A Mad, Wicked Folly Read Online Free PDF Page B

decided what to do with you. I have nothing more to
say. Go upstairs.” She picked up her hoop and tutted at the
damage. “See what you’ve gone and made me do.”
As if I had the power to make my mother do anything.
If I did, I certainly would do more than make her break a
bamboo embroidery hoop.
    THAT FIRST NIGHT
my father greeted me with a cold hello when I kissed his cheek. And then one week slid into
the next, and still no one said much. Dinners were silent
affairs, only broken by the occasional “please pass the
salt” or the clink of cutlery. I began to hope that this confinementandthecoldshoulder-of-muttontreatmentwould
be the extent of my punishment. Once it ran its course, I
would bring up the idea of art school again. I could bide
my time.
    I had been home for a fortnight when my mother called
me into her drawing room. She sat working on her needlepoint in the window seat, squinting in the morning light.
“You wished to see me, Mamma?”
    Mamma stuck her needle into the muslin and put her
hoop aside. “Sit down, Victoria.” Her tone was the one she
used when she refused to brook any nonsense, so I knew
what she had to say would not lead to happy days for me.
    I sat. I felt as though I was climbing the stairs to the scaffolding where the executioner waited to slice off my head.
I could only hope it would be swift and not too painful.
    “Now, your father and I have been discussing your
prospects. Finishing school is no longer an option, so we
must accept that.”
    I shifted. “Yes, Mamma.” Well, that was a relief. I could
see the executioner set down his ax.
“It’s high time you lowered your skirts and put your
hair up. You look a child with your hair dangling down
like that. I have hired a lady’s maid for you—Sophie
Cumberbunch is her name. She will arrive this Saturday.
Very highly recommended. Skills at the height of style,
both clothing and hair. Mrs. Hollingberry employed this
Cumberbunch for her daughter Joan—such a plain little
thing—but Cumberbunch was able to work miracles.”
“If she is so amazing, why doesn’t Joan keep her?”
“Joan has married down and no longer has the means
for a lady’s maid.” Mamma looked utterly scandalized. I’m
sure she couldn’t imagine a life where a woman was forced
to button her own shoes, comb her own hair, draw her own
bath. Oh the horror, the shame of it! It wasn’t that difficult. I
dressed myself and did my own hair. True, Mamma’s dressing ritual did require assistance, but it wasn’t a crime to
simplify one’s dress, I was sure. “Still, her loss is our gain.
She will prepare your clothing for your coming-out and act
as your chaperone.”
“Mamma,” I interrupted. “Do you think it’s wise that
I have a coming-out? After all that has happened, do you
think I’ll get one single invitation to a ball?”
My mother was outraged. “No one in my circle would
dare shun me by cutting your name from the guest list!”
“But they might! Maybe . . . maybe we could simply give
the whole thing a miss. Make an excuse that I’m unwell or
something?”
My mother looked as if I had asked her if I could cease
breathing air. “Every young lady of quality has a debut to
announce her coming-out to society. If you don’t have a
debut, you’ll soon know what it is to be a social outcast.”
I didn’t mind parties—in fact, Lily, would be home and
most likely be at many of them, which would give me a
chance to see her again—but this inevitable season of parties heralded the beginning of my life, as far as Mamma
was concerned. There was more to a debut than balls and
dresses. The reason for debuts was marriage.
Debutante balls reminded me of animals being driven
to Smithfield Market for slaughter. The executioner may
have set down his ax, but it was only to sharpen it.
Until a girl was brought out, she was invisible. Seen
but not heard. She was only to speak in social settings
when spoken to, and the response to any questions should
be