Beyond the dressing room was her bedroom. This was as stunning as thesitting room, with another rich carpet upon the floor, yellow silkhangings on the large tester bed and matching curtains at the windows. Thewalls were covered with panels of Chinese silk, picking up the yellowtheme, and the paintings hung upon them were not known to Beth but had allthe appearance of being Old Masters.
These rooms were not a hidey-hole, they were a gilded cage.
More than anything in the world at that moment, Beth wanted to bealone, yet she could think of no way to get rid of the maid.
“Has my trunk been brought up?” she asked, hoping the woman would go tofind it, but at that moment there was a noise from the dressing room.
“That will be it now, miss,” said Redcliff and bustled off but only asfar as the next room where she supervised the footmen in the placing ofthe baggage. Beth had only managed to remove her bonnet before she wasback.
Beth tried again. “I think I would like to wash, Redcliff,” shesaid.
“Certainly, miss,” replied the maid and disappeared. But again only asfar as the dressing room where there was the sound of running water. Bethhad forgotten the ever-ready tank.
In a moment the woman was back, indicating that Miss Armitage shouldjoin her. Beth obeyed. She was beginning to learn about the tyranny ofservants.
Beth felt like a child. She managed to undo the buttons at the front ofher long-sleeved spencer herself, but it was the maid who eased it off. Itwas the maid, too, who undid the three buttons at the back of the bodiceof her gown and loosened the laces which tightened the waist. In a momentthe gown was off, and Beth was standing in her cambric petticoat. Themaid’s fingers started again, but Beth balked.
“That will be quite enough,” she said, somewhat sharply. “Please unpackfor me.”
At least that got the woman a pace or two away.
Beth took up the thickly woven cotton square and the soap and began towash what she could reach. If the maid would only leave she could gofarther, but she had never undressed before another person since she was achild and could not bring herself to do so now.
The soap was sweetly perfumed and rich and smooth on her skin. Theembroidered towel was soft.
As soon as she was finished she found the maid beside her offering analabaster pot containing cream. “For your hands, miss.”
Beth dipped her fingers in the unguent and smoothed it over her hands.It, too, was perfumed. Before she was finished she would smell like aspring garden.
“There is lotion for the face, too, if you would wish it, miss,” saidRedcliff.
Beth declined, and the maid turned back to the trunks. “Which gownwould you wish to wear this evening, miss?”
Beth knew she had nothing appropriate for this setting and steadfastlyrefused to be concerned. It was a matter of pride, surely, not to havewasted a fortune on her back.
“There is a fawn peau de soie,” she said. “I will wear that.”
Then Beth was helped into her wrap and could escape to the sitting roomand a moment’s peace. She sat by a window, looking out at the sun-gildedheavenly estate. As far as her eye could see there were delightfulprospects, and the deer picked their way across greensward with contentedelegance. It was a fairy-tale setting where surely imperfection andsuffering never invaded.
After a moment she lowered her head into her hands. A human might feelsuperior to a baboon, but it was still distressing to be forced into itsmilieu.
What was she going to do, she thought with panic, if her plan didn’twork and the marquess went through with the marriage? She couldn’t live inthis place. It was impossible.
She took her hands from her face and forced herself to her feet. Panicwould destroy her. Only strength would take her safely home again. Shepaced the room and rallied her flagging spirits. Belcraven was a building,nothing more, and its perfect grounds were just a stage set created withvast amounts of money.
The luxury surrounding her was doubtless just an indication of past andpresent corruption. After all, most of the aristocracy had gained theirhigh estate by acts of violence or immorality in the service of similarlyviolent and immoral monarchs.
The duke, the duchess, and the marquess were just people, and no moreworthy of awe than the simplest laborer. In fact, that laborer doubtlesscame by his daily bread more honestly.
By the time the maid indicated that the requested gown was ready, Bethhad talked herself back into courage.
“Jewels, miss?” asked Redcliff.
“There is a gold locket in my reticule,” said Beth, making no attemptat pretense. “It is all I have.” Then she thought of her ring and lookeddown at the gaudy thing. It at least was in keeping with Belcraven, whichonly proved it had no place on her finger.
The maid found the locket and clasped it around Beth’s neck.
Beth considered herself in the long mirror. Both she and Miss Mallorymade their own gowns, but once a year they commissioned two formal outfitsfrom the local dressmaker ? a heavy one for winter and a light one forsummer. This was the latter, and it fitted well and had a few stylishdetails ? pin tucks in the bodice and braid around the hem. The style,however, was simple and modest, and Beth knew it would be eclipsed byanything the duchess might wear. Or other guests.
