tradition, isn’t it?” The maid had resorted to pulling her along.
Again, that sense of something terrible, a long way away from where she was now. She felt a dull serenity as she watched maids carrying all manner of things up and down the stairs. One was running out of her sister’s room in tears, a hairbrush flying out after her.
Then she was in her mother’s dressing room. Aside from a huge mirror, the walls were filled with cupboards and wardrobes. A single red chaise-longue was positioned in the centre of the room.
Cathy was left looking at the pink glow lingering on her skin from the maid’s earnest scrubbing. It was like looking at a painting of herself; she felt no connection to her reflection.
A woman bustled in with two assistants and, after a liberal application of talcum powder, Cathy found herself in the midst of efficient dressing. When she was in silk hose and bloomers, chemise and corset, her mother entered, wearing a blood-red dress with large black buttons. Her sister was close behind, hair half pinned up, a nervous maid trailing after her with a basket of hair clips and other accessories.
“You look well rested,” Mother said.
Elizabeth sat on the chaise-longue. She was wearing a dressing gown over her underwear, judging from her tiny waist. “Now for goodness’ sake get it right!” she said to the maid after taking the basket from her. She picked out a hairpin and passed it to the girl, whose hands were trembling. “What are you staring at?” Cathy realised she’d lost track of herself again.
“Now, now, dear,” Mother said, inspecting her own hair in the mirror. “Today is the one day you have to be particularly nice to Catherine.”
“Already? I thought that was once we leave the house.”
“Elizabeth.” Mother gave her a look that ended Elizabeth’s pout.
“Once my hair is pinned I want you to tighten my lacing, Mama, you’re so much better at it. I want to make Imogen look like an elephant next to me. And I need a new lady’s maid, mine is hopeless.”
Imogen. Imogen Reticulata-Iris. William’s sister. Just the thought of him made that distant flutter spike into a brief burst of something bright and sharp.
“I think I… I was going to do something.” Cathy realised she’d spoken aloud when her mother came over.
“You don’t need to do anything except stand there and be dressed.” She looked into Cathy’s eyes as if checking that a long-lost cat was still missing. “Elizabeth, did you eat anything at breakfast?”
“I had a small cup of tea and not a morsel of food. I’d rather faint than be too full for a tight lacing, Mama. Catherine slept too late to join us. I expected you to be up before the rest of us today.”
“Why?” Cathy asked, but Elizabeth was too busy slapping at the maid’s hand for jabbing a pin into her scalp.
“Are you ready for your dress, Miss Papaver?” The woman was familiar, but it took her a few moments to place her as the dressmaker. “Are you feeling all right?”
“She’s fine,” Mother said. “Start dressing her now.”
Cathy was guided, pulled and pushed into a heavy embroidered gown. It was white. She stared at it in the mirror as the tiny buttons were done up the back. Its crystal beads glinted in the sprite light. Through her muddied thoughts, two facts bubbled slowly to the surface: it was a wedding dress, and this was very, very wrong.
“Is she going to faint?” the dressmaker said as Cathy swayed.
“No.” Mother took hold of Cathy’s arm and clasped her hand tight.
“I had to do something,” Cathy said, trying to shake off the wooliness. “I had to–”
“Hush now, dear.” Mother patted her hand. “You’re just a little lightheaded, that’s all, it’s perfectly natural.”
Elizabeth came over and looked into her eyes. “Oh, Mother, look at her. She can’t get married like that. Did you give her poppy milk?”
“Just so she would have a good night’s sleep.” Mother’s smile was more smug than compassionate. “We’ll make sure she’s bright and wide awake when she needs to be. Now let me see to your lacing whilst they pin Catherine’s hair. The carriage will be here soon.”
As Cathy was steered to the seat, she remembered she’d intended to tear the bed sheet into strips and escape from the window of her bedroom. She wasn’t supposed to be getting married, she finally realised, but the thought was as slippery as a melting icicle. Her eyelids drooped and she found it hard