Chapter Seventeen
Farrah barely had an opportunity to dry herself off and change into a clean gown before her mother came storming into her room without bothering to knock.
‘The situation is intolerable, Farrah. You really must do something. I cannot be expected to manage all our affairs. Goodness alone knows, I have given up enough for you girls, and precious little thanks I get for it. All the stress is making me unwell, and you absolutely must play your part.’
Farrah glanced at her mother, thinking she looked the picture of health but knowing better than to say so.
She had learned to pick her battles and only disputed her mother’s word when she deemed the situation serious enough.
She had yet to learn the nature of this latest complaint, so she remained passive.
‘What intolerable situation are you referring to, Mama?’ she asked, looking up into her mother’s angry face from the dressing stool, where she had been rubbing her hair dry with a towel before the interruption.
‘Why, the third rate modiste in the village, of course.’ Lady Dalton folded her arms and tapped her foot. ‘Do keep up, Farrah.’
Farrah considered Mrs Morton to be a highly proficient dressmaker, equal to the famous names in London where she had learned her trade before setting up on her own account locally.
Her rates were far more reasonable than even the cheapest of London’s modistes.
Because Mama held sway locally, she felt that she could intimidate the woman, criticising work that was essentially flawless and taking exception to the fact that Mrs Morton failed to fawn all over her.
‘I am sorry if the lady is having problems,’ Farrah replied, feigning ignorance, even though she had a very good idea what her mother must be referring to. ‘But they are really none of our concern.’
‘None of our concern!’ Her mother’s mouth fell open.
‘How can you say such a thing? She has inconvenienced me greatly by failing to oblige me over a small matter and I am now quite out of charity with the wretched woman. Her impertinence has brought on one of my headaches,’ she added, swiping a hand dramatically across her brow.
‘In what respect has she inconvenienced you, Mama?’ Farrah replied, already weary of the verbal sparring but determined to force her mother into admitting that she had broken her promise and commissioned a new item of clothing for Sophia.
‘Why, Sophia doesn’t have an afternoon gown that is fit for her to be seen in, especially not in a duchess’s drawing room.
I noticed a length of muslin in Mrs Morton’s window that would have sufficed, but if you can believe it the woman flatly refused to make it up for Sophia.
She claimed to be too busy, if you please, and that there were others in the queue in front of us.
’ Mama’s bosom swelled with indignation.
‘How can she be too busy to sew for a countess’s family?
She ought to feel honoured to have been asked.
Really, I do not know what the world is coming to. Indeed I do not.’
‘Mama.’ Farrah held up a hand to stop the litany of complaints, but her mother was in a high dudgeon and ignored the gesture.
‘She also had the audacity to mention our outstanding account, if you can believe such affrontery.’ The countess rippled her shoulders indignantly. ‘I have never been more insulted, and you must make my displeasure felt. She was very rude and barely spared me the time of day.’
‘Mama, let us start again.’ Farrah let out a long breath, accepting that a disagreement was now inevitable. ‘What is all this about the duchess’s drawing room?’
‘We have been invited to take tea with my friend Agnes tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Farrah feigned ignorance. ‘When were you intending to mention the invitation to me?’
‘I am telling you now, for goodness sake. This is not about you, Farrah, but it is a prime opportunity for your sister to shine. There will be other ladies there, as well as a smattering of gentlemen, and I dare say the duke will show his face. None of the others will be able to hold a candle to Sophia’s beauty or her sweet nature.
’ Farrah coughed to hide an astonished gasp.
Sophia was unquestionably beautiful but also spoiled and determined to have her own way.
There was absolutely nothing sweet about her nature that Farrah had detected over the years.
Her many petty acts of spite and cruelty during their younger years had never been forgotten.
‘I am absolutely sure of it, and she will achieve her heart’s desire if I have any say in the matter. ’
‘Oh, is that all.’ Farrah returned her attention to her damp hair. She pulled a brush through it, tutting when it hit tangles.
‘Is that all!’ Farrah watched in her mirror as her mother threw her head back and growled.
‘Is that all? I know you are jealous of your sister’s popularity, but really, Farrah, I expected more support from you.
You are the one who is forever pointing out the delicacy of our situation since your father took himself off to wherever he’s gone to.
If Sophia does succeed in attracting the duke, then our financial worries will be at an end, and your father can go to Timbuktu for all I care. ’
‘But in the meantime, we must be realistic, Mama. Sophia has a whole closet full of gowns. I know because I helped Mary shake them out and hang them in the armoire.’
‘Really, Farrah, you should not undertake a servant’s duties.’
‘I would not have to do so if we could afford to employ more than one maid. And the one that we do have is overworked. However, that is not the point.’ Farrah put her brush aside and fixed her mother with a condemning look.
‘We agreed, I thought, not to spend any more money on anything other than essentials.’
‘Tosh! That was before I saw just how interested the duke actually is in Sophia.’ Her mother flashed a rare smile and in that moment Farrah could see the resemblance between her and Lady Bartholomew.
‘We are on the brink of something remarkable – or we would be if Sophia could only show herself to her best advantage.’
‘If the duke is only attracted by a fine gown, then perhaps he is not worth knowing.’
‘Not worth knowing? Are you quite well, Farrah? Your hair is wet,’ she added, appearing only just to notice. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’
Farrah suppressed a smile, momentarily tempted to tell her. But only momentarily. Nor did she feel the need to explain that she had settled their account with Mrs Morton from her dwindling funds on the express understanding that the modiste declined any requests for last minute items from mama.
‘It was raining and I got caught in it,’ she contented herself with saying. ‘As to tomorrow, I am perfectly sure that Sophia will look delightful, whatever she chooses to wear, and will eclipse her rivals for the duke’s affections.’
‘Well yes, I suppose we could find something suitable for her.’ Mama made the concession grudgingly. ‘But you must aid her cause by not monopolising the duke’s attentions.’
‘Me?’ Farrah raised a brow. ‘You seem to have forgotten that he is helping us to track Papa down. Would you prefer Sophia to conduct those enquiries?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! That would be entirely inappropriate.’
For Sophia but not, it seems, for me, Farrah thought.
Left alone, Farrah spent the rest of the day and all the following morning alternatively re-examining the estate’s books, tutting over the anomalies she spotted and answering more of the questions she had received for Madame Celeste.
The requests in question were becoming increasingly bizarre.
Did her readers genuinely think that she had supernatural powers?
Apparently so, judging by her current post bag, and Farrah began to wonder what precisely she had set in motion.
She had not expected her advice to be taken seriously, and were it not for their impecunious situation as a family Madame Celeste would have hung up her pen long since.
Aware that was not an option, she sighed and did her best to discourage one young lady from thinking she could put a hex on a rival for a gentleman’s affections.
Time got away from her and, glancing at the clock, she realised that she wouldn’t be able to walk to the post office to send her replies to the Society Post since the rain was again pouring down.
Not that it mattered, John Coachman could provide that service for her tomorrow after he had delivered them to the duchess’s party.
He had done so several times before. She would pass her letter to him when he brought the carriage round tomorrow, thus saving her from the long, muddy walk into the village.
Farrah avoided her family as much as humanly possible for the rest of the day. Sophia was sulking because she did not get her new gown. Mama pretended to have a headache. Farrah retired to her room immediately after dinner and lost herself in the pages of a book.
She realised the following day that she had given little thought to her own appearance for the party, but determined not to let the side down, she pulled out her favourite afternoon gown.
In autumnal shades of green and yellow, it complimented her complexion perfectly.
For once she allowed Mary to help her into the gown in question and sat patiently while their maid dressed her hair in a becoming style.
‘You ought to let me help you more often,’ Mary scolded. ‘You’re quite your sister’s equal when you make the effort.’
‘Thank you, Mary, but I am not attempting to impress anyone. Besides, you have more than enough to do.’
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself none about that, m’lady. I can handle your mother and sister and don’t take no nonsense from either of them.’
‘I know you do not, which is very brave of you. Personally, Mama petrifies me when she gets into a taking.’