coiffure.â
âYouâre very kind, Katy, but I prefer to dress my hair myself.â
âWell for you.â She looked at me critically. âMight I suggest a touch of bandoline â ah! Here is Madam.â Mrs OâDowd came into the room, tottering under the weight of an assortment of gowns. âMadam! You should not be lugging the dresses yourself. Here â give them over to me.â
Katy took the dresses and laid them on the bed, smoothing out the folds with reverent hands. âThe blue taffeta! How lucky you are, Miss Drury! You will look like an angel in that. Now, your waterâs poured, so will I come back to you after youâve washed?â
âThereâs no need, Katy. Iâm used to dressing myself.â
âIt would be my privilege, Miss.â Bobbing a curtsey, she retreated.
Mrs OâDowd had taken a seat upon the bed and was toying with one of her ringlets, winding it round and round a forefinger.
âHow fond Katy is of fashion!â I remarked. âShe tells me she would like to become a ladyâs maid.â
âYes. She was a housemaid at my fatherâs house; I brought her here to be parlour maid. I brought Grady with me too â he is the butler â and Cook; and as for the rest, they come and go and squabble and steal and gossip as servants generally do.â
âKaty is clearly very devoted,â I remarked.
âShe is,â she said, âand overly familiar too, you might say. But she has been with the family since I was a child, and she is my stalwart. I should be lost without my Katy.â
Mrs OâDowdâs blue eyes misted over, and sensing that an outbreak of sentiment was imminent, I diverted her attention to the mass of stuff upon the bed. âWhat a fine collection of gowns!â I said.
âThey are for you, if you will have them?â
âI will accept them with pleasure, Mrs OâDowd, if you are quite certain you can spare them? They are exquisite.â
âYes, yes â I have outgrown them, you see, and they will fit you to a nicety.â She traced with her fingernail an appliquéd vine that bordered a rose-pink sash. I could tell from that detail and divers others that the needlework was of top quality, and was glad no hoity-toity impulse had induced me to decline her gift. âThe grey moiré is most becoming, and the green tabinet will go well with your colouring. I should not ever have thought to part with that sweet sprigged mousseline, but it is too small for me now.â She held the dress up by its lace-trimmed sleeves and looked at it with regret. âI have grown quite plump.â
âMost women fill out, once they have children,â I assured her. Privately I thought macaroons and too much Madeira wine were the more probable cause of her embonpoint.
âWell, there will be no more of
those
!â she said, with some spirit, and for a moment I thought she had read my mind and was referring to the macaroons. âMy second child nearly killed me; the doctor says I will not survive a third.â As she tossed the silk moiré on the bed, a cascade of dust fell from the tester. She looked up at it, as if she had never seen it before. âThis bed was mine, when I was a girl,â she said. âOh! How I wish it were mine still!â
And she was gone.
I chose the grey moiré to wear to dinner, but before descending the stairs I embarked upon a private tour of the upper storey, employing the lightness of foot beaten into me by Monsieur Cabriole, my former dancing master. A long passage separated the front and back rooms. The floor was uncarpeted, the wainscot unpainted. Each room I tried at random â tapping gently first upon the door to make sure it was unoccupied â revealed furniture from a bygone era: heavy chests in oak and walnut, worn prayer chairs, and dank-looking court cupboards.
The OâDowdsâ residence was all façade,