Felicity's fashions 2

 

Chapter 2

                 

22 Henrietta St

6^th March 1815

 

My dear Phip,

Thank you for the illiterate scrawl, which I cannot really describe as a ‘letter’ as such. Am I to understand that a Roguish auntie got into Mr. Belvoir’s cucumbers, aided and abetted by the Ottomans? Or were you trying to tell me that Roscinante the donkey undertook this fellonious invasion with the aid of the O’Tooles?

Really, Phip, it is just as well you have no ambition to be a governess, your writing is worse than Doctor Mac’s.

I have more news than you – the peccadilloes of Roscinante and the O’Toole twins being more an inevitability than news – as I had my first customer today!

Her name is Helen Nuttley, she was urged to come by Mary and Janey, being a former fellow actress, and unlike their uncaring families, she has been looked up by her illustrious relative.  Or rather, by one illustrious relative who has just inherited his position as something – Miss Nuttley was a little vague about what he is, does, or anything else – but he has a sister who needs a companion, and he looked up his mother’s cousin first, because he has, it appears, proper family feeling.  He gave her money to get a gown, to meet the fair Vivienne, so that Miss Nuttley would not feel as if she was a poor relation, with intent to have her properly clothed later, and Miss Nuttley was hoping that the three hundred guineas he gave her would stretch further than one gown. Plainly he usually frequents places which have a higher profit margin than I am considering setting.  I plan to make her both stylish and respectable, and perhaps Mr. [or lord] Aspirant-Family-Man will consider me dressing his sister as well. Truly, it is wicked for a gown to sell for almost one hundred times the cost of the materials, and these well-known modistes also pay their sewers a pittance. I pay my workers threepence an hour plus board, which if they work a full day five days a week is five-and-twenty pounds a year. It’s as much as a housekeeper, but barely a third what a tailor gets for much the same work, and it gives them flexibility to care for their offspring.  Oh!  I did not tell you that Daisy produced two workers for me, Lillias Murdoch, a Scots lass with a, ah, ‘bonnie bairn’ who is two months old and a big, solemn-eyed baby, the child of a deceiving mill-foreman; and Amy Tull, who is close to her time but has experience of sewing, having been a slavey in a more prestigious establishment until the husband of one of the clients demanded her to go to help fit his pregnant wife with gowns made to hide her condition, and raped her, because his wife would not entertain his approaches.  If he comes here, his wife will be hearing the story, and he’ll find out I know where to put the ferrule of a parasol. Amy was turned off by the woman who ran the place where she worked, even though she knew what was in the customer’s mind, as Amy was used to model the clothes for his wife, being of similar looks, with pale blonde hair and delicate looks. Lillias is reddish brown in colouring with green eyes, of a sort; more like a stagnant pool than a rose leaf, but with amber rings to them. Between us we cover most colourings, and there are always wigs. I expect Janey and Mary would parade in costume for a small consideration too. Janey is dark and Mary blonde.

Anyway, Miss Nuttley was very pleased to have two day and two evening gowns, and some of her own gowns furbished up as well, with enough over for new underlinen and a decent bonnet, and for a pelisse from a second-hand clothing emporium.  She went off very happily, and we are busy working on her purchases.

And as I need to build my reputation, I must get back to work on it!

Your loving twin, Felicity.

 

P.S. They say that Bonaparte has left Elba and is marching on Paris. I suppose one cannot expect the Bourbon restored monarchs to be able to contain him, so we may have a flood of French refugees back in London. I am not sure I can manage to take any on as well as my own English employees, and though one had sympathy for the émigré population with the revolution, if they can’t keep Napoleon out, I can’t find much sympathy for them, as he’s their problem primarily.

Fee

 

 

 

 

Hartley House Grosvenor Square

9^th March 1815

 

My dear Madame Felice,

Thank you again for your excellent management of my budget and for my gowns. Cousin Victor was astonished at how far his largesse stretched, and commented that either you would be the talk of London, or you would go out of business. I ventured to say that for someone of my modest budget, a modiste who was prepared to furbish up older gowns was a lifesaver if one was to retain some semblance of self-worth and gentility.  He is such a cynic, and declared that he has a mind to make you fashionable, and that if you put up your prices, he will be justified, but that if you retain your reasonable rates, he will owe you an apology. I felt I had to warn you!  Cousin Victor can be very cynical and sneering, even unpleasant at times to those he despises, which, I fancy, is most modistes, but he has been nothing but kindly towards me, and also towards Vivienne, who is a delightful and vivacious girl. We are dearest friends already.  She has a cloud of dark hair, and blue eyes, which are beautiful  and warm in her face, though it is odd that Victor, who has the same colouring, looks as if his eyes come from the middle of a frozen lake, you know, when the ice is clear and blue. However, I fancy he will bring you his mistress, about whom Vivienne and I are not supposed to know, but her name is supposed to be Rosabelle deVere, which somehow I doubt. She is blonde and pale, with pale blue eyes, so you are warned as to colours. I hope you may be made fashionable but that you will also be able to help people like me.”

Helen Nuttley.

 

Henrietta St

10^th March

 

My dear Miss Nuttley,

Thank you for your letter, I am glad you are so happy. Please find enclosed the last dress you left with me.  Your account is up to date, and I hope you like the Urling’s lace overgown with added lace motifs and finished with a remnant length of blonde lace at the hem, and such as I cut from what was left at the neck, and finished with beading. I think you will like it.

 

Helen unwrapped the parcel with this letter, and squealed in delight.

“Oh, famous!” said Vivienne. “Is that the silk gown you told me was soiled and too old-looking to wear any more?  Why, it is like new, and quite fabulous!”

Helen held up the gown, and executed a few dance steps.

“Cousin Victor will not be ashamed of me in this,” she said.

“I hope he takes me to Madame Felice for my first grown up dresses,” said Vivienne. “Victor!” as her cousin came in. “Has not Madame Felice made an excellent job of this?”

“Indeed, it is a beautiful piece. Do I need to pay her?” asked Victor, Lord Hartley.

“No, sir, she says my account is quite up to date, for she had a remnant of lace to add to the Urling’s lace I had paid for, and for extra trim,” said Helen.

“The Urling’s lace is well disguised with applique from real lace motifs,” said Hartley. “I cannot see any reason you should not be dressed by Madame Felice, Vivienne, all her designs are tasteful, and hopefully she will also be aware you are very young.”

“I am sure she will be perfectly capable of making Vivienne’s ensemble for the season,” said Helen. “As you now have me for a chaperone.”

“And that is a suitable opera gown for a chaperone, too,”  said Hartley, approvingly.

 

 

22 Henrietta St

11^th March

 

Dearest Phip,

I am not sure if I find Viscount Hartley adorable or if I want to kill him.

He is the cousin of my first customer, who wrote to me warning me that he plans to make me fashionable to see if I put my prices up and satisfy his sense of cynicism, or whether I will require an apology. Insufferable, yes? But he is happy to be generous to Miss Nuttley, and to his sister, whom he brought in earlier today.    I had Trinity show how colours looked, for she is much the same colouring, a cloud of dark hair and eyes put in with a sooty finger-print, as the Irish say. Vivienne is a beautiful child, and will pay for dressing; her brother is of the same colouring as she is, but as Helen mentioned, his eyes hold as much warmth as deep lake frozen.  Naturally, as Vivienne is coming out for the season, she will have mostly white muslin of a variety of figuring, and will be charming in any colour she wears. Thank goodness none of the royalty have been so inconsiderate as to die, for black would be a disaster to the girl. I have recommended the patent invisible petticoats for her though, as it is so damnably cold and damp. I suggested to His Haughtiness that she should be given money to go into Mrs. Morris’s shop with her cousin, Helen, to purchase warm garments of lambswool as it would not be de rigeur for a gentleman to discuss intimate garments. He was much amused, but Vivienne was vexed with him for laughing. The wretched man  started off by gabbling at me in French; I was so pleased to have had extra lessons from Miss Joliffe whilst I was learning embroidery from her, so I gabbled back. He said, ‘Oh, I beg your pardon; you are genuinely French, then,’ and I smiled and said, ‘No, as it happens, I am English, yes, my real name is Felicity, my mother was of literary disposition, but if people will come to a modiste with a French name, I’d be a fool not to use one. You, however, already know my worth, and I have been trained in needlework by a French Canadian lady.’  He said, ‘You ain’t shy, are you? And as prickly as a hedgehog.’ I said, ‘Well, when you have red hair, you learn early to give as good as you get, and my family is as good as yours, even if not titled, so you cannot intimidate me.’ And he laughed. And then he called me ‘Miss Pride-and-Prejudice,’ after that excellent novel Libby got for the library. And I said, ‘At your service, Mr. Darcy. But permit me to do my job and find fabrics for Georgiana.’ Vivienne has not read the book, but I explained it to her whilst finding her fabrics, and she is agog to read it. She adores her brother, and it is not hard to see why, for he will do anything for her. Apparently she has been ill and is still a little weak, which was when I suggested the lambswool underwear. I will be outfitting the girl in jonquil, and apricot, and in pinks, not blues, for she needs the roses of her cheeks brought out, and any colour too pale will make her look ill.                       She was dubious at first but was ecstatic to see them on Trinity.         The fashion plate for evening wear from February shows that puffed sleeves with contrasting colours let in is in fashion, so that allows me to show some colour for her, matching ribbons at the bodice. It is more fashionable to wear pastels over a white slip than the other way around, but of course for Almack’s she must be in white. How amusing to know someone who moves in such dizzy circles!  Though of course, so does Daisy, but one rather expects Daisy to get anywhere she wants.

Have you seen the French spencers, Phip? They must be a good deal warmer than normal spencers, as they come in under the bosom but then have skirts to about natural waist length. However, I think they look quite horrible, at least, on anyone who does not have a low waist, for they make anyone look short-waisted. I cannot think it will be a long-lasting fashion accessory. It may be good to keep warm, but at the expense of looking an absolute frump? I think not. I advised Vivienne that she would be better with a demi-length negligée or robe with long sleeves, over a petticoat, as a morning gown, for I have seen fashion plates from France, and what France has in February, Britain will have by April. I sketched the idea for her, and as I am making her a number of morning gowns in printed cambric, she asked for two negligées, one in blue, for she has picked a very pretty cloud with a blue floral pattern, and one in apricot for a pretty print of apricot coloured flowers with olive leaves and brown vines between. I advised her also to go to Daisy’s shop where they match bonnets and shawls and will dye ribbons and feathers to order. I have one each of Daisy’s best-selling shawls, to match cloth to, and showed her one which she was a little disgruntled not to buy, but I told her to ask for number fifteen shawl, in apricot, brown, olive, and blue.  It would match her blue morning gown as well. She was much impressed by the efficiency of this system, and I explained our association with Daisy, and how she turned out to own a diamond mine, and has old soldiers travelling for her to give them time in the sun and purchasing shawls from Kashmir and Tashkent, and guess what, Phip?  I even know where they are, because it is interesting to know where real things come from. The East India Company have a stranglehold on Dhaka muslin, but Daisy’s buyers came upon which is not as fine – the thread-pick is only 300 threads to the inch, not 800 to 1200, and it is not quite such a fine thread, but it is better than anything which can be woven in Britain and takes a figured weave very well. I am paying off for a couple of miles of the cloth with a satin stripe in it, to be dyed by the piece by Daisy’s dyers, and I recommended that she consider this as an option.

This is a long letter, but don’t expect another one for a while; I have an ensemble to make.

Oh, Trinity made me laugh, she told Vivienne that if she ever got bored, she’d be happy to stand in for her. They do look uncannily alike, stood side by side, and I could see that Mr. Darcy – whieh I shall continue to call him to you – was much struck. He asked me where Trinity had come from.  I am afraid I was overcome by twinniness and said gravely, ‘Well, Lord Hartley, when a flower and a bee love each other very much indeed, they exchange pollen...’ and he gave me such a look but I could not keep a straight face. And then I explained about Trinity, and he said, ‘poor girl, she has landed on her feet with you,’ and I pointed to my portrait, and said, “so much talent needs  nurturing.’

Anyway, I am dead on my feet.

Fee.