The Stepsister and the Slipper by Nina Clare
A Scheme
“Blanche,you’re ruining my ribbons. I don’t want tear stains on them.”
“Sorry,” sniffed Blanche, reaching for her sodden handkerchief.
Charlotte had completed her pretty masque to wear that night. Now she was frowning over her scant collection of jewellery. It would not do to wear such meagre jewels among the elite of the nobility; she would look like an impoverished fortune hunter. But Mama never let the Bellerose diamonds and pearls out of her sight. She would have to make do with a simple ribbon about her throat, and perhaps the gardens of Bonmagie would yield some autumnal flowers for her hair. She would have to carry off the artless ingénue role tonight. If the prince was too grand a prize to aim for, then there had to be someone at the ball rich enough to marry a penniless beauty—some doddering old fool who wished to revive his youth with a young bride and leave her a fabulous inheritance at his death, or some socially inept puppy who would fancy himself hopelessly in love with her and beg for her hand and let her rule him like a queen. She only had to convince these future suitors of these facts.
“I’m sorry you can’t go,” Charlotte told the weeping Blanche. “Truly I am. But you have no ballgowns and we’ve no money to buy more. I would lend you one if I had one spare.”
“It would not fit me even if you had one to spare,” said Blanche, dabbing away another tear. “Only your shoes fit me.”
“Isn’t it odd,” mused Charlotte, “that we should have the same size feet yet be so different in height and build?” She moved to the mirror to see how the ribbon looked against her throat. Her figure was tall and womanly, and her eyes and hair were dark, while Blanche was fair and slender in figure.
Charlotte practised a deep curtsey before the glass. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” she said breathlessly. “Utterly enchanted. Truly delighted. Absolutely captivated.” She tilted her head into different positions, watching to see which pose was the most flattering. A sorrowful sigh from Blanche broke her gaze.
“Blanche, this is not all pleasure to me.”
“It isn’t?”
“It’s a deal of work. I’m not out to catch a husband because I want to marry, but because I must marry. And not only for my sake and Mama’s, but yours too.”
“I would not want you to marry for my sake, Charlotte.”
“You little goose, what do you imagine will happen to you if we do not find some money, and quickly?”
Blanche blinked like a puzzled child. “I don’t imagine anything other than life continuing on at home. We’ve had no money since Papa died.”
“Blanche, things are worse than you realise.”
“How can they be any worse?”
“We may not even have a home to live in soon.”
“What do you mean?” Those big, grey eyes widened. “The house is all we have left. We might not be able to afford things for it, but it’s still my home. Our home.”
Charlotte wondered if she should tell of the mortgage that was about to need repaying with extortionate interest, but Blanche already looked like a helpless infant whose world was crumbling. She could not crush the girl, or she might be too distressed to finish adjusting her gown and arranging her hair. The poor child would soon know all. If Charlotte failed to secure a husband over the next few nights, they would all be returning home to face the bailiffs.
Charlotte dropped her courtly pose. “Why is it a woman’s lot to rely on men for money? I wish I’d been born a man, then I could gamble my way into money if I couldn’t earn it or inherit it!”
Her mother came into the dressing chamber, her expression feverish. “Haven’t you finished Charlotte’s gown yet?” she said, fingering the lace on the sleeves of the ready-made gown she had bargained hard for. Blanche had skilfully added the lace and taken in the waist. “Work faster.”
“It still needs trimming,” Charlotte said with some dissatisfaction. “It’s not fashionable for the skirt to be the same shade as the robe. I need a skirt in a contrasting colour.”
“There’s no time to purchase anything,” said her mother. “It’s unfortunate, but you will have to exert your charms and make them forget your skirts.”
“Oh, Mama, how can it be that I have this glorious opportunity, the best ball in all the kingdom, and I shall be wearing a ready-made gown! It’s too bad!”
“I can tell how it is has come to be.” The dowager’s glittering eyes flashed at Blanche. “Some soft-brained fool lost your trunk.”
Blanche flinched, and the tears welled up again.
“Come and dress me as soon as you have finished Charlotte’s hair,” was the dowager’s parting remark.
“Do stop weeping, Blanche,” said Charlotte wearily. “You mustn’t mind Mama’s sharp tongue. I never do.”
“But she’s right,” said Blanche miserably. “I should have been more careful. I was told to watch the luggage, and I failed to notice your trunk was missing until after the coach had pulled away.”
Charlotte shrugged. There was no point going over past errors, she never thought of the past, only the future. She resumed practising her attitudes in the mirror.
“There are some gowns upstairs,” Blanche said tentatively.
“What do you mean?” She decided that her left side was her best.
“Upstairs there is a chest of gowns. They’re rather plain, but the fabric is unfaded. I don’t like to take anything that belongs to my godmother, but she said I would find everything I needed here. Perhaps we could borrow a skirt and put it back again after the ball. One of them would be the perfect shade against this soft gold.”
“Show me,” said Charlotte, looking over her shoulder at the mirror. The over-the-shoulder look was a good flirtatious movement. “I expect any clothes in this old place are musty and mothballed and fit for nothing, but I’m curious.”
Blanche led the way up the narrow, winding stairs leading to the attic rooms, turning into a servant’s room with a bed and washstand of simple design. Charlotte saw her stepsister’s few belongings arranged neatly about the room.
“I hope you haven’t brought me up to here to see some antiquated servant’s clothing?”
“They are too nice for a maid.” Blanche lifted the lid of a chest to show three gowns neatly folded up.
“Upon my word!” exclaimed Charlotte, lifting a gown out, and marvelling that the little chest could hold so much fabric, along with panniers and petticoats and trains. Just like the furniture of Bonmagie and the carriage in the stables, the gowns were of an unusual design, but high quality. She laid all three on the bed in a row. “These certainly did not belong to a housemaid.”
“They’re not fancy enough for ballgowns,” said Blanche. “But they are good quality. The colours are as fresh as new fabric.”
“They’re plain enough,” said Charlotte, examining the unfussy, but neatly boned bodices. “But the design would not look out of place anywhere. I wonder what fabric this is?” She touched the gossamer-light sleeves. “And, look, the back is made up in the same fabric as the front, no cheaper piecework. Remarkable. Whoever made these was an excellent seamstress. How light the train is, yet there is so much fabric. I could take the skirt from this one and wear it underneath the gold—”
“And I could ruche up the hem of the gold so you could glimpse this contrasting colour underneath just like—”
“Just like the newest fashion. Blanche, you are a marvel.”
Blanche looked pleased, but then looked back at the gowns, saying, “Do you think my godmother would mind?”
“Blanche, your godmother likely doesn’t know these are here. It’s not as if they belong to her, is it? She is twice as wide as Mama, and barely as tall as you.” Charlotte stroked the smooth, light fabric of the skirt she had decided to use.
“I suppose you’re right,” said Blanche. “And I would feel I was making some amends for your lost green silk.”
“No ready-made gown trimmed over can make amends for my beautiful green silk.” Charlotte caught sight of Blanche’s face, and added, “But this will be a godsend. Now get me dressed, there’s only four hours till sundown, and there’s so much to do.”
Blanche took up the skirt in her arms. Charlotte picked up a pale blue bodice and held it up against her stepsister. “Exactly your colour,” said Charlotte.
Blanche smiled half-heartedly.
“Do you know,” continued Charlotte, narrowing her almond eyes to gauge the fit of the blue gown. “If you borrowed my white gauze overskirt and my silver slippers, you would be quite presentable at a ball. A little plain, but you’re not one for drawing attention.”
Blanche looked startled. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying, you goose, that you could make yourself fit for a ball tonight. Even a royal one.”
“But….how would I get there? Your mother would not give up her carriage seat to me.”
“I suppose not. Ah well. It was a pleasant thought. Bring that skirt down, I must try it on.”
* * *
Charlotteand her mother tiptoed across the grassy ground to the waiting carriage. “Hold her gown up, Blanche,” the dowager ordered. “She must not get dew on the train.”
Charlotte and her train were put safely in the carriage. The light from the carriage lamp glowed golden on her face. As Blanche moved to close the carriage door, Charlotte grasped her wrist. Glancing over her shoulder at her mother, who was noisily ordering the coachman about, Charlotte whispered, “I’ve had an idea. Tell the coachman to come back for you. Get dressed and come to the ball. The family name will be on the invitation list.”
Blanche stared back. “But your mother would be furious.”
“She won’t know. Leave the ball by midnight, then send the carriage back for us. I’ll make sure we don’t leave before one o’clock.”
“But…she would see me there.”
“It’s a masque ball, you goose. She won’t recognise the dress.”
“But…”
“Oh, Blanche, enough of the buts! Take hold of opportunities when they come!”
“It seems so deceptive.”
“This is your godmother’s house and carriage. The dresses belong to her too. You have her approval, as if you needed anyone’s. Stop acting like a helpless child and stand up for yourself for once.”
The carriage creaked and swayed as the dowager took her seat. “What are you whispering about?” she demanded.
“Blanche wished us a pleasant evening.”
“Close the door, Blanche. It’s time to go.”
Blanche shut the door on her stepsister’s side and stood looking slightly dazed, her eyes wide and blinking fast as though she were thinking rapidly. Then, as if waking from a sleep, she shot round to the front of the carriage. Charlotte could just glimpse her taking hold of the bridle and tiptoeing to speak to the coachman on his seat.
The dowager rapped the roof of the carriage impatiently, and the carriage rumbled into motion. Charlotte winked through the window as she passed her stepsister by.