The Ripper's Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

towering befeathered and bejeweled powdered coiffures. “Dresses decorated like birthday cakes and hair like wedding cakes with sugar roses and swags of candy pearls,” I said to Jim’s amusement as we stood before a wall of gilt-framed portraits. I loved to hear his hearty chuckle, to know that he was laughing with me, not at me.
    I wouldn’t know till afterward, but, as a surprise for me, Jim ordered pretty porcelain plates, figurines, vases, and paintings, charming bric-a-brac, to adorn my bedroom and had it all shipped back to England. He asked an old friend, Mrs. Matilda Briggs, whom he had described as “a marvel of efficiency” and was trusting to oversee the furnishing and decoration of our house, to transform my suite into a little eighteenth-century wonderland for me where I could reign like Marie Antoinette over my own little kingdom.
    In a quaint little antique shop Jim and I found a miniature of a handsome dark-haired man with a haunting, melancholy visage. The shopkeeper said it was Count Axel Fersen, the Queen’s gallant lover, her own dear Swedish Sir Galahad, chivalrous and loyal to the last breath. Jim bought it for me along with a miniature of Marie Antoinette so that these two star-crossed lovers might be reunited to gaze into each other’s eyes from across my crowded whatnot shelf. “You are so good to me!” I cried, and threw my arms around his neck and kissed him right there in front of the shopkeeper.
    In the elegant emporiums, Jim sat proudly, every inch the elegant English gentleman, occupying a gilt chair as though it were a king’s throne. Sometimes there was a glass of wine or a fine cigar in his hand; other times he fiddled idly with his favorite walking stick, the ebony one topped with a substantial golden knob made in the shape of a miniature bust of a rather grim-faced Queen Victoria, his thumb boldly caressing “the old girl’s bosom,” and watched as I paraded past him in the latest Parisian fashions.
    There were gowns for every season and situation. Light and airy sprigged floral and pastel confections trimmed with ruffles, smart suits of soft velvet, raw silk, or crisp linen, afternoon, walking, at home, evening dresses, and riding togs. No plain, boring broadcloth for me, Jim said; I must have violet-blue velvet to match my eyes, with a jabot of lace at my throat and ostrich plumes on my hat. Satins, silks, brocades, damasks, taffetas, chiffons, and velvets in a variety of colors. Jim’s favorite was a gold-lace-festooned ball gown, with a bouquet of red velvet roses on the bustle cascading down onto the train, in his favorite color, arsenic green, against which, he said, my beauty seemed especially strong and vibrant. “The sight of you in that color is like a tonic to me,” he said as I twirled and danced before him.
    He chose a bathing costume of bright coral pink edged in black for me instead of the traditional reserved and respectable white-bordered nautical blue or black. We spent hours selecting marvelous hats, each one as decadent as a dessert, trimmed with feathers, wax fruit, silk flowers, or stuffed birds; high-heeled shoes with almond-point toes; leather boots and boudoir slippers; silk stockings, handbags, gloves, paisley shawls, and parasols; capes, coats, and muffs, sables and ermine; necklaces, brooches, and bracelets; rings for my fingers and bobbing jewels for my ears; ornaments for my hair; lace-trimmed undergarments; silk and lace nightgowns, negligees, and dressing gowns. My favorite was a pale blue peignoir trimmed with wispy, tickling feathers that made me giggle. There was even a gay and daring red and white candy-striped corset with red satin suspenders to hold my stockings up.
    While I laughed and spun before him like a little girl playing dress-up, worry secretly gnawed at the back of my mind. Could we really afford all this? I wanted to ask Jim, but I remembered Mama’s advice about discussing finances, so I bit my tongue. Jim seemed happy;