by Syrie James
That night, as predicted, my mind was so filled with anticipation for the next day’s ball, and the enjoyment I expected to receive from it, that I tossed and turned in bed for hours, driving my sister to distraction. At last, well into the wee hours, I fell into a fitful slumber, only to awaken just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky.
Lying in bed, I heard the house coming awake as servants scurried down the hallways, going about their duties. I rose, dressed, and went downstairs to find preparations for the evening’s entertainment already in progress: immense flower arrangements were being placed on stands in the foyer and central hall, chandeliers were being fixed with fresh wax candles, and all the furniture and the carpet in the dining-room were in the process of being removed, to transform it into a ball-room. At the same time, the furniture in the library was being re-arranged, and some of it taken out, to temporarily accommodate the dining-room table and chairs, for both the day’s meals and the supper that evening.
Wishing to remain out of the way, I walked for an hour in the park, an exercise which did my spirits a great deal of good. Not long after breakfast the Knights’ carriage arrived, bringing with it my mother and Mr. and Mrs. Knight. I had so enjoyed the past few days at Goodnestone (wherein I had experienced a unique and pleasing sense of freedom from my mother’s constant supervision), that I was surprised by how very glad I was to see her. I was happy to see the Knights as well, and the morning was given over to a lengthy discussion regarding everything which had happened to each during our separation, with my mother particularly interested in the details of the strawberry-picking party, how large were the beds, what variety of berries were cultivated there, how the weather conditions in Kent had affected their growth, &c. Lady Bridges was delighted by this line of inquiry, which might have gone on for a full hour uninterrupted, had not Mr. Knight proclaimed his need to stretch his legs after the confinement of the carriage, at which point he, Mrs. Knight, Sir Brook, and Lady Bridges took my mother without to view the gardens.
All morning, the young ladies were in a fever of worry and anticipation, for their new gowns had not yet been delivered. I could not imagine waiting in such suspense for a garment to arrive, which was to be worn that very evening! Elizabeth assured me that this was the general state of things in their household, and that all would be well. Indeed, at three o’clock another carriage drew up, bringing the dress-maker with all the new garments which were required.
Although it was yet early, all the ladies immediately rushed upstairs to dress, so that any final adjustments to their gowns could be made. My sister and I took advantage of this respite to practise our steps out on the back lawn, after which we retreated to our chamber to begin our toilette. I was filled with excitement. To think that to-night, I would dance at my very first real ball!
We put on our best gowns, which—although perfectly acceptable for a Basingstoke assembly—were nowhere as nice as those being worn by the Bridgeses. However, they were presentable: Cassandra’s was the rose-coloured silk she had worn upon coming out, adorned with new trimmings, and she looked quite beautiful. Although mine had been made over from one of Cassandra’s old gowns, the satin was still in good shape and free of stains, and it was a shade of dusky blue of which I was particularly fond. The sleeves were trimmed with gold braid, and I thought my new sash of gold silk looked quite stylish. My only regret remained unaltered: that even though the preponderance of the company would be powdering their hair to-night, my mother would not permit me to do so.
We had just finished dressing when there came a knock at the door; it was one of Lady Bridges’s housemaids, promoted for the moment to assist us with our hair.
As Cassandra sat down at the dressing-table, the maid (who introduced herself as Sally) said, “Do ye have any hair pieces, miss?”
“We do not,” answered I.
“Well, never mind, ye both have such lovely long hair, it will do just fine without.”
Sally set about brushing Cassandra’s hair, pinning part of it up, while leaving another part long and curly. When she finished, she said that she would prefer to do my hair next, and then apply pomatum and powder to us both afterwards.
I sat down before the looking-glass, unable to prevent a deep sigh. “There is no need for pomatum or powder in my case, Sally. I am not to share in that particular ritual of beauty to-night.”
“What do ye mean, miss?” said Sally to me in surprise, as she brushed my hair. “No powder? Why ever not? This be a grand ball, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” responded I tightly, “but my mother thinks me too young for powder.”
“Too young?” The maid shook her head. “Ye’re never too young in this house, miss. Why, all the Bridges boys and young ladies have been powderin’ their hair for every formal occasion since they were ten years old.”
“Since age ten?” cried I. “Do you mean to say that—even little Harriot Bridges is going to have powdered hair to-night?”
“Yes, miss. It don’t seem right for you to be the only one with natural hair.”
Ire spread through me. I met Cassandra’s eye in the looking-glass; she returned a sympathetic glance.
“I am sorry, Jane; it is Mamma’s rule, not mine.”
I sat in stony silence until the maid finished my hair, and had wound around it a blue satin ribbon which complemented my gown. On any other night, I would have thought I looked quite nice; but to-night was different. I thanked her; she nodded graciously, then beckoned to my sister to sit down again at the dressing-table, where she draped a long cloth around her shoulders in preparation for the application of pomatum and powder.
Having no desire to observe a ritual in which I could not take part, I left the chamber. As I emerged into the passage, Louisa and Harriot appeared, attired in their new gowns, their hair elegantly styled with supplementary hair pieces, and fully powdered in bluish gray—the very image of all the fashionable ladies of the age whom I had so long admired.
I had never seen girls so young attired in such a manner except in old paintings, and the picture they presented was very striking; it made an unexpected impression, which I could not quite identify. As, at that moment, I was feeling rather sorry for myself, I deduced the emotion to be envy.
The young girls skipped up to me.
“Do not we look magnificent?” cried Harriot, beaming, as she paused to twirl in all her finery.
“You both look fit to be presented to the queen,” replied I sincerely, to which the girls broke out into giggles and ran off.
I stood still for half a minute, steeped in misery, listening to the laughter from behind the closed doors along the passage, wherein the other young ladies were dressing. Lining the corridor were various ancestral pictures of regal men and ladies, all of them wearing wigs or with powdered hair. I yearned with all my heart to look just like them. My melancholy and despair grew to such a height, that I could no longer bear it. Tears started in my eyes; and, sobbing, I ran down the hall to the bedroom which I knew to be newly occupied by my mother. I rapped urgently on the door, identifying myself; she bid me to come in.
“What is the matter, Jane?” exclaimed my mother from the chair where she was reading. She was fully dressed in her best russet gown and white fichu, her curly hair already powdered beneath her white cap. “What do these tears signify?”
“Oh! Mamma! You cannot mean to humiliate me like this!” I flew to her side and kneeled before her, taking one of her hands in mine, as my tears flowed.
She set down her book. “How have I humiliated you?”
In between sobs, I told her about Louisa and Harriot. My mother looked surprised.
“I have wanted this for such a long time, Mamma. It is my only opportunity to feel what it is to be truly grown-up. Will not you consider and relent? Otherwise, I am to be the only person at the ball to-night with natural hair! I will be laughed at!”
My
mother was silent for a moment; then she patted my back distractedly. “Well, well, we cannot have that, can we? We are not at Steventon now. If those are the rules of this house—if little Harriot Bridges, at age ten, is to have powdered hair—well!”
I glanced up at her, hope rising. “Do you mean—”
“I have been here but a few hours, Jane, but already I have sized up Lady Bridges. That woman has her nose so high up in the air, it is a wonder she can take a step without falling on her face! We cannot have her looking down on us! Why, her daughters are all so beautiful and accomplished, nobody else’s daughters can hope to hold a candle to them! Even her strawberries are the best in the land, or so she claims, and her precious roses won a prize at some fair or other; well! My own roses are equally as fine, I assure you, for all that they have not been judged and won ribbons! You are a young lady now, Jane! Even if you are not yet out, we cannot have Lady Bridges or any of her ilk looking at you like a child!”
“Oh! Thank you, Mamma!” I threw my arms around her, so filled with relief and happiness that I thought I might burst.
“There, there, Jane,” said my mother, “you will ruin my ensemble. Now dry your tears, and go get your hair powdered. Mind you, this indulgence will apply this one night only.”
“I understand.”
“One thing further: remember what I said, you are not to dance to-night with any strange men, only your brothers or your cousins.”
“Only brothers and cousins?” cried I, distressed once again. “But Mamma, there are but a handful of young men who meet that description! I have been here some days already. I have become good friends with some of the Bridgeses’s friends, and in particular with their cousin, Edward Taylor. He is a remarkable young man, Mamma. I would give anything to dance with him.”
“Edward Taylor?” She pursed her lips. “Is he the young man just come back from abroad, who is heir to that big house down the road, what is it called?”
“Bifrons. Yes. That is he.”
“Well, Lady Bridges has her cap in a twist about that young gentleman; she seems to perceive anyone who is musical, well-educated, or well-travelled as a threat to her own precious progeny. Let us give her something else to fret about, Jane! He is, in any case, soon to be our cousin through marriage, is not he? You have my permission, my dear; you may dance with him—and I suppose with anyone else you call a friend. But I still say: no strangers.”
“Thank you!” cried I again, kissing her cheek with relief; and I flew from the chamber.
I returned to my own room, where the scent of lavender hung heavy in the air, and I found that my sister had been transformed into a regal beauty.
“You look stunning,” cried I, and without pausing added, “and you will never guess what has happened! Mamma has just given her consent for me to powder my hair! And to dance with any friends I like!”
“Has she?” replied Cassandra. “I am happy for you, Jane.”
“Well done, miss,” said Sally, beaming.
I resumed my seat at the dressing-table, my heart drumming with anticipation, as Sally covered my shoulders and upper body with a protective drape; she then applied pomatum to my hair, and liberally added the fragrant, bluish gray starch with a puff. Very quickly, powder filled the air and got up my nose and into my mouth, causing me to choke and sneeze. When she had finished and removed the drape, I was so enveloped by the flowery aroma, I felt slightly ill.
Cassandra, who had been watching from a chair by the hearth, said:
“There, you have achieved your goal. Are you content?”
“I am not sure.” Coughing and brushing off the excess powder from my gown, I added, “I did not realise it was such a messy business.”
“I tried to tell you.” She smiled. “You look very elegant, Jane.”
“Do I?” Turning and glancing in the mirror again, I viewed my reflection with a start. “I hope so. For in truth, I do not recognise myself.”
Chapter the Fourteenth
Fanny and Elizabeth waited until the last moment to make their entrances before dinner. When at last they came down the stairs—Fanny stunning in violet satin, and Elizabeth very striking in a yellow silk gown with white lace trimmings, each adorned with a ribbon of matching silk tied round her powdered curly head, each beaming with supreme self-confidence as if certain she deserved all attention to be focused on herself—everyone turned as one to smile and comment with admiration. Mr. Cage looked proud; my brother Edward stood absolutely riveted; and when Elizabeth took his arm to enter the dining-room, he could look at nothing else.
Dinner was a hurried affair, as everyone’s spirits were too high to eat more than a few morsels. Fanny and Elizabeth were particularly animated, for their engagements were to be officially announced that evening, and they were to lead the first two sets. All the ladies were resplendent in their gaily-coloured gowns, with their hair stylishly dressed; the boys and the gentlemen looked equally well in their finery. Gazing about me at all the powdered heads—and catching my mother’s private, gently approving smile—I felt a part of something very grand.
In the half-hour that followed I was in a fever of anticipation, knowing that Edward Taylor would soon arrive; thinking about him, going over our previous conversations in my mind, and anticipating the evening’s events to come, made me flush with pleasure. I knew that Charlotte Payler would be in attendance, as well as many other young ladies from the neighbourhood whom I had not met; but even with so many partners to choose from—considering the manner in which he had deliberately sought me out at the strawberry-picking party—surely on this special evening, he would ask me to dance.
The gentlemen soon joined us in the drawing-room, where we awaited the arrival of the guests. Mr. Cage stood by the door, conversing with Mr. Deedes. I sat down upon a sofa beside Fanny and told her how well she looked; she matter-of-factly returned the compliment. Wishing to get to know her better, I commented:
“How elegant Mr. Cage appears to-night. His jacket and waistcoat are beautifully embellished.”
She glanced briefly at him, as if noticing him for the first time. “They are indeed.”
“It must be thrilling to be engaged to such a fine man, and to know that you have found your one, true love.”
My statement had been well-meant; I had expected it to encourage from her a modest smile, or perhaps a yearning sigh; to my dismay it induced instead a heavy exhalation, accompanied by a frown. “What makes you think that Mr. Cage is my one true love?”
I stared at her. “But—is not he? You are to marry him! Surely you must love him?”
She leaned towards me and lowered her voice. “If I share something with you in confidence, do you promise you will not repeat it?”
“I promise.”
“Mr. Cage loves me, of that I am certain; but how could I love him? He is thirty years old!”
So surprised was I by her remark that I had no ready or proper response; indeed, I was completely at a loss, for thirty did seem rather ancient to me, and I knew Mr. Cage to be ten years older than Fanny. At length I replied with some hesitation, “Is not your father many years your mother’s senior?”
“Yes; and you see how happy they are,” replied she sarcastically. “A day does not go by when my father does not bite my mother’s head off, or vice versa.”
I floundered: “That may be so; yet I am sure they love each other. Many other such matches, although unequal in age, are also happy. As I understand it, Mr. Cage comes from a good family, and he seems a most amiable man.”
“His lineage is excellent: there I have no complaints. As to amiability, at times, he is so accommodating that he is tiresome. He does go on and on about books; sometimes I have no idea what he is talking about.” In an even more hushed tone she added, “And he is very plain.”
Her attitude astonished me. “Mr. Cage may not be handsome in the classical sense, bu
t he has a genteel figure and a sensible-looking face.”
“How cleverly you speak. I will agree with you: he has a sensible-looking face. But what beauty wishes to be paired with a sensible-looking man, when she could have a handsome one? For I am a beauty, everyone says so.”
“Fanny,” said I, aghast, “if you do not like Mr. Cage, and do not even like to look at him, why are you marrying him?”
“I did not say that I do not like him. I like him well enough; I just do not love him.”
“But to marry without affection!” I could think of nothing worse.
“You are very young, Jane; but one day you will find out: there are many reasons for marrying, and love does not always enter into it.” With eyebrows raised, Fanny added softly: “Do you know how rich he is?”
I could formulate no reply.
“Do not look so shocked, Jane. Money is the best reason I know for marrying, and one of the best recipes for happiness. I could not let Elizabeth marry before me, and I could not let anyone else get him, could I? I will have my own coach, all the hats and gowns I could wish for, the family jewels—which I understand are quite sensational—and an estate every bit as grand as Goodnestone. I promise you, I will be very happy.”
I felt such disgust, that I could stomach the conversation no longer.
“I do hope that you achieve the happiness that you deserve, Fanny,” was my reply, as I stood and crossed the room. To conceive of living forever with a person one could neither respect nor admire! It seemed to me a crime against morality and humanity. I shuddered to think of the misery Mr. Cage should endure, by chaining himself for life to a woman who could not even pretend to care for him. I felt sorry for him. At the same time, although I had never truly liked Fanny (and liked her now even less than before), I found that I felt sorry for her as well. She appeared to me misguided; perhaps her upbringing, with a mother whose primary concerns were societal and centered on appearances, had prepared her very ill for making the most important decision in her life. Despite her protests, surely she could never be content in such a marriage.