Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  “Pull the trigger, my dear,” the man spoke up.

  Penelope gaped at him. She focused on his expression and was disconcerted to note that the man looked confident and serene, irrespective of the fact that he was facing a loaded gun and wearing yards of silk. Was it false bravado, she wondered, her courage rapidly faltering at his smile.

  “I will pull it … I am warning you …”

  “Please, by all means, go ahead.”

  “No, Miss Fairweather, you do not understand. You are mistaken,” the dowager interrupted urgently.

  But Penelope had already raised the gun to her shoulder and was taking aim.

  The room froze, their throats constricted by giant lumps of fear.

  Penelope shut one eye and squinted. She couldn’t see a blasted thing. How did one see through a hunting rifle? She tried again, desperately peering, her arms already aching from holding the heavy rifle. She gave up and aimed with both her eyes open. She had intended to aim and keep it aimed until help arrived. Unfortunately, that was when the weight of the rifle became too much for her and her back bowed and hand slipped.

  She had pulled the trigger…

  … and thankfully shot the ceiling.

  Lady Radclyff screamed, the maids screeched and Madame Bellafraunde tsked.

  A few bits of the mortar fell to the ground and with it the tomcat fled. Penelope was back to being as brave as a mouse. The rifle now lay on the ground and she did not dare pick it up again.

  “My dear, we have been trying to explain. This is the real Madame Bellafraunde. She is not an imposter,” the dowager said, staring at the roof aghast.

  “But … But this she … is a he!”

  “I am a man, yes. No need to look so horrified, girl. I am a man with the soul of a female and a brain that can potentially change your life.”

  “I … I am sure you can … I was … I was just surprised. Even in my country village we have heard of your talent, sir … I mean, Madame,” Penelope stammered.

  The dowager and Lady Radclyff were looking horrified, while Madame … Madame looked content and slightly sleepy, like a well fed cat that would soon lick her paws and purr.

  She hoped that Madame would not refuse to help her now. Good lord, she had almost shot her… and she had shot the duke’s ceiling. No man or women in Madame’s place would take such an imbecile on. It was all over before it even began.

  Distressed, Penelope said to all that were present, “I am sorry for shooting Madame. I mean the roof. I was only going to shoot her foot, but with my aim, I could have shot her in the head instead. I am truly sorry for almost killing you, Madame. The roof is not so important. That is, the roof is important, Lady Radclyff. It is after all your home, but I think Madame is more important—”

  Madame Bellafraunde lifted a hand and halted her babbling.

  Penelope rubbed her sweaty palms together. Her heart was in her throat. She could see her hopes of catching a man withering and dying. She silently bid it goodbye.

  She cursed herself for her rashness. She didn’t care if a large, hairy man was supposed to choose her dresses as long as he helped her on her mission. Now he would never help.

  “Enough desperation in her tone to almost convince me, but I need to inspect her closer to make the decision,” Madame said, brushing of the incident as if it was of no consequence.

  Penelope raised her lashes, hope once more rising from the embers.

  “What,” Madame asked Penelope, “are you good at?”

  Penelope eagerly replied, “I am a great canoozer of food.”

  “Could you repeat yourself? I don’t think I hear you right.”

  “Yes,” Penelope said, and then repeated loudly, “I am a great canoozer of food.”

  What a rifle could not do, this did. Madame paled.

  The maids rushed to fan Madame’s cheeks, and the smelling salts and champagne were administered speedily.

  At length, she sat back on her seat and turning to Penelope said, “You meant connoisseur, not … Never mind. Let us proceed. Can I inspect her closer?” she asked the dowager.

  The dowager gave a quick nod, and Madame keeping her beady eyes on Penelope approached her. She took Penelope’s face in her hand and twisted it one way, then the other. Her hair was opened and it now fell in thick, silky layers down her shoulders. Her waist was spanned and her ankles inspected. Her nails were frowned upon and her eyebrows tsked at. All the while Madame continued shooting questions at the dowager,

  “Manners?”

  “Abysmal.”

  “Talents?”

  “A spot of energetic dancing”

  “Drawing or painting? Needlework?”

  “Hopeless.”

  “Cooking?”

  “Yes, she can cook but nothing fancy.”

  “Her fan work?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Charm?”

  “A smidgeon.”

  “Her behaviour in front of men?”

  “My father and the duke despise her.”

  Madame Bellafraunde turned to smile at the dowager, “I am impressed. I have never had such a hopeless case before. Men would run a mile if they saw her approaching and that to me is a challenge. She will be transformed into a man’s fantasy. I will do this. I will do this and succeed. It will be one of the highlights of my career because you, Miss Fairweather, in spite of your glaring faults, will be married to the best the season has to offer.”

  Penelope smiled weakly wondering if she should be unhappy at being called hopeless and having her faults so blatantly discussed, or happy that Madame had agreed to help her because she was such a lost cause.

  The dowager and Lady Radclyff let out a sigh of relief.

  After this Madame Bellafraunde changed into another being. Her slow lethargic walk turned into a fast paced trot. Her deep drawl turned into quick rapid speech, and her face was lit with a mad sort of excitement. Miss Fairweather would sparkle, shine, glow, and turn heads wherever she went, and as long as the girl kept her mouth shut for the rest of her life, she would be married and live happily ever after.

  “Strip down to your chemise,” Madame Bellafraunde ordered.

  “Now? In front of you?” Penelope squeaked.

  “Girl, let me educate you. I have the soul of a woman, and that means my bonnet jiggles for a man.”

  “How?”

  “Have you not read any Roman history?”

  “Father reads aloud and I have often hidden under his desk and overheard … I mean, I didn’t know … I thought it only happened in books and history.”

  “A few of us survived outside of dull pages,” Madame replied wryly.

  Penelope glanced at the dowager uncertainly, and receiving an encouraging nod she began undressing. One of the four maids who had accompanied Madame approached Penelope and started helping her. With every cloth that was shed, Penelope turned a brighter shade of red. Her neck and even her arms had taken on a rosy hue. Soon she stood semi-naked wearing a faded corset, bloomers and stockings. Her only comfort was in the thought that most of the audience were female and the only male in the room was more woman than the rest of them put together.

  Right at that moment the door opened and the duke’s head popped in.

  “Mother,” he began and then stopped. Slowly his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock. He stared at an almost naked Penelope and then Madame Bellafraunde. The shock turned to anger.

  “I will not have you liaising in my house in this manner. How dare you sneak a man in here? Here under my roof to perform lewd—”

  “Charles!” the dowager spoke up from the couch.

  “How could you?” Lady Radclyff added.

  The duke deflated as he finally noticed his sister, mother, and four maids present in the room besides Penelope and the man. His face soon registered utter confusion.

  The dowager hurried over to the duke and shoved him out of the door and into the hallway.

  “I will explain things. Why don’
t you carry on, Madame. I apologise for the interruption,” the dowager said calmly following her son.

  Penelope hid her face in her hands and moaned. Why, oh why were things going so badly wrong?

  “Don’t worry about it, my dear,” Madame Bellafraunde soothed, her eyes twinkling with suppressed humour.

  Penelope snorted into her hands. Madame couldn’t possibly conceive what Penelope was feeling at the moment. Madame hadn’t been caught wearing only a corset, lavender bloomers and a laddered stocking. And the bloomers hadn’t even been her best ones.

  Lady Radclyff wrapped a shawl around Penelope and led her to the sofa. A cup of tea was quickly administered with a generous dose of brandy. Once Penelope stopped trembling in shame and regained some of her colour, Madame Bellafraunde sprang out of her chair and clapped her hands.

  The four maids that had accompanied her formed a line.

  “Go and join them, Miss Fairweather. We have no time to lose. Up you go. You can soak the pillow with tears tonight, but for now we need to get back to work.”

  Penelope shrugged off the shawl and giving a weak smile joined the maids. She couldn’t bear the pitying looks of the other women any longer. The best cure for her was action, and she was thankful to Madame for brushing over the incident as if it was of no importance. For the second time since her arrival Madame had somehow smoothed over the situation. She did not know if it was deliberate. Nevertheless, she was thankful.

  “Now, Lady Radclyff, this is what I propose. Today we will concentrate on Miss Fairweather’s wardrobe. You are a lucky girl,” Madame said turning to look at Penelope, “that you do not need to go to the Burlington Arcade or the Pantheon. It would take you a week or more visiting the dressmaker, milliner, fan maker, reticule maker, tailor, shoe shop, and the shawl seller to get your wardrobe assembled. Instead you have me, who will dress you from top to toe, procuring only the best available in all of Paris and London. My assistants will do the hard work, while all I require of you is to stand still, obey me and look pretty. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Madame,” Penelope said, for a moment feeling like she was being prepped for war.

  “May, get a sharp knife ready. Lady Radclyff, have a bath filled with hot water brought here. Station a footman outside the door and let no one enter. Rose, run and bring in all the boxes and materials from the carriage.”

  The two young maids in identical black uniforms bobbed their heads and rushed out to do her bidding.

  Lady Radclyff hesitated, “Bathe here?”

  “Where else, girl? This room is big enough, the fire roaring and warm. It would take too long to heat any other room and we don’t have time. Now run along ... Hurry.”

  Lady Radclyff mimicked the maids and after a quick curtsy ran out.

  “Ah, your grace, we are ready to begin the transformation,” Madame remarked, as soon as the dowager entered the room.

  Penelope couldn’t tell if the dowager had been successful in explaining the situation to the duke. Had she mentioned the shooting debacle?

  The dowager’s face was impassive. All she offered was a soft, reserved smile as she replied, “That’s wonderful. Do you require any assistance from me?”

  “Perhaps you can help us tomorrow when I work on her manners and fan work? Today leave the girl in my hands,” Madame Bellafraunde said with a militant look in her eye.

  Penelope gulped as the dowager departed. She warily eyed the sharp knife the maid had procured. How, she wondered, was Madame going to make use of the knife in an attempt to make her look beautiful?

  Cut off her head perhaps and be done with it?

  “I am going to use the knife and this creamy bar of soap to clean the hair off your hands and legs. I learnt the method when I travelled to the east in search of beauty secrets. English women have not embraced it yet, but I am trying to bring in a new fashion. Every few days ask one of the maids to help you do this. Now be careful and make sure you choose someone who knows what they are doing. One slip and you could cut a precious vein and bleed to death, or a single nick and you could infect your arm, and then the physician may have to cut your entire limb off to save your life. I know of a few young girls, God bless their souls, who gave up their lives for the sake of fashion. But we want you alive, so stop shaking, no movement, and don’t worry, my girl here will help me. I promise you will be fine.”

  Penelope froze in fright. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed over and over until the entire ordeal was over. Oddly, Madame only stayed long enough to see that her arms were cleaned of hair. When it came to her legs, Madame left the room.

  Next she was dumped into a bath and scrubbed, oiled and perfumed by the maids. Even her hair was sprayed with concoctions from different vials. She felt raw, stripped and naked. But at least she smelled wonderful.

  “Stand by the fire and drink this coffee. I need your hair to dry as fast as possible. I have asked for your maid to join us. She needs to learn how to do your hair and skin,” Madame said, entering the room once Penelope had donned a robe.

  “Skin?”

  “Have you seen your complexion? I have seen corpses with better colour in their cheeks and with not a freckle dusting their noses. Listen to me very carefully. In fact, write it down,” Madame Bellafraunde said, snatching the half full cup of coffee away from Penelope.

  “Here is a pen and ah ... thank you, Mary, is it? You are Miss Fairweather’s maid? Listen to everything I have to say, Mary, and do not forget a single thing. You will become the finest lady’s maid in your little village under my training. At the moment you are atrocious. Where was I...? Skin ... Gowland’s Lotion, and here it says on the bottle, ‘Eruptive humours fly before its powers, pimples and freckles die within the hour’. Hmmph, I don’t know about that, but it does fade away spots if you use it faithfully for a few months and avoid the sun. Here, Mary, keep it for your mistress.”

  Penelope stared at the little glass pot in Mary’s hand. She wanted to touch it and sniff its contents, but Madame Bellafraunde was already waiving another pot in front of her nose; this time a blue plastic bottle.

  “Milk of Roses will cure your face of this very distracting blotchy redness. Use it at bedtime. Now this,” Madame said, lovingly taking out a crystal bottle, “is called Bloom of Ninon, a wonderful tonic that will help you with worms, leaches, louse—”

  “Worms? I don’t have any worms or leaches … or louse!”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t say you did right now, but you could. Besides, it’s wonderful for softening your rough callouses, keeping your face plump and your bosom firm. Take a few drops every morning with a glass of water.”

  Mary helped Penelope into a long flowing robe and led her to the sofa. She started rubbing Gowland’s Lotion into her skin followed by the Milk of Roses.

  “This here,” Madame said, pulling a vial out of an open wooden crate, “is for your hair. It is a mixture of oils that I created a few years ago. It prevents balding and in your case will tame your locks. Your hair is passable. A few washes with my ‘Hair Swoon’ and you will shine and sparkle in candle light.”

  “Hair Swoon?”

  “The scent is so delicious it is rumoured that Countess Randalf actually swooned when she first had a whiff ....”

  “I will follow your advice faithfully, Madame. Thank you,” Penelope said, getting ready to bid her goodbye.

  “I haven’t finished. We have just started,” Madame exclaimed, opening a giant carton filled to the brim with odds and ends.

  Penelope slumped back on the couch shaking her head in despair. What, she wondered, had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter 11

  Penelope sat ogling the dainty cakes on the table while the maids were busy working on her face and hair.

  Meanwhile, Madame Bellafraunde pulled out lotions for her body, soap for everyday use, soap for the ball nights, soap for cleaning hair, oils for her body, hair and face, paste for her teeth, white imperial talc, blooming rose essence for staining her lips and cheek
s, soot for her lashes and eyebrows, drops to make her eyes seductive and luminous, tonics for health, tonics for beauty, a contraption to pluck her brows, and perfumes to layer and wear at different hours of the day.

  Finally, Madame sat back on the couch and rang for some fresh tea and coffee.

  “It is lunch time. I suggest we take a small break, no more than fifteen minutes, and then I want everyone back in their positions.”

  The maids fled and Penelope watched them leave unhappily. She was still stuck in the same room, and she didn’t think she would get even a moment of freedom until dinner time.

  Lady Radclyff joined them just as the lunch tray was brought in.

  “You look wonderful,” Lady Radclyff exclaimed, staring at Penelope.

  “We will now commence on your etiquette at the dinner table,” Madame said, ignoring Lady Radclyff.

  Penelope eyed Lady Radclyff in silent appeal. In turn, Lady Radclyff shrugged helplessly.

  Penelope groaned inwardly and picked up her spoon.

  “Not so fast, girl. Dainty sips, delicate bites. Here, hold the spoon like this. Lift and move away from the bowl ... not towards yourself ... don’t feed the blasted table!”

  Penelope endeavoured, but her tired mind was filled to the brim. Exhausted, she slumped in her seat and was given a long lecture on the importance of correct posture. Lady Radclyff eyed her sympathetically, but didn't dare interrupt Madame Bellafraunde.

  The dowager entered to check on the victim. She took one look at Penelope’s drawn face and understood the situation.

  “Madame Bellafraunde, perhaps we should quickly move on to Miss Fairweather’s attire. Your seamstresses need to get to work on her trousseau immediately. We can address the rest of her faults tomorrow?” the dowager said.

  “I agree with you, your grace. Her rough complexion and horrifying nails ... Never mind. I will get the girls to bring up the box of materials. I will have to carry the jewellery out myself ....”