Undine -

Chapter 13

'A party? What's the occasion?'

Sophie beamed at Elizabeth and Irma. Both woman smiled back, snared by her enthusiasm.

'Don't get over excited, girl. It's a seasonal gathering, that's all. We hold it every summer solstice. No doubt there was rhyme and reason for it once upon a time, but the excuse has been lost to obscurity and now it's just a tradition.' Elizabeth sniffed. 'Though Lord knows why we still hold it.'

'I love parties.'

'Not if you're organising the catering,' Irma frowned.

'You love every minute of it,' Elizabeth scolded. 'Besides, you can always hire help.'

'I don't need help feeding a multitude. I need a miracle.'

'She does this every year,' Elizabeth grumbled to Sophie. 'Does nothing but complain, then takes all the credit when the damned thing's over.'

'Cook's prerogative,' Irma quipped primly.

'What does one wear?' Sophie asked.

'Formal evening, of course,' Elizabeth replied with a look that told her she should know better.

'Oh...'

'That's a rather disconsolate "Oh". What's wrong, don't you like dressing up?'

'I've nothing formal. Had I known sooner, I could have bought something.'

'As with most traditions, these events become habit and therefore predictable,' Elizabeth said. 'Of course, we should have warned you.'

Elizabeth regarded Sophie for a moment through narrowed eyes. 'Irma? Would you say Sophie is a size ten?'

Irma stared at her mistress, nodding slowly. 'About your height too, Elizabeth, give or take an inch.'

'And what do you suppose would complement that colouring? That honey hair, those amber eyes?'

Both women exchanged glances. 'The gold?' Irma enquired.

Elizabeth nodded. 'Go fetch it.'

Sophie stared after the housekeeper as Irma left the room.

'Don't look so bemused, girl. You want something to wear for the party, don't you?'

Sophie's heart sank. She wants me to wear one of her dresses. Probably a flapper's frock with glittery furbelows and reeking of mothballs.

'What's the matter, do you have indigestion?'

'It's the heat,' Sophie mumbled. 'It's terribly close in here.'

'Then open a window.'

Sophie complied, then took a seat opposite Elizabeth. The drawing room mantle clock ticked away the minutes, and with each tick Sophie's heart grew heavier.

I shall have to wear it. How can I offend her? I'll be the laughing stock. Maybe it won't fit. Maybe I can put on a little weight between now and next week...maybe...

When Irma entered the room holding a huge oblong box, Sophie clasped her hands together in silent prayer.

The housekeeper placed the box on the floor between Elizabeth and Sophie, then lifted the lid with the reverence of a priest unveiling the grail.

There were layers of crackling tissue paper, creamy with age, and Sophie caught the wink of burnished fabric. Then Irma was lifting and smoothing the pristine folds of the most exquisite ball gown Sophie had ever seen.

It was a shimmering confection of gold wild silk satin. The plunging décolletage fell in soft folds above a boned bodice sprinkled with minute jet beads, and the bias cut skirt draped slightly behind in the mere suggestion of a train.

Sophie inhaled softly, and reached for the fabric. 'It's beautiful.'

'I'm glad you like it,' Elizabeth remarked. 'I think it will suit your complexion perfectly.'

'Oh, but I can't wear this, Elizabeth. It's so delicate and fragile.'

'Nonsense. This gown has lain too long in this box begging for youth to wear it.'

'But it might not fit,' Sophie breathed anxiously, forgetting her prayers and picking up a fold of silk so delicate she feared it might disintegrate in her fingers.

'It'll fit. If anything it might be a tad large. If so, Irma will take in the seams for you.'

'I've never seen such workmanship,' Sophie remarked. 'Such quality of fabric.'

'Hand sewn, every inch of it. I was assured this fabric is as close to byssus as can be found outside of ancient Rome. Exquisite, don't you agree?'

Sophie nodded dumbly.

'Take the gown to Sophie's room, Irma. Be sure to hang it on its own, though you may have to steam out the creases.'

When the housekeeper was gone, Elizabeth turned to Sophie with a perspicacious stare.

'That wasn't so bad, was it?' You thought I was going force some antwacky period monstrosity on you, weren't you?'

Sophie bowed her head and smothered a smile.

'You may well snigger,' Elizabeth scolded gently. 'I can read you like a book. You've no secrets from me.'

At Sophie's questioning look, Elizabeth waved her hands dismissively. 'It's time I had my afternoon nap.'

Sophie rose to leave the room. For a moment she paused, then impulsively leaned down and brushed her lips against the woman's cheek. 'Thank you, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth scowled, but the gesture was perfunctory and Sophie couldn't help smiling to herself at the expression of suppressed contentment on the old woman's face.

~

The housekeeper finished smoothing the folds of the silk ball gown and glanced at Sophie as she asked, 'What kind of people are invited to this party, Irma?'

'Mostly Michael's friends.'

'No family?'

Irma's eyes met Sophie's across the golden silk. 'One or two distant cousins, I believe.'

'How old is the tradition?'

'For as long as I can remember.'

'Then you're almost part of the family,' Sophie laughed, reaching over to touch the silk.

Irma smiled, 'I suppose we are. Now, are you ready to try the gown?'

Sophie undressed, then stood before the pier glass in anticipation. As the gown slid it over her head, she revelled in the luxurious feel of it. Irma fastened the string of tiny covered buttons at the back of the bodice. Delicate folds draped over the top of the arms, the edges trimmed with glittering bugle bead fringe. The skirts whispered and writhed like live things when she moved.

'It fits almost perfectly,' Irma murmured as Sophie twisted her body, peering at herself in the mirror.

'I hope I won't be overdressed,' she remarked, glancing anxiously at Irma.

Irma eyed her sympathetically. 'You'll be one of the prettiest, Miss.'

'Oh, Irma, I don't feel worthy of such a gown.'

The housekeeper raised her cornflower eyes to Sophie's, her voice matter of fact and to the point. 'You're worthy, Miss. And more so.'

At that brusque compliment, Sophie's heart soared. She turned once more to the mirror, face beaming and flushed with pride. Unbidden, the flower garden sprang to mind, the heavy nodding heads of the Grandpa Dickson hybrids with their fragrant scent and subtle hues of old gold.

Maybe I won't be a wall flower after all. I mightn't be an orchid, but with this dress I can certainly be a rose.