Page 10 of Anastasia and the Duke
In rushed tones, which barely concealed his excitement, Sid explained that Hannah was due at the house on Grosvenor Square at five bells, where she would meet with the countess. All that was required of the companion was that she was to be of an agreeable disposition and have a pleasant reading voice; the ability to speak French was an added bonus.
"Now, I know you're capable of the last two, but the first stipulation has me nervous," Sid guffawed, "I ain't never met anyone with such a sourpuss as you."
"Ask anyone else and they'll tell you how charming I am," Hannah shot back with a frown, "It's only your company that renders me sour, Sid."
"If the wind changes, your face will get stuck like that," came his nonchalant response. Insults rolled easily off the back of a man who regularly had worse things thrown at him--like fists.
"What have you in the way of costume for the girl?" Sid demanded of Nan as, with a visibly shaking hand, she placed a cup of tea before him.
Nancy scrunched up her nose as she mentally went through the inventory of costumes she kept upstairs. Though she had long since left her position as seamstress at the theatre, she still took on occasional work for them, and had managed to keep--or steal, if one was being pedantic--a number of dresses for just such occasions.
"I have a calico day dress in soft lilac," Nan spoke, more to herself than to Sid, "Plain, but good quality. Then she may take my merino-wool shawl--a Spencer-jacket would be too showy for a servant--and she'll need a mob cap for under her bonnet."
"Good, good," Sid, who had no understanding of female fashion, responded a tad patronisingly, "Sounds just the thing. Well, my girl, I shall leave you to it. You have the address and the letter--don't be late. I expect they'll want you to start as soon as you can."
"Don't count your chickens, Sid," Hannah warned, nervous that his certainty might jinx her, "She hasn't even met me yet. She might take one look at me and throw me back out onto the street."
"She won't, believe me."
Hannah could not fathom why Sidney was so confident that his plan would work, but she took some comfort from his assuredness. Once he had left, she and Nan made their way upstairs, where Nan laid out the chosen clothing for her.
"I look like a fool," Hannah groused, as she inspected her reflection in the cracked mirror.
The dress that Nan had picked out was muted and sombre, like something a genteel spinster might wear.
"You look like a lady," Nan responded affectionately, her hands busily attempting to tame Hannah's wild curls into submission.
"Then you've worked a miracle, Nan," Hannah muttered, as she frowned at her reflection, "For I'm far from a lady."
"Stop that."
Nan gave a short, sharp tug on a strand of Hannah's hair, causing her to howl in protest.
"You are every inch the lady," Nan grumbled, annoyed by her statement, "I raised you to speak nicely, taught you your letters and arithmetic, you can even play the pianoforte, Hannah. If that doesn't make you a lady, I don't know what does."
"Breeding, mostly. Ladies don't get taught the pianoforte by a drunk theatre player, usually," Hannah replied, with a cheeky smile which earned her another hair pulling.
"Your motherwasa lady," Nan insisted, "A beautiful, kind, and gentle woman. You come from good stock, my love, don't ever think otherwise."
Hannah offered a smile in response to her words, but inside she felt numb. As a child, she had plagued Nan with questions about her parents; who they were, what they had looked like, what they had said and done. Nan had filled her with tales of a glamorous, wealthy couple, who had doted on their only daughter; a couple who lived in a grand house and threw extravagant parties for royalty and treated their only daughter like she was a princess.
It had been easy to believe, when she was young, that Nan had been friends with such people. It had been easy to believe that she was special--a lost princess, with parents who had loved her.
However, with age, came wisdom, and as she grew Hannah had come to understand that Nancy's stories were nothing but old guff; tales told to soothe an anxious child. There was no way that Nan had ever kept company with the aristocracy, and Sid had once hinted at the truth; that Hannah was an unwanted, base-born child, whose mother had succumbed to poverty.
From that day on, Hannah had refused to ask Nan any more questions. The fantasy, she thought, was far more comforting than the reality.
"There," Nan pronounced, a few minutes later, "You're done."
Hannah took one final glance at herself in the mirror and found her nerves soothed by what she saw. She looked every inch the respectable miss, in her staid dress, and plain bonnet. Even if Lady Lansdowne took no interest in her, she would find nothing to be horrified by.
"I'd best hurry," Hannah declared, wishing to be on the move lest her nerves resurfaced, "Thank you, for everything."
"You don't have to go," Nan ventured, softly.
She looked so small and frightened that Hannah longed to reach out and pull her into her arms, but there wasn't time.
"It will be alright," Hannah assured her, "Just you wait and see."
