A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  She laughed and nodded her agreement. “It appears we’re lining up to go in for dinner. I’m so thankful we had our talk. Now we can enjoy a delightful evening of conversation and dancing.”

  “And let our parents think whatever they like throughout the evening. I’m sure my mother will be dismayed when she discovers you found me a bore and rejected my suit.”

  Isabelle slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I do hope that when both of us are wed to the people we love, we can remain friends. I know you would find my fellow good company.”

  They proceeded into the dining room, and he smiled down at her. “I would like that very much.”

  Strange how things could change so quickly. What he’d decided would be a dreadful night had now made a complete about-face. He took a deep breath and looked forward to an evening of relaxation and fun.

  Chapter

  twenty-three

  Mid-December

  AFTER WORK ON SATURDAY, MELLIE WALKED HOME WITH Cora, Clara, and Phebe, her thoughts a jumble. Tonight she’d be cutting silhouettes at the party being hosted by the woman who’d come to the photography shop earlier in the week. Ever since the woman had departed the shop in such a rush, Mellie had been chastising herself for not asking her name. To make matters more difficult, Mellie hadn’t been given any particulars. How many guests would be attending? Would there be children there as well as adults? Would someone be available to assist her? If too many guests came into the room and expected to have their silhouettes cut at once, that could easily lead to mayhem. Perhaps when Mellie arrived, she should suggest that the hostess give each guest a piece of paper indicating the approximate time the person’s cutting would be done.

  During the day, her thoughts had swirled and she’d been unable to focus on her looms. After having to shut down one of the looms to repair broken threads on five occasions, the overseer had issued her a warning: Any further broken threads and there would be less pay in her envelope this week. For the remainder of the day, she’d forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on the flying shuttle and the cotton threads. Working extra hours at the photography shop would do her little good if her pay at the mill was reduced.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mellie?” Cora nudged her arm as they neared the boardinghouse. “Did you hear Clara ask if you could slip out of work and go with us tonight?”

  Mellie jerked to attention and looked at the twins. “What? No, I guess I didn’t hear you. Where are you going?”

  “You must be thinking about Morgan. You’ve had a faraway look in your eyes all day.” Clara giggled. “Are you thinking about marriage?” She clasped a hand to her chest. “He’s asked you to marry him, hasn’t he?”

  “No, he has not mentioned marriage, Clara. But if he does, you and Cora will be the first to know.” Mellie pulled her cloak tight against the bitter wind. “Where are you going tonight?”

  Clara grinned. “To the Lyceum. L. N. Fowler, the famous phrenologist, is going to be there. He’s going to give a lecture, and afterward he’ll choose several members of the audience and conduct head readings and analyses of their skulls. I do hope he chooses me.” She looked at her sister. “Wouldn’t it be grand if he chose both Cora and me? I think he might be interested in us since we’re twins. Please say you’ll go with us.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, but I can’t go, Clara.” Mellie opened the front door of the boardinghouse, then turned to Clara while she removed her cloak.

  “You’re going to miss out on a wonderful lecture. I do hope he’ll choose Cora and me. Do you think he might?”

  Mellie shrugged. “Perhaps, but if he should select you or Cora, I hope you won’t place any value in what he says. I’ve read there are many scientists who say phrenology isn’t scientific.”

  Clara draped her cloak across one of the hooks in the hallway and frowned. “I’ve read articles that say it is most scientific, but I’ll see what I think after the lecture.” She started toward the dining room. “Do you think Mr. Harrison would let you leave for a couple hours this evening?”

  Mellie shook her head. “No. I’ll tell you why when we go upstairs after supper.” Thus far, she hadn’t mentioned the party to anyone other than Mr. Harrison and Mrs. Richards. Morgan had been so detached she hadn’t mentioned it to him. And she hadn’t told the twins or Phebe because she’d half expected the woman to send a cancelation.

  After supper, they all went upstairs. Phebe, Cora, and Clara rummaged through their dresses, each one trying to decide what to wear. While they were dressing, Mellie removed a pale blue shot-silk dress from her trunk and carried it to her bed.

  Once Cora had fastened her dress, she did a quick turnabout. “What do you think about this one?”

  “It’s perfect,” Mellie said.

  The words had barely escaped Mellie’s lips when Cora’s gaze fastened on the dress lying across the bed. She pointed a finger at the gown and looked at Mellie. “You’re not going to wear that beautiful gown to work at the photography shop, are you?” She shot Mellie a look of disbelief.

  Mellie loosened her hair from the tight knot at the back of her head and picked up her hairbrush. “Yes, but I’ll be at the shop only until eight-thirty.”

  Clara moved to her sister’s side, and together the two of them stood staring down at the dress. Clara shook her head, a slow smile curving her lips. “And then where are you going? Do you and Morgan have some secret plans?”

  “This has nothing to do with Morgan.” Mellie explained to the twins about the request she’d received. “I agreed to attend, but other than what I’ve told you, I have no other details.”

  Cora’s brow furrowed. “Truly? I know you wouldn’t tell us an untruth, but I’m surprised you wouldn’t at least ask the woman’s name.”

  Mellie nodded. “I know. I’ve been upset with myself ever since I accepted the request. But when the lady saw it was snowing, she rushed from the shop before I could ask her. Please don’t mention this to the other girls. If the carriage doesn’t arrive for me, I wouldn’t want to explain to everyone.”

  Clara nodded. “You know we can keep a secret.”

  “I do.” Mellie nodded toward the bedroom door. “All three of you better hurry or you’re going to be late for the Lyceum. You’ll need to locate seats at the front of the auditorium if you want Mr. Fowler to choose you.”

  Mellie’s comment was enough to send the girls into a flurry of activity. Soon they were out the door and on their way into town together.

  When they neared the photography shop, Mellie bid them good-bye, but Cora stopped beside her outside the shop door. “We’ll come by after the lecture and make sure you’re not here. If the carriage doesn’t arrive, we can walk home with you.”

  Clara bobbed her head. “But if you do go to that fancy party, we’ll want to hear all about it. I would love to see all the beautiful gowns—and the food! I wonder what they’ll serve. You’ll tell us everything, won’t you, Mellie?”

  Mellie smiled. “Of course. I’ll do my best to remember every detail.”

  Clara grasped her sister’s coat sleeve. “Come on or we’re going to be the last ones to arrive. We’ll be eager to hear all the details.”

  Mellie waved as they disappeared from sight.

  The carriage arrived promptly at eight-thirty. The driver stepped inside Mr. Harrison’s shop and announced his arrival. Mellie stepped to the rear of the shop, retrieved her cloak, and bid Mr. Harrison good-night before she returned to the front of the store.

  “I’m ready,” she said to the driver after gathering her scissors and materials.

  He held open the front door for her, then hurried ahead to open the carriage door. With a light touch to her elbow, he assisted her inside. Mellie leaned back against the carriage’s thick leather seat as they started down the snow-covered street. She was gazing out the window when the coach departed town and rolled into the adjoining countryside. Moonlight glistened on fresh-fallen snow, and the distant glow of light could be seen
in the windows of an occasional house as they passed by. After a short time, she leaned forward to gain a better view. Though it was dark outside, she was certain this was the same route she’d taken with Morgan on their sleigh ride.

  A lump rose in her throat when the carriage turned into a driveway that fronted a stately white mansion. She was sure this was the house Morgan had pointed out as the Stark home. Another look out the window and there was no doubt. This was the house. She was going to be attending a party at the home of the woman who had arranged the lottery. She wanted to escape the carriage and flee back to town. Yet that was a ridiculous idea. She had to go inside. She had to appear pleased to be there. And she had to cut flawless silhouettes.

  The carriage door opened, and the gloved driver extended his hand to help her down. “Mrs. Stark gave instructions for you to enter through the front door. Hired help usually enters at the rear, but I was told you’re an exception.” His features pinched into a tight expression as he looked her up and down.

  “Thank you for your assistance.” She could feel him staring after her as she walked toward the front door. He was likely feeling slighted—and she couldn’t say that she blamed him.

  The brass door knocker had barely had time to sound when a maid dressed in gray with a white apron and cap opened the door. Mellie offered a smile. “Good evening. I’m Mellie Blanchard.” She nodded toward her bag. “I’m here to—”

  “I know why you’re here. Follow me, miss.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The guests are having supper in the dining room, and all those children will be served in the upstairs playroom. That’s going to be a fine mess to clean up come morning.” She continued to mumble under her breath while she escorted Mellie into a well-appointed sitting room on the top floor of the house.

  Mellie glanced around. “Will Mrs. Stark be directing the guests upstairs for their silhouettes?”

  “She didn’t give me all the particulars. Just said this room would be close to the ballroom, so it would be the best place for you.” She nodded toward the hallway. “The ballroom is across the hall—behind those big ivory-and-gold doors. I can bring you tea or coffee, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll just get my scissors and paper set out. Do you think it will be a while before supper is over?”

  “The way they sit and take their time between courses, who can say?”

  Mellie withdrew her paper, scissors, and three framed silhouettes she’d brought along to display. One was a child’s profile, another was the figure of a man standing at a table, and the third a winter scene.

  The maid leaned forward and peered at each one. “Them are sure pretty, miss. Maybe I’ll come to your shop one day and have you make one of me.” A splash of dark pink spread across her cheeks. “I think my man would like it if I had one made for him.”

  Mellie smiled at her. “In that case, why don’t you sit down on that footstool and I’ll cut your profile?”

  “Oh, no, miss. I don’t have . . .”

  “There’s no charge. My hands are cold and stiff. Cutting your silhouette will be of great help to me.”

  “Really? Then I’d be pleased to sit for you.”

  Mellie nodded. “Turn sideways and hold your head up. Do you want me to cut your cap into the profile? If not, why don’t you take it off? You can arrange your hair however you’d like.”

  The maid quickly removed the cap and sat down. “I can’t do much with my hair. The missus makes us keep it up and tucked under our caps as much as possible.”

  Mellie stood and pulled a few curly tendrils around the girl’s face, then returned to her chair and snipped a perfect outline of the maid’s face. After she had finished the cutting, Mellie extended the silhouette to her. “What do you think? Is it a fair likeness?”

  The maid beamed as she traced her finger over the thick paper. “It’s lovely, miss. And you even cut my eyelashes and my side curls. You’re very kind. I’m beholden to you.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Mellie returned her scissors to the side table alongside the paper. “When I came in, you mentioned some children. Do the Starks have several young children?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “Oh, no, ma’am. They just got the one son, and he’s grown now. The children are charity cases—youngsters of the poor folks who work in the mills and such. And a group from the orphanage too, I think. It’s a Christmas party with a visit from Saint Nicholas, and I suppose she’ll have you do their silhouettes. I heard she’s using the lottery money to have the party and give the children gifts.”

  “I see. Well, Mrs. Stark was in a rush when she stopped by the shop, and I didn’t understand there would be children in attendance. Not that I mind doing cuttings of children—they’re always fascinated when I produce their likenesses.”

  “Don’t you worry none. She’ll keep them as far away from the other guests as possible. They’ll come up here if she wants you to cut their silhouettes, but she won’t let them interfere with the dancing and such. This party is as much about entertaining her rich friends as it is about doing something for the poor.” The maid held her silhouette close to her chest. “Thank you again. I better get downstairs now before Mrs. Stark sends someone to look for me.”

  After the maid had closed the door, Mellie settled into the overstuffed chair. If Mrs. Stark had met with her, Mellie would have suggested she begin cutting silhouettes of the children as soon as she arrived. Instead, she was sitting here twiddling her thumbs and later she’d likely be unable to keep up. She closed her eyes but jerked to attention a short time later when the laughter and chatter of guests drew near.

  The door opened, and the woman she now knew to be Mrs. Stark stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Good evening, Miss Blanchard. I trust you’re comfortable. I wanted to stop in to give you a few instructions. You are going to be the big surprise for my guests.” Her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “My Christmas party surprises have become well known throughout Manchester, and friends vie for an invitation to my annual gathering.” She preened like a peacock as she glanced about the room. “Is there anything you need?”

  Mellie shook her head. “No, but if we could begin soon, it would prove helpful. I understand there are children in attendance. Perhaps I could begin with them? If you don’t want them close to the dancing, I could go to their playroom.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll take you down there. The playroom is on the second floor. You can finish with them, and then during the dancing interlude, Saint Nicholas will be here to present their gifts that were purchased with lottery funds. I thought my other guests might enjoy seeing the reaction of poverty-stricken children as they receive their gifts.” She shook her head and grimaced. “Poor little waifs.”

  Mellie inwardly cringed. Mrs. Stark was going to put the children on display so she could feel good about herself—pleased that a portion of the lottery winnings were being spent on the poor children in town. But there would be no presents for Phebe’s little brother—not this Christmas, or any Christmas hereafter.

  “When you return from downstairs, I’ll announce you to my guests, and they can join you in here if they want their silhouettes cut. Is that agreeable?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mellie gathered her belongings and followed the older woman downstairs to the playroom.

  This was going to be a very long evening, yet Mellie’s fingers tingled with the excitement of it all.

  Chapter

  twenty-four

  WHEN THE MAID ARRIVED IN THE PLAYROOM AND ANNOUNCED it was time for dinner to be served, Mellie gathered her cutting supplies and promised to begin anew once they’d finished their meal. Several of the children appeared worried she wouldn’t return, so she asked if she could remain with them.

  The maid leaned close. “Of course you can. I’m thinking they’re mighty hungry, what with it being so late. I told the missus it isn’t good for children to eat so late at night, but my words fell on deaf ears. At least s
he agreed to serve them fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some warm biscuits, rather than the terrapin soup and saddle of mutton stuffed with oysters that is being presented to her downstairs guests.” She shook her head. “It’s obvious she isn’t one who spends time with children.”

  The children’s eyes grew wide when the servants entered bearing huge platters of food. While most of the youngsters were old enough to serve themselves, Mellie helped serve the younger children. As she watched the children’s excitement over the large meal, her thoughts returned to Concord and her niece and nephew. Was her sister able to provide enough food for them? Were they able to keep warm, or was Margaret still struggling to make ends meet? Her sister’s letters had become less and less dependable, and she no longer answered Mellie’s questions about their welfare. Instead, she wrote about the lessons she was teaching, the weather, or some incidental story about a former neighbor or acquaintance. Margaret’s recent letters were so void of personal content, they could have been intended for a stranger rather than her sister.

  The girl sitting beside Mellie tugged on her sleeve. “Could I take that biscuit home to my little sister?”

  Mellie’s heart fractured at the beseeching look in the child’s dark eyes. “Of course you can. I’ll wrap a few extras, as well.” She nodded toward the door, where the servants were returning. “Look! I believe your Christmas dessert has arrived.” She grinned at the child. “Maybe we can save a piece of that for your little sister, too.”

  The children oohed and aahed when a servant lifted the dome off the large silver tray and revealed dozens of cookies of every shape and size. Another servant moved from table to table, delivering cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. Observing the children revel in their dinner and seeing their joyful faces as they chose their Christmas cookies afforded Mellie an hour of pure pleasure.