress up smartly, for we’re off to no less than Count D’Arcy’s ball. We’ve been asked to Lord and Lady Lynne’s, and to Madame Martin’s but we’d be fools to pass up the count’s invitation, for that’s the smartest of them all. Bound to be royalty there as well. So do me justice, lassies,” she said, in an unusually gay manner, “and who knows where we may be bound tomorrow night?”

“The old lady’s in high alt,” Violet said as they went back to their rooms to pick through their wardrobes for suitably dazzling gowns.

“She thinks,” Violet explained to a puzzled Catherine, “that if she’s daring enough, she’ll yet get an invitation to an audience with the king. But she’s out there, you know. For it may have been possible before all the nobs got their heads lobbed off for being royals. Now the throne’s uneasy, I hear, and they don’t want too much truck with a dizzy set like the duchess.”

“And what makes you so worldly-wise?” Rose asked cheekily.

“I spent some time with old Ollie, you know, and he had a few words for me.”

“A very few words, I’m sure,” Rose said, laughing.

Catherine colored, but Violet shot back, “Jealousy won’t get you anywhere, old Rose.”

“It happens,” Rose said, with suppressed laughter, “that I spent some hours with old Ollie too, and he don’t waste much time on talk.”

Catherine turned to her room quickly, so as not to hear much more of their chatter, which was turning more rancorous and more detailed than she wished to hear.

“Catherine,” Rose called, giving Violet an admonitory poke, “do come to our rooms tonight before we leave. We’ll have to see if you’ve togged yourself up in enough style. For when Her Grace gives orders for us to dazzle, you daren’t do less or your head will roll.”

*

Catherine gave herself one last glance in the mirror before sighing and turning to go to Rose’s room. She could not, she thought, do better. She wore a high-waisted gown in creamy white satin, and bound her hair back with a pure white ribbon till only a crown of curls relieved the severity. The only touch of color was the azure of her eyes and the little gold pendant she always wore. She felt that if she were going to see royalty, she must dress in a distinguished, but unostentatious manner. The neckline of her gown, she realized, was lower than that of any of her others, but it had looked so perfect just as it had come from Madame Bertrand’s that she had not dared tamper with it. Now, glancing in the mirror, even though the slope of her breasts showed daringly it no longer seemed so dashing—not, she amended, shocking at all compared to the dresses of the females she had seen at Sir Sidney’s. The Vicar’s words about becoming like the company one kept drifted into her mind, but she banished them quickly, and went out in search of Rose and Violet and their opinion of her dress.

When Rose called for her to enter, she stepped in, only to stand stock still and stare at Rose and Violet. For Rose was sitting at her mirror with the top of her gown down, chatting animatedly with Violet while at the same time carefully applying rouge from a little pot to the tips of her breasts. Catherine stood and goggled as Rose looked up. For a moment she looked only at Catherine’s gown and cried out, “Oh don’t you look a sight! Pure and cool and just lovely!”

And then, when she saw the expression on Catherine’s face, she looked down at herself and sighed.

“It’s to give my gown a better look, you see,” she said hurriedly, rapidly completing the job of anointing her nipples with carmine, and then blowing upon them and lifting the top of her gown back on.

“It’s to give the gentlemen a better idea of the wares,” Violet said languidly.

Catherine looked at Rose in her thin salmon-colored gown and saw that the rouge did indeed emphasize the small part of Rose’s bosom that was covered by cloth.

“And,” Violet said, in a cool voice, “to give them an extra treat a little later. If a chap’s going to spring for the pleasure of Rose’s company, he expects to find something out of the ordinary. And a little color in unexpected places adds excitement.”

Rose got up and looked daggers at Violet. She opened her mouth to make some rejoinder, but before she could, Violet moved.

“See here, Catherine,” she said, walking over to her, letting her drink in the splendor of her spangled black and silver gown, “Rose here and I, we are what we are. And it’s no good pretending that we’re all jolly little cousins off on a spree. I’ve been fighting with old Rose here all day, and there has to be an end to it. We can’t watch what we say and what we do every moment you’re about. We’re out of leading strings a long time. I told Rose there’s no sense in our having a to-do every time I say something she thinks isn’t fit for your ears, for we’ll only come to cuffs all day if we go on so. If you’re to travel along with us, you’ll have to take us for what we are.”

Catherine swallowed hard. And then she spoke.

“I know that, Violet. And yes, you are right, I cannot be an ostrich with my head in the sand. I knew that back when we met and I decided to accompany you. So Rose, there’s no sense in fighting with Violet. She’s quite right, you know.”

Rose still seemed agitated, but then she had a sudden thought.

“You know, Catherine, it won’t be all bad for you. For you will know what you are about. Far more than most young misses do. For there’s heaps we can tell you about gentlemen.”

“Oh Rose,” Violet laughed, “now that far I would not go. We really cannot tell this little miss all that we know.”

“Well, not all.” Rose pondered. “But if more young misses knew what we know, fewer gentlemen would have to seek us out.”

“And we’d be at a charity kitchen. Give over, Rose, do. We don’t have to instruct Catherine. Not with her looks and style. It’s only that we won’t have to act so unnatural when she’s about, and we’ll all get on splendidly.”

Rose seemed satisfied and went back to gazing at herself in the mirror. She adroitly rubbed rouge into her cheeks, applied salve to her lips, spit into a little dish of black and with one finger swept shape and sultriness about her eyes. Noting Catherine’s silence, she asked anxiously, “Is what Violet says acceptable to you, dear?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Catherine said, knowing full well that hypocrite that she was, she did not at all relish the thought of hearing all of their confidences. In fact, she wanted to hear none of them—she only wanted to run to her room and quake. But, she amended, she wanted more. She wanted to be home, safe at home again.

But as the silence in the room became ominous, with Violet smiling at her loftily and Rose looking at herself in the mirror uneasily, Catherine felt the burden of conversation fall upon her and searched for a safe, conciliatory topic.

“You can tell me how to go on,” she said. “For if we are to be honest with each other, I do not know how to…ah, discourage a gentleman, without being rude.”

Violet grinned wickedly. “That’s hardly the sort of advice to be asking us.”

“Oh Vi, give over, do; we can too tell Catherine how to go about things,” Rose said, annoyed.

“What you want to know,” Violet went on, “is how to stay out of trouble. And I’m afraid we’re poor persons to ask that of.”

“Well, Vi, you’re a spiteful thing today,” Rose said, angrily. “I think it’s just because Catherine’s looks knock ours all to pieces tonight. She hasn’t got a spangle nor a feather,” she said, eyeing the profusion of jet plumes set into Violet’s elaborate coif, “and still she looks a treat. Well, then, I’ll tell you, love. There’s things you mustn’t do with gentlemen and you’ll find yourself safe as houses. You mustn’t open your lips when you kiss, for one thing.”

Catherine went pale. This was not at all the sort of advice she had requested, but before she could speak, Violet began laughing.

“Oh Rose, and what of Sir Alistar?”

“True,” Rose said thoughtfully, “for he don’t bother to kiss at all. Well, then, Catherine, I should say that so long as you stay upright at all times, you will avoid difficulties.”

Violet held her hand against her bodice—she was laughing so richly.

“And what of young Perry and Lord Sulley, then?”

“Oh,” Rose said, “and telling you to keep all your clothes on, which is what I was about to add, wouldn’t do then neither, I suppose. Well then, Catherine, I’ll tell you the best advice I can then.”

Rose screwed up her face in thought and then smiled triumphantly. “You must never do a thing with a gentleman that you have not done before. And you’ll go on splendidly, I’m sure.”

At that, Violet’s mirth got so out of control that she was gasping, and even Catherine had to join in.

Rose herself was chuckling good-naturedly. But when Catherine stopped, she decided to turn the subject as quickly as she was able to.

“Am I dressed properly then?” she asked.

“A treat,” Rose agreed. “But perhaps a little too refined. You never know with Her Grace. She wants you to catch all eyes. Here,” Rose said, plucking one white rose from the floral arrangement on her table. “Do put this in your hair, there on top, midst the curls, yes. That looks just as it ought. Now then,” she said, squinting thoughtfully at Catherine.

“Yes, I’m sure I’m right. You do look lovely, Catherine. But who will see you across a room? Not that there’s anything the matter with your coloring—it’s all milk and cream. But there’s the problem. In candlelight, you’ll just fade away.”

“You’re right, Rose,” Violet said, taking a professional interest. “Footlights and party lights drab out a girl’s coloring. A bit of lip salve, a bit of rouge, that’s the ticket.”

And before Catherine could protest, they steered her to Rose’s dressing table. Rose carefully applied salve to her lips, and though she was sure her furious blush would stay their hands, they carefully applied high color to her cheeks.

“Now don’t blink or move,” Rose warned, “or you’ll blind yourself. S’truth.”

When Catherine gazed at herself in the minor again, she dared not breathe. An exotic painted creature with darkly lashed huge blue eyes, pink cheeks, and violently red lips stared seductively back at her. Her hands went automatically to a cloth to wipe the vision away, but Rose stayed her.

“No, Catherine. That’s just what Her Grace will expect. She’ll dress you down if you come pale and ordinary. Now you look just as you ought. So leave it be.”

Rose and Violet accompanied Catherine to get her wrap, so Catherine could not even touch her face though she swore she could feel every gram of the cosmetics lying heavily upon her. They lingered in Catherine’s room awaiting the duchess’s summons. And when Gracie came to tell them to be ready, Rose took a small vial from her evening bag and went to Catherine’s dressing table. She carefully put a drop from the vial in each eye and handed the vial to Violet, who did the same. Catherine saw, as if by magic, how huge and glittering their eyes now appeared to be, just as she had often noticed their eyes to be at night; she had assumed it was due to their excitement and candlelight.

“Belladonna,” Rose explained as they prepared to go. “Gives your eyes a sparkle like nothing else. I didn’t offer any to you, dear, for it’s a thing you have to get accustomed to. It blurs things up, you know. So when you look your best, you can’t see a blessed thing. The lights all dance, and sometimes you can’t be sure of recognizing who you’re talking to, for you can’t make out their face properly.”

“Sometimes,” said Violet cryptically, “that’s a blessing, too.” Rose and Violet proceeded to the duchess’s chamber with the slow, stately tread that Catherine now saw was necessary for them when their eyes were so unreliable.

The dowager was swathed in silvery gray, with so many diamonds shining at her throat and hair that Catherine felt sure her companions could only see a sparkling blur of her rich attire.

The duchess stared at Catherine. “Now, that’s the way I like my companions to look,” she crowed. “You’ll have every eye upon you. You’re finally getting the hang of it. And Rose and Violet, you two are bang up to the mark. Let’s away. Don’t wait up, Gracie, for this is to be a late evening.”

Gracie nodded as they left, knowing hill well she dared not slumber till her mistress was safely tucked in bed again.

Catherine tried to sink back into the shadows as she sat in the coach. And she tried to be less aware of the startled looks that James, the duchess’s coachman, gave her when she stepped out into the blaze of light and torches outside Count D’Arcy’s residence. She felt, as she trailed along behind Rose and Violet, deeply ashamed of her new appearance, and of the spectacular effect it was having upon those who turned to stare at her.

As their little party was announced, all heads turned to the top of the stairs to see the quartet make their way down the grand staircase to join the company. Her eyes almost as blurred and dazzled as Rose’s and Violet’s, Catherine saw that these were men and women in the most elegant clothes and jewels that she had ever seen. The company was composed of the titled and the infamous—poets, mistresses, wanderers and actresses, the rag and tag of émigré Europe, and the foremost pleasure seekers from her own land. All collected together and flashing their eyes and gems and costumes beneath the light of a thousand candles while musicians tried to drown their converse with light music.

Many stared at the haughty Violet and buxom Rose. Many gaped at the regal duchess and her train of demireps, whose reputations had preceded her here. And many gazed with delight upon the delicious child with the figure of a grown woman and the face, even beneath the paint, of a lovely gamine.

Catherine tried to ignore the sensation they had caused and that her employer was obviously reveling in. She stared about her in shame and despair…until her eyes caught and held one familiar face high above the crowd. A face that she had been unwittingly looking for. He had been watching her, she thought in deeper despair, and there was no doubt in her mind as to his thoughts. The marquis looked at her, at her face, at her neckline. His handsome face was immobile, but the contemptuous disdain in his gray eyes was readable even from across the room.