Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Geneva’s misery dissipated once she drove through the gates and down the empty lane.
It was bitterly cold, but the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the shackles of sadness and guilt began to loosen once she left the estate grounds.
It was as if she could leave all her problems at the house and become someone else entirely when she went out.
Of course, that was the furthest thing from the truth, mostly because everyone in Ravenglass had known her since the day she was born.
She was Lady Geneva Bellamy, and she had to play her part, lest she embarrass the family.
But she suddenly felt rebellious. She wanted to do something that made her feel young and carefree and in charge of her own life.
When she arrived in the village, the main street was unusually crowded with pedestrians, motorized vehicles, and horse-drawn carts.
Christmas was in a fortnight, and everyone was either placing their orders with the butcher, the greengrocer, and the wine merchant, or collecting the orders they had already placed and stocking their shelves in time for the holiday.
Geneva parked the car and walked down the street to Mr. Hale’s shop.
He had just opened up and was arranging the window display.
There were a few important pieces, the gold and gemstones winking in the sunlight.
He also made sure to display simple, affordable items that would make lovely gifts for the wives and sweethearts of the local men.
“Good morning, Mr. Hale,” Geneva said as she entered the shop.
“Good morning to you, my lady. You’re out early today.”
“Father asked me to collect the watch he ordered.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll just get it for you.”
Mr. Hale stepped into the back, and Geneva studied the items in the glass-fronted counter.
One particular piece caught her attention.
It was a gold bangle fashioned in the shape of a serpent devouring its own tail.
An emerald gleamed where the snake’s eye would be, and its back shimmered with a dusting of tiny diamonds.
The bracelet brought to mind Estelle Taylor, the American film star Geneva had seen in Monte Cristo at the Empire in London.
Cousin Rose—who had been allowed to join them at the cinema—had remarked that Geneva might resemble the actress herself, if only she were not so prim.
“Can I show you something, my lady?” Mr. Hale, ever the salesman, asked as he positioned himself behind the counter.
“I was just admiring the snake bangle, but I don’t think I can afford it. It’s stunning, though,” Geneva said wistfully.
Mr. Hale smiled happily. “The stones are paste, and I would be happy to sell it to you at cost. Your family has given me so much custom over the years.”
“Really?” Geneva exclaimed. “How much?”
“Fifteen quid.”
“Yes. I’ll take it. If you would just wrap it for me.”
“Don’t you want to try it on?”
“No. I’m quite certain.”
Mr. Hale placed the bracelet in a blue velvet box and handed it to her, along with the watch.
Geneva paid for her purchase, then slid the two boxes into her reticule.
The beaded purse bulged unattractively, but there was no helping it.
She didn’t feel safe to leave the items in the glovebox of the open tourer, since someone with no scruples could easily help themselves if they spotted her leaving the jeweler’s shop and depositing something in the car.
Extremely pleased with her purchase, Geneva headed to the bookshop, where she bought a copy of Mrs. Dalloway in Bond Street by Virginia Woolf and the new edition of Vogue.
The model on the cover wore a short, beaded dress, and her soft curls were cropped close and framed her face with playful charm.
Geneva thought she looked irresistible and thoroughly modern.
Her hand went to her own hair, which was pinned up beneath her dark green bucket hat adorned with stiffened flowers.
She suddenly felt old and dowdy. She had hardly bought any new clothes since her mother’s death, and she hadn’t given much thought to her hair.
Her maid, Lettie, had done her hair since she was six.
Lettie had trimmed the ends twice a year, and arranged Geneva’s hair into simple hairstyles that were appropriate to an adolescent girl and then a young woman.
The only time she had done anything special was when there had been a party to celebrate Jack’s eighteenth birthday.
There had been no parties at Bellamy Hall since.
Before she could change her mind, Geneva marched towards Mrs. Siddon’s hairdressing and barber shop and stepped inside.
There were two customers, one woman having her hair colored and the other getting a Marcel wave.
Geneva knew it was the latest thing, but, although Honor had proclaimed it the cat’s meow when she’d seen a photo in a magazine, Geneva herself didn’t think it was very flattering.
She was resolved to make a change, though, and sucked in a determined breath as the bell above the door jingled, alerting the proprietress to her arrival.
“Lady Geneva,” Mrs. Siddon exclaimed. “Please, come in. How can I help?”
“I’d like to cut my hair,” Geneva announced, and the two women in the chairs nodded approvingly and smiled at her in the mirrors.
“Of course.”
Once Geneva had taken off her coat and hat and sat in the only vacant chair, Mrs. Siddon asked, “Did you have a particular style in mind?”.
Her tense reflection looked back at her, and she quickly looked away. The thought of having her thick, wavy hair chopped off made her nervous, but she recalled her earlier resolve and decided that for once in her life she was going to be bold.
“I’d like it short,” she said.
“With or without a fringe?” the proprietress asked.
“Without. I think. Maybe the tapered bob?”
“May I recommend the shingle? It would bring out your natural curl and frame your face beautifully,” Mrs. Siddon said.
“Yes. Let’s do that,” Geneva immediately agreed.
Mrs. Siddon reached for a cape and draped it over Geneva’s shoulders, then beckoned to her assistant and instructed her to see to the other customers.
The proprietress would cut Geneva’s hair herself, since her new style would be the talk of the village and she would want the credit for the transformation.
The other two ladies looked mildly put out but did not protest. Instead, they watched as the proprietress pulled out the pins and combed Geneva’s hair as it hung loose about her shoulders.
She sprayed the tresses with water, then reached for the scissors.
Geneva held her breath as the first damp coils fell to the floor, but, as Mrs. Siddon continued to snip with practiced ease, she started to relax.
Slowly, the new style began to emerge, and she loved what she saw.
Once the hairdresser had dried and styled it, she gingerly touched it, then shook her head.
The newly shorn hair bounced around her face, the curls glossy and light.
“I hope you like it, my lady,” Mrs. Siddon said. She looked a little nervous as she waited for Geneva’s verdict. The other ladies looked at her expectantly before they expressed their own opinions.
“I love it,” Geneva exclaimed. “I don’t know why I waited so long.”
“I find that a woman must be ready to make a change. Otherwise, she’ll regret her decision.”
“It’s stunning, Lady Geneva,” the assistant said.
“Very glamorous,” one of the other ladies gushed.
Geneva paid for her haircut, then put on her coat and carefully lowered her hat onto her curls.
She looked like a different person, and she fizzed with excitement for the first time in a long while.
Now that she had a new hairstyle, she needed lipstick.
Mulberry red, she decided as she left the hairdresser’s and walked down the street.
She kept checking her reflection in the shop windows, gratified to see a sophisticated young woman smiling back at her.
It was well past noon by the time she walked into the tearoom, and she was famished. She hung up her coat, and Mrs. Lynley led her to a table in the corner.
“You look ever so stylish, my lady,” she said. “The new cut suits you. And so does the lip color. It brings out your eyes.”
“Thank you,” Geneva said, and smiled back.
“The usual? A pot of Darjeeling and a scone?” Mrs. Lynley asked.
“Yes, please,” Geneva said. “Two scones,” she amended. “I’m rather hungry.”
“The scones are fresh out of the oven, my lady. And I’ll bring you extra clotted cream. I know how you like it.”
“Thank you,” Geneva said again.
Once Mrs. Lynley left, Geneva took out her copy of Vogue and studied the woman on the cover. She thought she could give the model a run for her money, especially if she purchased a similar frock and got some nail varnish.
She had just opened the magazine when a man she had never seen before entered the tearoom.
He carried a traveling case and wore a rather dashing fedora that matched his camelhair coat.
He smiled when he spotted her, then set down his case and removed his coat and hat.
On any other day, Geneva would have looked away.
But today she felt modern, and daring, ready for anything.
So she shut the magazine and set it aside.
She had something more interesting to look at.