topics.
“Oh no. You’ve had such a long journey, you must be tired. I’ll have you shown to your rooms and we can worry about the model in the morning.”
Thus their introduction to the duchess ended and they were shown to comfortable adjoining rooms. When Marguerite crossed into Marie’s bedchamber to say good night, she was greeted with the woman’s usual staccato observances.
“Foolishness. Waste of time. We should be letting mask set overnight. Too much delay. The exhibition is not taking in admissions while we fritter away time here.”
Marguerite grasped Marie’s hand. “I’m sure that tomorrow morning we will set right to work and be on our way in no time.”
“Bah. Need good light. And no dogs! Animals will spoil the plaster with their hair and drool.”
“I’m sure the duchess will be sensitive to your requirements, madame. We should retire now to be sure we get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s activities.”
The next morning was flooded with golden sunshine and they were invited to take breakfast with the duchess on the lawn just outside the formal gardens, which were dotted with small tombstones along their perimeter. Marguerite counted seven of them. She tentatively ventured to ask about them as they finished their sumptuous morning meal of oatmeal with sweet cream, smoked herrings, and rolls with orange marmalade.
“Your Grace, pardon my rudeness, but may I inquire as to who is buried here?”
“Ah, they are the resting places for my precious ones. My pets that have gone on before me.”
“Your pets?”
“Yes, a couple of my beloved terriers, my rapscallion old cockatoo, Blanche, and others. I buried them here so they could look out over the grounds they loved so much when they were alive.”
Marie was fidgeting at Marguerite’s side again, and accidentally kicked the case of supplies at her feet, spilling the contents. A servant was at her side in seconds to pick up the scattered tools and replace them.
“That was very thoughtful of Your Grace,” Marguerite replied. “I’m sure your kindness is well appreciated by the people of Weybridge.”
The duchess preened at Marguerite’s words. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashby. It’s a bit lonely being exiled this far outside Society. My pets and my neighbors are my only solace. And now we should attend to my portrait, should we not?”
She personally escorted them to a brick outbuilding abouttwenty feet square, which she referred to as a painter’s studio. Inside the structure was an assortment of chairs, chests, and other occasional pieces of furniture, jumbled together so that it seemed more like a storage shed than a place where an artist could work. Nevertheless, Marguerite jumped in to help as Marie began systematically moving furniture around to fit her needs. The two women threw open windows and used cloths covering a settee to wipe down a table Marie identified as suitable for applying the plaster cast.
The duchess protested that she would have servants rearrange the room for the waxworkers, but Marie, already annoyed by the delays, insisted that the little bit of effort to fix the room was not worth calling for help.
With the studio now set, Marie set about her first task, which was to take measurements of her subject. Spread upon the table were several types of calipers, metal instruments that looked like the pincher devices enthusiastically used by fanatics during the Inquisition.
Happily enough, their fierce appearances had no relation to the very simple task they performed. Using an outside caliper, Marie gently placed the arms of it around the princess’s ankles, calves, wrists, head, and other extremities to measure their circumferences. Marguerite duly noted these numbers in the large notebook they kept to maintain a log of all their subjects.
She then used one of her several inside calipers, which measured the internal circumference of a subject, such as the spread inside of a mouth or the distance between the fingers
“Oh no. You’ve had such a long journey, you must be tired. I’ll have you shown to your rooms and we can worry about the model in the morning.”
Thus their introduction to the duchess ended and they were shown to comfortable adjoining rooms. When Marguerite crossed into Marie’s bedchamber to say good night, she was greeted with the woman’s usual staccato observances.
“Foolishness. Waste of time. We should be letting mask set overnight. Too much delay. The exhibition is not taking in admissions while we fritter away time here.”
Marguerite grasped Marie’s hand. “I’m sure that tomorrow morning we will set right to work and be on our way in no time.”
“Bah. Need good light. And no dogs! Animals will spoil the plaster with their hair and drool.”
“I’m sure the duchess will be sensitive to your requirements, madame. We should retire now to be sure we get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s activities.”
The next morning was flooded with golden sunshine and they were invited to take breakfast with the duchess on the lawn just outside the formal gardens, which were dotted with small tombstones along their perimeter. Marguerite counted seven of them. She tentatively ventured to ask about them as they finished their sumptuous morning meal of oatmeal with sweet cream, smoked herrings, and rolls with orange marmalade.
“Your Grace, pardon my rudeness, but may I inquire as to who is buried here?”
“Ah, they are the resting places for my precious ones. My pets that have gone on before me.”
“Your pets?”
“Yes, a couple of my beloved terriers, my rapscallion old cockatoo, Blanche, and others. I buried them here so they could look out over the grounds they loved so much when they were alive.”
Marie was fidgeting at Marguerite’s side again, and accidentally kicked the case of supplies at her feet, spilling the contents. A servant was at her side in seconds to pick up the scattered tools and replace them.
“That was very thoughtful of Your Grace,” Marguerite replied. “I’m sure your kindness is well appreciated by the people of Weybridge.”
The duchess preened at Marguerite’s words. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashby. It’s a bit lonely being exiled this far outside Society. My pets and my neighbors are my only solace. And now we should attend to my portrait, should we not?”
She personally escorted them to a brick outbuilding abouttwenty feet square, which she referred to as a painter’s studio. Inside the structure was an assortment of chairs, chests, and other occasional pieces of furniture, jumbled together so that it seemed more like a storage shed than a place where an artist could work. Nevertheless, Marguerite jumped in to help as Marie began systematically moving furniture around to fit her needs. The two women threw open windows and used cloths covering a settee to wipe down a table Marie identified as suitable for applying the plaster cast.
The duchess protested that she would have servants rearrange the room for the waxworkers, but Marie, already annoyed by the delays, insisted that the little bit of effort to fix the room was not worth calling for help.
With the studio now set, Marie set about her first task, which was to take measurements of her subject. Spread upon the table were several types of calipers, metal instruments that looked like the pincher devices enthusiastically used by fanatics during the Inquisition.
Happily enough, their fierce appearances had no relation to the very simple task they performed. Using an outside caliper, Marie gently placed the arms of it around the princess’s ankles, calves, wrists, head, and other extremities to measure their circumferences. Marguerite duly noted these numbers in the large notebook they kept to maintain a log of all their subjects.
She then used one of her several inside calipers, which measured the internal circumference of a subject, such as the spread inside of a mouth or the distance between the fingers
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