Page 46 of The Austen Escape
“What do you think?” Gertrude cut into my thoughts.
“It’s a fairyland. You could almost believe it’s real and we’re in the stories.”
“Isabel’s thesis is accurate.” Gertrude’s gaze followed mine across the room. “It’s a most extraordinary and purposeful form of escape. Watching guests, it’s clear some find the dressing and role play more than relaxing, they find it liberating. In playing others, they find themselves. Austen was even astute enough to put that in a book; have you readMansfield Park? There’s a play smack in the center of the book, and only there do the characters reveal their true selves and motivations.”
I thought of Isabel and what I saw within her, a transparencyI hadn’t seen in years. I thought of myself and the fact that I, who hadn’t cried in—I couldn’t think of the last time—had leaned against Gertrude and sobbed that very afternoon. “It feels a little dangerous, doesn’t it?”
“Can be, I think. Not all guests take it so far. Most find an escape from their lives and a new perspective, something any vacation can provide.”
An escape...“That holds a certain allure.”
“For a time.” Gertrude’s voice was heavy. She handed me a champagne flute, and we offered a silent toast. It felt more like commiseration than celebration.
Clara came across the room then, her steps slow and unsure, looking adorable in a pink dress, hemmed mid-calf. Her eyes were fixed on Isabel. I knew that look—it was adoration. I’d seen it on many faces over the years, starting with Missy Reneker in the second grade. Everyone adored Isabel.
Isabel and Herman had drifted back our direction. She was within reach. I took a step and clamped Isabel’s wrist to pull her close. Putting my lips close to her ear, I murmured, “Here comes Margaret Dashwood. Please be kind to her.”
Isabel pulled back only far enough to look me in the eyes. Hers asked,Why wouldn’t I be kind?
I turned back to Gertrude. She was watching Clara as well. “She heard Isabel would be dressed in pink tonight. Her matching one is no mistake. Sonia made that happen.”
Clara stopped a few steps from Isabel. She stopped because Isabel, with open arms, cut the distance between them. She wrapped Clara in a hug, then led her to the small love seat. They sat head-to-head as if sharing a delicious secret. Clara beamed and, oddly, so did Isabel.
I almost commented to Gertrude, then realized it would do no good. No one here knew the real Isabel or that she disliked children. And I didn’t want to draw attention to what was really happening. Dr. Milton had called me during my walk. If Isabel felt safe, he wanted me to watch her. He was willing to give her four days. If she wasn’t fully cognizant by then, I was to hop a flight home or take her to a local hospital. In the meantime, the doctor and I were to talk every day, as many times a day as I needed.
Clara’s father, our Mr. Bingley, caught my attention next. He stood selecting appetizers from Duncan’s tray. Ripples of fabric pulled tight across his chest.
“How could you possibly have a coat and pants—”
“Breeches.” Gertrude corrected me with a tap of her fan.
I nodded. “Breeches. Where did you ever find a pair to fit him?”
“Custom-made. Guests send in their measurements and we make sure we have all they need. Isabel sent in yours.” She glanced toward my feet. “A good approximation.”
I, too, noted that my dresses hit at the top of my feet rather than breaking on the slipper as the others’ dresses did. “Isabel always thinks I’m shorter or she’s taller than either of us really is.”
“It was our Sir Walter Elliot who was the most challenging to attire this evening. We had the clothes, but he wanted very crisp linen. Poor Sonia couldn’t get that collar high enough for his taste. I think she used an entire spray canister of starch.”
“Poor Sir Walter. No one will notice. His wife steals the show.”
Helene was dressed in white silk with plumes of lace all around her. She looked like a cream puff from her white hair to the white slippered feet that peeked from beneath her dress’s hem. A glittery cream puff—Helene was covered in diamonds. They were in her hair, across her neck, draping from both wrists,and covering her white-gloved fingers. A large diamond dropped down the front of her gown and with each breath became lost in her cleavage. I laughed as she waved to Clara just to make the diamonds on her wrists rattle and sparkle. She spoke loudly and held all the vulgar enthusiasm that made Mrs. Jennings such a delightful character.
“That was the most fun.” Gertrude raised her glass toward Helene. “I brought her our selection of paste jewelry and she chose every single piece. She is wearing them all tonight.”
“Good for her.”
Herman noticed we were watching them and jumped up. He took tiny stuttered steps toward us. Either that was how he expected Regency men to walk or the floor was so highly polished as to be slippery.
He pulled me into a one-armed hug. I squished against him. “Aren’t we having a marvelous time? I have never seen her look more radiant.” He pointed to his wife, then repositioned me by pulling at my shoulders.
Once he was satisfied I was centered in front of him and paying close attention, he moved both his hands to his chest and patted it lightly. “I’m... Sir...” He looked back to his wife, who was not paying attention.
I supplied the name. “Sir Walter Elliot.”
“That’s right. Helene said he had a tie just like this. It is important to have it stand, not to wilt. I have seen pictures of my grandfather. I am sure he must have worn a tie like this too. It is hard to tell in the very old pictures. They are grainy and I only have the one. Untied, this strip of linen reaches to my knees. And—”
Helene joined us and laid a hand on his arm. He gave a soft sigh.
