“Come now, darling. We’ll—we’ll just step out.” Catherine feels pressure on her shoulders and lets Mother start pushing her out of the tearoom.
“I’m so sorry!” Amalie says, almost shouting, following after them. She keeps up a steady slew of apologies until they reach the cloakroom.
“That is quite— MissLinet,” Mother stays, stopping just before the door. “We will get this sorted. Please go enjoy the tea. We will be back shortly.”
Catherine gives an exaggerated sniffle and Mother sighs, pushing her into the cloakroom. Catherine looks over her shoulder just in time to see Amalie wink before the door swings closed.
“Utterly ridiculous. You’ll bet she’s paying for this dress,” Mother mutters, pushing Catherine further into the empty cloakroom.
Catherine spins, facing herself in the mirror. There’s wine down to her chemise. She’ll pay for the dress herself if this works. And get Amalie a present.
“There was nothing on the floor. I don’t understand how it even happened,” Mother continues, unlacing the back of her dress.
Catherine shrugs. “I don’t know.” She keeps her eye on the door in the mirror, hoping, praying, that Rosalie will come through.
“Mr.Dean was walking over. MissLinet is never allowed in our home again.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Catherine argues.
“He had a ring in his hand, I saw it,” Mother says gruffly.
So did Catherine. Thank Christ Amalie had the wits to get her out of there.
“Up,” Mother commands.
Catherine lifts her arms and together they carefully maneuver the dress over her head, leaving her in her stays, petticoat, and chemise.
“Maybe I can pat some of it out,” Mother says, eyeing the massive stain down the front. “Grab me a towel.”
Catherine hurries to the stack of towelettes in the corner and brings two back.
“Here, there’s better light,” Catherine says, directing her mother to lay the dress on the vanity closest to the water closet, which gets a smidge of sunlight through the transom over the door.
Mother grabs one of the towelettes and they both begin to blot at her dress.
“If we just had some water,” Mother mutters, biting at her cheek as she dabs a bit too forcefully.
“There might be some in the closet?” Catherine suggests a little too eagerly.
Mother merely gives her an affronted look. In fairness, it’s a terrible idea. But they need to move. If they’re in here when—
“I just do not understand why you insist on acting this way,” Lady Tisend snaps in a shouting whisper as she backs through the cloakroom door.
Rosalie follows after her, taking in the tableau of Catherine in her shift, bent over her gown and blotting with her mother.
Mother’s gaze snaps to the door. Her eyes widen, and Catherine’s never seen her move so fast. In a blink, she’s got Catherine’s dress in her arms, towels and all, and begins shoving Catherine into the water closet.
She goes, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. The door swings shut before Lady Tisend turns around, and they’re left standing in the cramped water closet, holding her sopping dress. The dim daylight coming in from the high windows only makes it more pathetic.
Catherine glances at Mother and finds her looking far too pleased.
“What on earth has gotten into you?” Lady Tisend’s voice is clear as a bell.
“What do you think happened?” Mother whispers, inching closer to the door to eavesdrop.
“You’re enjoying this?” Catherine can’t help but ask.
They were each in charge of getting their mothers here separately. Who knows what shenanigans might have occurred on Rosalie’s end. With Christopher involved, anything’s possible. Though Amalie certainly was a wild card.
