Free The Girl in the Mask by Marie-Louise Jensen Page B

few steps with difficulty.
    ‘Do you like it?’ asked the dressmaker eagerly. ‘You look very fine.’
    ‘I feel utterly ridiculous,’ I said bluntly.
    ‘Oh, hush, Sophia,’ exclaimed my aunt, scandalized. ‘It’s a beautiful gown. You don’t know how lucky you are! Indeed this all works out most fortunately, for there is a ball tomorrow, and now we shall be able to attend.’
    * * *

    I had to admit Dawes had some skills the following evening as she dressed my soft, brown hair simply but elegantly. She pinned it up with just a few locks arranged with curling irons to tumble down to my shoulder. Then my hair was powdered. Dawes helped me into my new linen shift, my dancing shoes, my hoop, my layers of laced petticoats and my ball gown of cream brocade, tugging and adjusting them so they sat just right. She fastened a pearl necklace about my neck and I exclaimed in surprise. ‘Where did that come from?’ I asked.
    ‘From your father, Miss,’ said Dawes. ‘I’m to tell you it was your mother’s, like the other jewellery in this box.’
    I touched the necklace lightly. I could barely remember my mother. It was a strange thought that this had belonged to her. Dawes dusted my face with powder to whiten it, applied a hint of rouge to my cheeks, fixed a patch high on one cheekbone, and said: ‘There. You’ll do nicely now, Miss.’
    I regarded myself gravely in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself in the least. The hairstyle I didn’t dislike, though the powder made me look like an old lady. The gown was ludicrous, but I could see it had a certain beauty, especially the way the short train fell in shimmering folds to the floor behind me. The front of the gown was open, the fabric caught back on either side to reveal layers of cream and gold petticoats in front; a froth of lace.
    The patch on the other hand was monstrous. I pulled it off and put it on the dressing table. ‘I don’t want to wear such a thing,’ I said. ‘There’s no need for me to look like a ghost, either,’ I said, critically regarding my face before rubbing it clean of cosmetics with a damp cloth. ‘I’m quite pale enough after all these days indoors.’
    Dawes didn’t argue, and I descended the stairs, ready to face the people of Bath. My aunt and father awaited me, attired in evening finery, powdered, painted and patched. My father looked at me critically, but then nodded his approval. ‘A natural look. Yes, you judged rightly, Sophia. It suggests youth and innocence. Good. Let’s go.’
    Annoyed at having inadvertently won his approval, I vowed that I would behave as badly as I dared tonight.

CHAPTER TEN

    The upstairs ballroom at the Guildhall was far smaller than I’d expected; less grand and extremely crowded. When we arrived, a group of musicians was already playing, though no one was dancing yet. I moved warily into the room, my heavy, unfamiliar gown and petticoats swaying and quivering about me.
    ‘Take smaller steps, Sophia,’ my aunt ordered under her breath. ‘Don’t stride about like a man!’
    I tried to do as she said, noting how the other ladies appeared to glide effortlessly about, as though they were in skates rather than shoes. I sighed a little and looked around me at the sea of faces and figures in bright garments that made up the world of high fashion, gathered at the Bath for the summer months. I knew no one. This was nothing I ever wanted to be a part of.
    Beau Nash made us personally welcome and promised me a partner for the first dance. I felt my courage draining slowly away. The first dance began, the minuet, very slow and formal. Only one couple danced at a time, in order of social rank, while everyone else stood crowded against the walls and watched. I dreaded having to perform under the gaze of so many pairs of eyes, and clutched my hands together in their cream kid gloves, twisting the strap of my fan until it snapped. My aunt scolded me in a whisper.
    I had a long time to wait, as there were