Chapter 13 Green #2
It was as though that one green ribbon was the first drop in a flood.
Suddenly the hue was everywhere. Green ribbons in girls’ hair.
Green trim on gowns. Green ties on stocking braces, green shoe roses, green stripes on bunting.
I even saw one young dandy go strutting out with a green cravat, though his fellows quickly bundled him back inside and he reemerged with a proper white one.
It was a true craze. The brilliant shade was nothing like the pale hues we were used to in our dyes. It smote the eye.
At first I went about in such a frenzy of excitement that my mother asked if I felt feverish. My green, everywhere! Pike must be getting rich. Which meant I was getting rich.
I wrote to Pike with my next batch of dye, offering my warmest thanks and congratulations, and asking how much I could expect my share to increase.
He did not immediately respond, but I was too busy to notice. My sister Jane asked me to spend a few weeks with her at her new home of Netherfield Hall, and whilst there I made a most thrilling discovery.
It was Christmas, and we were all lounging about in front of the fire.
Jane was sewing, I was reading, and Bingley was playing a card game against himself and somehow managing to lose.
Bingley’s sisters were whispering to one another, occasionally casting glances in my direction, and I had a feeling I was supposed to mind my exclusion from their confidence, but I was too warm and cozy to care.
Suddenly there was a great commotion. Bingley’s groom could be heard yelling outside in the hall.
Then the door banged open and, with a great skittering of claws, several of Bingley’s hounds came bounding in.
Bingley, of course, only laughed, and helped the man round up the overgrown pups. But one of them evaded capture and, with a great wouff of triumph, heaved itself into Jane’s lap.
Jane is as sweet to animals as she is to people, but the truth is she is rather frightened of dogs. She cried out and knocked over her sewing basket. A skein of bright green thread bounced into the fire.
I knew that skein. It had been part of my Christmas present to Jane. Part of a brightly colored bundle, which I had dyed myself.
Instantly, a puff of smoke filled the room. It had a sharp, sour smell, a bit like green apples. Bingley flung open a window, and the air quickly cleared. Jane, who had taken the brunt of it, sat coughing, her eyes streaming. Bingley was at her side in an instant, his hands on her shoulders.
“All right there, darling?”
Instead of smiling and squeezing his hand as usual, Jane flung off his touch. “I would be,” she snapped, scowling, “if you could keep those mongrels of yours under control. Honestly, Mr. Bingley, is it too much to ask to keep the house and the barnyard separate?”
The look on Bingley’s face was so exactly like one of those hounds when it was scolded that it was almost comical. If he’d had a tail, it would have been between his legs. “Right. Of course. I’m dreadfully sorry, dear.”
Then Jane, who had caught her breath, shook her head and smiled. “No, I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me.”
Bingley grinned in relief at that, and all was as it had been. But I watched Jane with unease for the rest of the night.
Jane does not snap at people. Not ever .
Unless, apparently, she inhales the fumes of the green dye.
Luckily, I had given her an entire rainbow of bright thread, and Netherfield had a great many fireplaces.
Over the next week, I allowed my “clumsiness” to lead to the immolation of several other skeins.
The fumes of the crimson allowed Bingley to actually beat me at chess, when before I had not even been sure he knew the rules.
The pale gray derived from old Miss Charing turned Bingley’s sisters, normally very arch and verbose, into shy, tongue-tied creatures (rather a relief).
And the magenta of my mother’s derivation gave us all rather pleasant, empty-headed giggles, which faded to a sense of dread that was in no way worth it.
Here, it seemed, was what I’d sought: a way to transplant the chroma of one individual to another, without the inconvenient emetic effect.
I’d have done more, but Jane began locking her sewing box.
The effects were pronounced but highly variable. None lasted longer than a few minutes. By the end of that visit I was longing to get home and try more experiments. I went home in great excitement. The additional funds I expected from Pike would allow me to attack the matter with greater ambition.
However, when I stopped by Miss Figg’s for my correspondence, there was no increase in my remuneration. Nor had Pike responded to my letter.
I wrote him again. And again. His factory up north, his man of business in London, everywhere.
As you know, Holzmann, the royal mails are extremely reliable, but I made every allowance for my letters being lost. It was not just the green anymore, either.
Every time I walked through the village, I saw more of my brilliant hues adorning hats and pockets.
After two weeks of this, I finally had news of him.
It seemed he danced three nights running with Miss Abigail Charing in London, and twice drove her through the park.
They were practically engaged. He had leisure enough to swan about with her, but not to respond to my urgent inquiries?
I had had enough. Another shipment of dye was due to Pike. I enclosed one more note.
Sir , it read. This will be my final shipment. As you have not had the leisure to respond to my inquiries, I think it is best we dissolve our arrangement. I shall take my dyes elsewhere. Sincerely, MB.
Perhaps “Sir Gregory” could write and form an arrangement with another man of business in the north. One a touch more honest. I had to admit it was unlikely, but my spirits were not depressed. I was on the verge of something glorious.