Corset Diaries Read online

  She spun around at the door. “Teddy. You must call him Teddy.”

  “Oh. I thought I was supposed to call him by his surname?”

  She made an annoyed sound and held the door open wide. “Didn’t you read the book? How do you expect to manage any form of convincingness if you do not adhere to the rules? You must read the book and follow the strictures in it to the letter. In here, Teddy. You took long enough with it. I shall be sure Mr. Palmer hears about this.”

  Teddy gave me a half-grin as he and another man carried my trunk in. “I had to unload the sound equipment, too, Crighton.”

  “That’s Miss Crighton to you! Only Her Grace may refer to me without a title.”

  “Righto. My lady—” Teddy said, bowing with exaggerated obsequiousness as he spoke.

  “You will refer to the duchess as Her Grace, as you well know. Such insolence does not become you, Teddy. If you continue it, you’ll find your time here at Worston very much abbreviated.”

  Teddy’s eyes narrowed and he dropped one end of the trunk as he turned to face Ellis. I decided to interrupt before someone said something they would regret.

  “Whoa now, I think we’re all taking this a wee bit too seriously, don’t you? There’s no cameras on us now, so what does it matter what Teddy calls me?”

  “It matters a great deal! We have all taken a solemn oath to live just as the Victorians would, and I can assure you that no duchess would ever demean herself by allowing a lower servant to address her in anything but what was due her station. It is vital to this project that each and every one of us adheres to such standards. To do any less would be to destroy everything the rest of us are working so hard to achieve.”

  “Well, it is just a television show—it’s not world peace or anything,” I said, sharing a grin with Teddy and the other footman.

  “Just a television show? Just a television show? It is not just a television show! This is a grand project, an important living history documentary that will provide much knowledge for scholars for years to come. That is, it will if everyone honors the contracts they signed, which, I might add, are legally binding.”

  I blew out a breath. “Hokay, what say we just let this go and move on. Thank you Teddy and . . . uh . . .”

  “Bret. Bret Whitney, Your Grace.”

  “Hi, Bret. Thank you both for bringing up the trunk. I think you’d better leave now, Ellis—”

  “Crighton!”

  “Crighton has to help me get dressed, and I’d hate to be late my first day on the job.”

  Both men bowed again and snickered their way out of the room. Ellis closed the door in a manner remarkably akin to a slam, muttering all the while about people who did not have the proper attitude.

  Five minutes later she had all of the undergarments and the dress laid out for me. I used the time to look around the room. The walls were painted a soft biscuit color that was picked up in a red-and-green cabbage rose rug. The bed was not as big as I expected, done in the sleigh style with gold claw feet at each corner. I gnawed my lip as I eyed the blue-and-gold coverlet, wondering if I would fit in the bed. It looked a bit on the short side. A pair of comfortable armchairs sat cozily before the fireplace, and long blue-and-gold draperies pulled back to reveal two full-length windows that framed the fainting couch. A huge mahogany wardrobe lurked in one corner, while an intricately patterned screen boasting a peacock and no less than four peahens hid the other corner of the room.

  “All right, let’s have you, then,” Ellis said just as I was about to peek behind the screen.

  “What? Oh, um . . . OK, just tell me what is the order of putting on this stuff, and I’ll get right to it, and let you know when I’m ready for you to hook me into the dress.”

  Ellis’ lips thinned even more. “We must first get out of our modern clothes.”

  I smiled, which was an effort, but I did it. I even kept my voice nice and polite. “Ah. OK, I see we have a little confusion here, so since time is of the essence, I’ll just get right to it. You need to leave the room first, then I’ll take my clothes off and get into the Victorian undies. After that, you can come back in.”

  “Your Grace, I am your body servant. That means I attend to your person, oftentimes your naked person. Please remove your clothing so I can dress you in the appropriate garments.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I appreciate the fact that you’re desirous of being as authentic as possible, but there is no way I’m going to take my clothes off in front of you, so the sooner you leave, the sooner I can get into those frilly things.”

  She took a deep breath, held it for about ten seconds, then blasted me. “Take off your clothes!”

  “No!”

  “TAKE THEM OFF NOW!”

  “What are you, some sort of pervert who likes to see chunky women naked? No!”

  “If you don’t take off your things now,” she said in a low, mean voice as she started toward me. I backed up nervously, eyeing the doors on either side of the room. “I will take them off for you, and I promise you, you won’t like that.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked, stunned by the venom in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  The back of my knees bumped up against the fainting couch. I put my hands on my hips and made the meanest face I could. “I am a duchess! You can’t threaten a duchess! You can be beheaded or something for threatening a duchess. Hey! Let go of me!”

  She yanked on my T-shirt so hard I stumbled forward. Her eyes bore into mine as she leaned forward, hissing. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes. Now.”

  “Fine!” I said, snatching the front of my T-shirt out of her claws. “I will, but not because I’m afraid of you, but only because I have to be downstairs in fifteen minutes. I warn you, though, if you make one crack, one little tiny crack about my weight, I’ll deck you one. And don’t think I can’t, because I’m at least fifty pounds heavier than you and a good ten years younger.”

  She snorted, standing in front of me, her beady little eyes narrowing as I started to pull off my T-shirt.

  “Well, don’t watch me! I can’t do it if you watch me!”

  She snorted again and moved over to the bed, grabbing a lace-bedecked bit of linen. I peeled off my T-shirt, shucked my jeans, and glared at her defiantly, just daring her to say anything. She just pursed her lips and held the lacy combinations out to me. I took a deep breath and unhooked my bra and pulled off my undies.

  I will give her credit. She didn’t say anything, although I think I broke the land-speed record for getting into the combinations. For those of you not hip with Victorian undergarments, combinations were so named because they combined a chemise with drawers. My combinations were armless, with lace and a pretty pink ribbon at the bottom of legs (which ended at my knees) and around the neckline, and a line of buttons up the back. There were also buttons on the hips, to which the petticoat (a long underskirt) was fastened.

  “Well, this isn’t so bad. At least it covers everything important,” I said as I looked myself over in the mirror on the dressing table. “Oh, stockings. Thanks. Are there . . . thanks.” I took the black garters Ellis soundlessly handed me and pulled on the stockings and garters. “Um, about the shoes . . . the wardrobe people didn’t have anything period in my size, so they’re having some specially made. Until they get here, I’m supposed to wear those.”

  I pointed at the jazz shoes Ellis was holding.

  She glared at them as if they had uttered an improper word. “These are dance shoes!”

  “Yeah, but they took the taps off them. They’re the best they could do until the shoes are made.”

  She huffed for a minute, then snarled that I’d have to be careful not to let anyone see my feet.

  “What dress do you think I should wear?” I asked as she tossed the petticoat over my head. It also had pink ribbons and three rows of lace at the bottom.

  “The green-and-black walking skirt. It’s not entirely appropriate for morning wear, but it will have to do to
day. I hope the rest of your wardrobe comes tomorrow.”

  “You seem to be very knowledgeable about all this,” I said as she shook out the corset. I held up my arms so she could hook the front together. “I know you normally work as a living history interpreter, but—OW! Hey, wait a minute, you’re crushing my boobs!”

  I slapped at her hands as she reached for my breasts. “OK, new rule—you’re not allowed to touch my breasts. I’ll do it.”

  She sighed the sigh of the heavily martyred while I adjusted my boobs so they weren’t crushed in the body of the corset. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, which, I have to admit, wasn’t a lot. There’s just something about someone dressing you in underthings that strips away most dignity. I took an experimental breath as Ellis moved around to the back of the corset. “Well, you know, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It certainly does lift and separate the old—eeeeeeugggh.”

  All of a sudden the breath was driven from my body. Ellis gave another pull on the cords at the back of the corset, and both my lungs collapsed.

  “What are you doing?” I managed to gasp.

  “Tightening your corset so you’ll fit into the dresses,” she grunted, then gave another hard pull on the cords. My ribs imploded into my organs and I staggered backward, trying desperately to get a single atom of oxygen into my now crushed lungs.

  “This is ridiculous! I can’t possibly go around with the corset this tight! I can’t breathe! I know it’s silly of me, but I like breathing!”

  There was one more smaller tug, a tug that made my eyes cross as my waist compressed down to nothing. I thought I was seeing big spots before my eyes, but I realized when I looked down that they were my breasts, hoisted high by the pressure of the corset. “Jeezumcrow, look at that. It’s like a breast shelf. I bet I could put a potted plant and a statue or something on them. Crighton, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to loosen the corset up. I can’t—oomph!”

  A patterned brocade skirt came down over my head. I tried to struggle my way through it, but lack of oxygen was making me woozy.

  “It is as tight as it needs to be. You’ll get used to it in time. Arms up.”

  Ellis finished hooking up the brocade and silk skirt (for you fashion mavens, the green-and-black brocade overskirt pulled back to reveal a pretty, patterned, silk pleated front. The bottom of the skirt was matching brocade that ruffled its way to the ground. The back of the skirt was a series of poofy gathered bits of the overskirt, looped and tied at the knees with a matching silk bow), then held out the bodice for me to slip into. The bodice was very pretty—a long-sleeved jacket of dark green with a narrow brocade panel at the front and sleeves, split at the top by waves of frothy ruffles that spilled out over the brocade front and cuffs. It was very feminine and I had to admit that about this, Ellis was right. The dress fit snugly. If I had been laced any looser, I doubted if she would be able to hook it closed.

  Of course, that now meant that not only was I not going to be able to eat the entire month I was at Worston Old Hall, I would also not be breathing. Still, crushed ribs and not breathing seemed like an awfully small price to pay to have a nonleaking roof and no more hospital bills. Not to mention a month spent with Max the dishy duke.

  Hubba hubba.

  “Sit there and I’ll do your hair.” She pointed to the dressing table and blue-cushioned bench that was opposite the bed.

  “Oh. Um. You know, I don’t really like people messing with my—”

  “Sit!”

  I sat. Carefully. With extremely good posture—the corset wouldn’t bend even a little.

  “As you asked, yes, I am an expert on both the Victorian and Edwardian times,” Ellis said as she grabbed a silver-backed brush from the dressing table. I pulled my hair out of its scrunchy and sat stiffly, gritting my teeth and hating the thought of her touching my hair. Ten thousand dollars, I reminded myself as Ellis tersely trotted out her qualifications. For ten grand, she could touch my hair.

  “I should, of course, have been given the position of housekeeper since I am infinitely more qualified for that position than lady’s maid, but that position was already filled.” She spat out the words with a venom that made me stop thinking about her brushing out my hair.

  “Perhaps Roger thought that your talents would be better used here rather than as housekeeper.”

  She snorted, which had me shifting uncomfortably, not just because I hadn’t managed to get air into my lungs for five minutes now, but because her fingers tightened on my hair, pulling it painfully.

  “You’re hurting me. Do you think you could loosen up a bit?”

  “I think a braid is suitable for this morning, around the back of your head, with an artificial rose tucked into it. I take it that will please Your Grace?”

  “Yes, whatever, just leave me a little hair left, will you? Ow!”

  She stopped yanking my hair through the brush, parted my hair down the middle, twisted either side back behind my ears with two big combs, then started braiding. “The position I deserve to have was not given to me because the woman who obtained it used methods to which I would never stoop.”

  “Really?” I eyed her in the mirror above the dressing table. “What sort of methods? Did she get naked with the company’s president? Blackmail someone influential? Bribe her way into the coveted position of housekeeper?”

  Her lips tightened until all that could be seen of her mouth was a thin slit. “Let us just say that she has knowledge of Mr. d’Aspry that could be said to be of a houghmagandric nature.”

  “Houghmagandric? What’s that?”

  “Carnal.”

  “Ah.” I gnawed on my lip for a few minutes, wondering if she was unaware that Roger had been Pierce’s boyfriend, then figured it wasn’t anyone’s business. Besides, she probably wouldn’t believe me if I told her. It was obvious that Ellis had a bit of a jealousy issue with regards to the housekeeper, and since it was Ellis who would be responsible for doing my hair and stuff, it would behoove me not to irritate her any more than was possible.

  Four minutes later she pinned my braid around the back of my head, took out a pale cream velvet rose from a drawer in the dressing table and tucked it into the braid, pinning it firmly into place with wickedly long hairpins.

  “You hair is finished. Would you care to apply your own cosmetics, or would you rather I do it?”

  I looked at the tray of objects she slid onto the table before me.

  “Oooh, neat! Face powder! What’s this?”

  I opened a small metal pot and sniffed it.

  “Rouge. As the author of The Glory of Womanhood so correctly states, ‘although it is no longer considered vulgar to aid nature, good form does not permit that such artifices be noticeable.’ ”

  “Is that so?” I asked, dipping my fingers into the rouge pot.

  “Furthermore, the author reminds us that ‘the lady who feels the need for the bloom of roses upon her cheeks or lips must apply it with infinite care, and not slap it on as if it was mortar between bricks.’ Wise words, do you not agree?”

  I looked at my rose-blooming cheeks and blinked a couple of times. “Well, I’m colorful, I’ll say that. Maybe a bit too colorful. Do you have a tissue or something I can use to take a bit of this off?”

  She gave me a hard look and handed me a linen hand towel. I hated to soil it with rouge, but there was no other hope for it. I was running out of time.

  Two minutes later I had applied a tiny bit of lip rouge (which came in a small glass pot with lovebirds painted on the top), brushed a bit of black onto my eyelashes in lieu of mascara, splashed on lemon verbena toilet water, and finished it all off with a big poofy powder puff loaded with face powder that unfortunately got all over my bodice.

  “Thanks, Crighton,” I said after she had finished brushing the powder off my boobs. I stood before the mirror and looked myself over, blinking a bit in surprise at what I saw. The dress was, as expe
cted, very authentic, but the person in the dress—well, I might not be able to breathe, but I had to admit that the corset worked wonders on my figure. The way the dress was draped, along with the compression device, made my waist look much smaller than it really was. True, my boobs were hoisted up higher than they had ever been in their prime, but who was to know that? With my hair up and the ruffles framing my face, I looked . . . mmm, maybe not like a duchess, but at least presentable.

  I leaned over sideways and snagged my journal off the closest armchair. The corset creaked warningly at such a foolish attempt at movement. “How much time do I have?”

  “It is three minutes to nine. I will return with the jewelry box so you can select what jewels you wish to wear today.” Ellis gave me a dirty look before she disappeared into a connecting room.

  “Not necessary. The earrings I have on now came from a museum store, so they’re fine, and I don’t need to wear anything else,” I called after her as I sat down with my journal, looking around quickly to see if she would notice I was using my favorite teal pen instead of the nibbed pen that sat next to a crystal ink bottle.

  She came back a few minutes later and lit into me for being late for morning prayers, then saw the pen and confiscated that. I thought strongly about spilling my face powder all over the rug for her to clean, but managed, by dint of immense self-control, to simply thank her for her help, and creaked and wheezed my way out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs leading below.

  As soon as I started down the stairs, I saw . . . oooh! I have to stop. Max the dishy duke wants me!

  Wednesday

  September 1

  3:18 P.M.

  Back at the Escritoire (sung to the tune of “Back in the U.S.S.R.”)

  It is impossible, impossible I tell you, to eat while wearing a corset. Worse yet, if you do, things happen. Unpleasant things. Embarrassing things.

  Did I know that early this morning when I had a big breakfast? No, I did not. I know it now, though. I found out the sad truth when I made my appearance for morning prayers. My debut on film. The first time I met everyone, family and servants. My grand moment, my entrance, just me carefully walking down the front stairs, and about thirty people arranged on either side of the hall watching me descend with swanlike grace.