Calico Captive by Elizabeth George Speare

Author:Elizabeth George Speare [Speare, Elizabeth George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Chapter 12

HOURS BEFORE the dance Felicité came in search of Miriam. "Come," she ordered. "Lucille is to dress my hair now, and while it is being done one of the other maids can do yours too. Maman says it is not necessary, but she needn't know till it is all done."

"You mean—powdered?" asked Miriam doubtfully.

"Of course. Every lady there will have her hair powdered. And I'll give you some cream and powder for your face, and a tiny beauty spot to put right there." Felicité's silvery laugh broke out at Miriam's uncertainty. "What are you afraid of, silly? We will make you look just beautiful."

"Can Hortense be the one to help me?"

"Hortense? But she is a little simpleton, a habitant! What would she know about doing hair? Maman's maids were trained in Paris. Come—we can watch each other in the mirror."

So Miriam sat for the first time for the elaborate toilette she had often watched Felicité undergo. It was more torture than delight. Seemingly for hours she held her head rigid and followed in the mirror the deft fingers of the maid. The curling iron hissed and steamed, as the heavy red hair was massed high on her head in countless curls and twists. Miriam's back and neck ached long before the intricate creation was finished to Felicités satisfaction. Then the maid brought the quail pipe, and Miriam covered her eyes while the white powder was blown into the red curls. Finally there was perfumed cream for her cheeks, powder, and a touch of rouge, and the little black beauty spot, which Felicité herself insisted on pasting just beneath her left eye.

When Miriam returned to her room Susanna was already dressed, sitting at the desk writing the daily letter that would never reach James as though this were any ordinary evening. The startled eyes she lifted to Miriam were disconcerting.

"Felicité says to come quickly," Miriam hurried to say. "There is still time to fix your hair too."

"Thank you," answered Susanna. "My hair is already done." It lay against her head in two smooth dark wings, and was coiled in a neat bun at the back of her neck.

"You can't leave it like that!" Miriam's exasperation flared. "After I worked so hard! You won't look like the others."

Susanna stood up from the desk slowly. "I am not like the others," she said quietly. "I am an Englishwoman. I have done my hair like this all my life, and I have no intention of doing it any differently."

The rebuke in Susanna's voice was too much for Miriam to bear. Furious tears threatened the powder and rouge. "Oh go ahead then," she stormed "Look like a—a habitant! 'Tis all right for you to throw away your chances. But I'm young, and I know what I want!"

"What do you want?"

"I want to be a part of life, not forever waiting and looking on at other people. I want to wear clothes that I can be proud of. And I want—oh stop hatcheling me! It is almost time to go and I have to get my dress on.

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