Of Monsters and Madness (6 page)

I bow to her and then immediately remember Father’s annoyance with the gesture. “Forgive me,” I say. “Where I’m from, it’s appropriate to bow when introductions are being made. Though my father does not seem to approve.”

Mrs. Tusk sniffs once and straightens the edges of her collar. “He is correct. Bowing is not ladylike. It implies a lack of proper upbringing. A curtsy or a hand clasp is the only respectable way to greet someone when you are being introduced.”

She looks at me expectantly and then gestures to a nearby chair, waiting to speak until I have taken my seat. “I would normally start with an introduction to elocution and etiquette, but since I—and all of Philadelphia, I can assure you—have been informed of the
incident
that occurred yesterday, such behavior necessitates that we immediately attempt to repair the damage done. Therefore, we shall begin with the importance of one’s reputation.”

My voice is barely a whisper as I say, “What incident has occurred?”

“Why, the
incident
”—she sniffs again as she pronounces the word—”that resulted in your appearing in a
scandalous
state in front of a gentleman. I heard your
clothing was entirely
soaked through
. You must think of what people will say!”

I bow my head in shame. Father cannot be pleased by the fact that I have caused a scandal before I even arrived.

“Reputation is your most prized possession.” she says. Her shoulders straighten, and she lifts her chin. “You must zealously guard it at all times. A proper lady does not walk alone with a gentleman, and she does not speak to a gentleman unless accompanied by a chaperone. Once in the correct setting, polite company will mean polite small talk. Acceptable topics are matters such as the weather or gardening. You must take care not to speak too much, or speak too intensely. A lady never gives a gentleman the wrong impression.”

I try to remember all that she’s saying.

“One must never, ever be caught in a state of undress or dishevelment in front of a gentleman.” Mrs. Tusk straightens her cuffs and gives me a disdainful look. “It is simply not done in polite society.”

I wonder what I will have to do to repair my reputation now that I have sullied it by committing every grievous sin on her list of admonishments. Albeit unknowingly.

Mrs. Tusk then crosses back and forth in front of me. “A most important part of a lady’s reputation is decorum. The way you hold yourself. The way you walk.” She turns slowly and gestures down at the floor. “Feet slightly apart, never spread more than your foot’s length, with arms at your sides. Your head should be held erect, and you should maintain a pleasant demeanor.” Her lips part into a semblance of a smile, and she walks the floor again, nodding at imaginary people. “Now it’s time for you to try.”

I get to my feet and try to imitate her stance, but I’m “too stiff.” “Too loose.” “Too hasty.” When I have walked the floor again and again and it feels that I’m finally beginning to make some progress, Mrs. Tusk merely sniffs and turns away. “Practice makes perfect. It shall certainly take time to prove this point with someone of your … limited background.”

Dropping my arms, I feel an ache in my shoulders. If I am ever going to be as stiff and proper as she is, this part of my education is going to require a vast amount of practice.

Moments later, a knock comes on the door and Maddy enters the room. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but it’s time fer Miss Annabel’s wardrobe fitting.”

Suddenly nervous, I fidget with my scarf. I thought that perhaps I would help Maddy sew another dress or two that I could wear. I had no idea I was to be given an entirely new wardrobe.

“We shall continue upon your return,” Mrs. Tusk says. “You are dismissed.”

I stand and offer her a curtsy, and she gives me a brief nod. Then I follow Maddy out of the room. “Is it going to be terrible?” I whisper. “I have no idea what to expect.”

“Yer going to be poked an’ prodded,” she whispers back. “But Madame LaFleur is the best seamstress in all of Philadelphia. Don’t you worry.”

She leads me to another sitting room, where piles of silk and lace already cover the floor, and two women are flitting around like busy bees. They introduce themselves as Madame LaFleur and her assistant, Jacqueline. I glance over at Maddy.
How will I be able to keep my scarf on during the fitting?

“Go on, miss,” she says with a wink. “I already told them that yer not used to the cool air in Philadelphia yet, comin’ from Siam an’ all, so you have to keep yer scarf on so you don’t catch cold. They’ll not be asking you to take it off.”

I silently vow to repay her act of kindness. “Thank you, Maddy.”

She gives me a curtsy, and then leaves me to face the seamstresses on my own. They direct me toward a dressing screen set up in the middle of the room and tell me to wait behind it. Moments later, Madame’s assistant joins me and begins to strip me free of my dress. Bolts of deep blue and dark red silks are held up beside my face, but each one is quickly discarded when Madame comes behind the screen.

“No, no.” Madame shakes her head. “These colors are not right for her. You can tell from where she has been covered beneath her clothes, Jacqueline. See? Her darkened skin, it is from the sun,
oui
? Yes?”

I nod, and she nods as well.

“Her natural coloring is fair, with medium brown hair and dark eyes. We must stay away from the dramatic.”

Jacqueline puts a measuring string against my body, marking her place with one finger. Then she brings over a thin piece of muslin and a pair of scissors. Quickly cutting away two sides of it and bidding me to hold out my arms, she pins the muslin around my shoulders.

Madame makes several notes on a small slip of
paper, then mutters, “We shall need three walking dresses, five morning dresses, a cloak, some gloves …” She glances down at me. “Your hands?”

I offer them to her, and a look of horror crosses her face.

“
Mon dieu!
So rough, so worn. And the spots! We shall need the gloves right away. Jacqueline! Bring the extra pair. I just hope they fit.”

Shame washes over me. My job as Mother’s assistant made it impractical to have impeccably kept hands. Most days, we would find ourselves helping with daily tasks such as hauling water or washing soiled linens. I did not realize that here in Philadelphia even my hands would cause offense.

They pin me and mark me for what feels like several more hours until finally Jacqueline helps me dress again. She leaves me to fasten my own stockings, but she doesn’t go far. I can hear her speaking softly just beyond the edge of the screen.

“Hurry,” Madame admonishes. “We need to pack the fabric up quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Madame. I—”

“No matter. Just be sure that nothing is left behind.”

“Have we been here too long?” Jacqueline asks.

“Far too long. Even though we came in via the servants’ entrance there is still risk that someone will see us leaving this house. I may have been willing to offer my services for a pretty penny, but that does not mean I am willing to compromise my reputation. Quality breeds quality, you know. Heaven forbid word get out that I have been associating with the master of this house. No matter how much extra he pays.”

She says
master
like it’s a foul word, and Jacqueline makes a sound of agreement. I carefully readjust my scarf around my neck, patting it into place as I contemplate their words. Why would she wish to not be associated with Father?

Once I’m fully dressed again, Madame tells me my new wardrobe will be ready in one week and then takes her leave. I return to Mrs. Tusk and we are about to resume our lessons once more, when Grand-père joins us.

“Excuse me for the interruption, but I was hoping that I might be able to steal my granddaughter away,” he says. “You are more than welcome to take tea in the dining room during this hiatus, Mrs. Tusk.”

Mrs. Tusk reluctantly agrees. Then she asks, “Will I have a chance to speak with the master of the house
this afternoon? We have some, ah, unfinished business.”

“His customary teatime is three o’clock. I’ll inquire if he can see you then.”

Though it is evident she has a desire to be more insistent, Mrs. Tusk only frowns slightly before turning away from us. Grand-père offers me his arm, and we walk toward the great room.

“How are things progressing with your lessons?”

I glance down. “Well, I suppose.”

He notices the hesitation in my voice.

“It certainly doesn’t sound as though things are going well. This is your home now, Annabel, and I want you to feel comfortable here. Did breakfast with your father this morning upset you?”

“I’m afraid
I
am the one who has upset him, Grand-père. I wish to study medicine, and he thinks it unseemly. I am nothing more than a disappointment.”

Grand-père sighs heavily. “Your father is disappointed with himself. With his … limitations. He has an illness that weakens his muscles. He is mostly affected in his legs, as you have seen, and he deals with pain every day of his life. It does not often allow for a cheerful disposition.”

“What kind of illness does he have?”

“A severe form of typhus.” Grand-père’s voice catches. “I took him on a trip to France many years ago, and he caught the disease there. It is incurable.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Grand-père.”

“I think it’s difficult for your father to remember his life before he had this affliction. The memories can sometimes drive him to the edge of madness. You must understand. I do not wish to make excuses for him, but now, it’s like living with a different person.”

We continue walking as Grand-père reminisces about how things were like before Father’s illness struck, and I find myself caught up in his stories. It seemed like Father was so happy before the symptoms of the disease ravaged his body. So full of life.

Perhaps if I can find a way to ease some of Father’s pain with one of Mother’s poultices, some of that joy will return again. Perhaps then, he will come to appreciate my interests in medicine.

Five

W
hen my lessons with Mrs. Tusk have concluded for the day, I return to my bedroom. The few medical books that I brought with me are still within my valise, and I quickly find the one I’m looking for. Paging through my worn copy of William Cowper’s
The Anatomy of Humane Bodies
, I come to the topic of typhus.

But something about the entry bothers me, and I reread the information over and over, trying to decipher what has disturbed my thoughts. A knock on the door interrupts my concentration.

Maddy enters, bearing a silver tray with a teacup and a small white bowl. The bowl is filled with shiny red things. “Cook sent these along with some tea, miss. Picked fresh from the tree outside.”