Page 73 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Seventeen

Louisa converted an old shift into a frock for Susan while following the child’s movements as she waddled about in only a nappy. Susan went from the sewing basket—which she emptied—to the curtains—behind which she hid—to the cabinet containing a chamber pot—whereupon Nellie intervened. Tempting the child with bread sopped in milk, Nellie held Susan in her lap. A soft knock sounded at Louisa’s chamber door.

“Come in, please.”

The door opened to Margaret. “I was told to come for the mending?” She entered, confident and genteel, her trim figure made exquisite by the gown she’d embellished. Her auburn hair shone beneath a little white cap, highlighting a lustrous complexion and eyes that matched her brother’s. Louisa liked the independent way she did not allow Lord Halverton to make decisions for her. Though they were the same age, Margaret seemed wiser and more sure of herself than Louisa felt herself to be.

“Nellie has a skirt from Lady Halverton that requires stitching, but don’t forget you promised to help me alter my gowns. Come in and let me show you what I am thinking.” Louisa went to a trunk and pulled out a few dresses that were missing bows or lace and required repair.

Margaret turned a gown inside out and examined the stitching. “I have never seen a mantua so well-constructed,” Margaret said. “Pray, which dressmaker made this?”

“Lady Halverton has a fine tailor to whom she brings French patterns,” Louisa said. “He’s very good.”

“I see that.”

At Margaret’s wistful tone, Louisa glanced up at her.

“What I wouldn’t give to take it apart and sew it up again, to learn how it is done.” She sighed deeply, regret falling over her face.

“Take it. I won’t need it for some time.”

“You mean it?” Margaret faced Louisa and clutched the gown to her chest. Her countenance, habitually placid, transformed under an enchanting smile, which was both familiar and out of place. It put Louisa in mind of James.

“Of course. I won’t need it for a month.” Louisa lied, not knowing how long Margaret would take to reconstruct it, covered as it was with rows of ruching.

“I’ll have it back in two weeks.” She picked over the robe à la française, then swiftly set it aside. “These other items, I can have mended by the end of the day.”

Nellie helped her move the clothing into a basket, and Margaret threw that smile over her shoulder on her way out.

Louisa shook her head ruefully. If Lady Halverton hadn’t guessed who Margaret was, the countess would soon see for herself.

A letter slipped under the door, and Nellie retrieved it. “A strange hour to receive a letter.”

“Very likely the butler gave it to the wrong person.” Louisa read the address and gasped. “It’s from Charles!” She cracked the seal and read aloud.

My Dearest Sister,

You will be delighted to know that I wish to see you, and perhaps you might introduce me to your friends.

“He would like that, but I will never.”

Reply with time and day, and I will come. Or perhaps I will be one of your morning callers. Would that be more to your taste? I find myself dreadfully short of funds, and your secret scandal weighs heavy on my tongue.

Louisa groaned. “He is dreadful.”

“What will you do?” Nellie asked, bouncing Susan on her lap.

Louisa settled in front of the dressing table. “I won’t think of him. I am riding soon. Will you help me dress? Then, you can focus on Susan. She seems tired.”

It took twice as long to dress, as Nellie was forced to stop every few minutes to extract Susan from disaster. Nellie chattered about her beau, wondered aloud why Margaret was doing the mending, and speculated on whether it would rain.

When Nellie finished, thirty minutes remained before Hugh and Miss Cron would meet them. She opened her writing box and pulled out the red journal, along with Halverton’s copy of Clarissa, which she had stayed up late reading every night. The story, so like her own and so vastly different, spoke to her as nothing else had. Louisa saw in it the tragedy of what might have been had she not evicted that man. The book was stuffed with scraps of paper marking favorite passages she hoped to copy, but they were too numerous to accomplish in one sitting.

Louisa turned to a scene wherein the villain physically restrained Clarissa. She wrote Clarissa’s resisting monologue, punctuated by her threatening to take a penknife to her throat: “Let me go, said she: I am but a woman—but a weak woman—but my life is in my own power, though my own person is not—I will not be thus constrained.” When Louisa first read these words, she was struck by the heroine’s conviction to hold her life in her own hands though she could not control what he did to her body. Louisa could well imagine the desperation of this moment but was troubled that Clarissa preferred death to defilement. She chose to understand the lines outside of context. What might she accomplish during her life, despite the constraints set upon her?

She picked up her pen to copy another favorite line: “The most valuable fortune that misfortune can give us is the opportunity of improving by every misfortune.” Louisa found in this a theme for her own life, for she had attempted to improve by her adversities the best she was able. Her success at conversing at Lady Halverton’s salon was like a living thing that sought to dismantle the cold tangle knotting her stomach. Knowledge, as her lady had so often told her, was indeed liberating. She saw this in Lady Halverton’s outspoken desire to vote and in the unashamed way she had taken upon herself the burden of running her husband’s and then her son’s estate. Encountering Mrs. Beecham and Miss Fischer, who supported so many women who might otherwise have nowhere to go, also inspired Louisa.

What might she do, if she were brave enough?