The Decoder - Chapter 14

“Psst!  Amy!” I poked my head around her bedroom door.  “Psst!”

“What?”  She pulled the covers off her legs.

“What if the servants bring us strange clothes?”

It was early morning and we were the only ones awake.

“What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am not wearing a corset.”

“You’re being silly.  Of course you have to wear a corset.  You’ll look a right trollop if you don’t.”

“If I don’t?  Those things push your bust up so high you can touch it with your chin!” I hissed indignantly.  “And another thing—those dresses!  Did you see Georgiana yesterday?  How did she even sit down with all that puff around her bottom?”

Amy snorted.  “Okay, if you want to get a reputation as a crazy foreigner, have fun!  I suppose you can ask for cloth strips and tie your bust, but I don’t think you should go without a dress.”

I retreated to my room and waited for the dressing gong to be rung.  I opened the window as wide as it could go, reveling in the cool air and the smell of the frosted forest.  I noticed that there was a thick copper drainpipe running down right next to my window, with thick clamps conveniently spaced for its support.  My mind immediately turned to support of a different object.  I had never tried to climb a drainpipe before.  The modern version of the thing was a flimsy plastic chute that I wouldn’t trust to hold a bird.  I put my hand out sideways and gave it a tug.  Nothing moved.  Cautiously, I pushed a toe out into the outside world.  The gong went.  I pulled my foot back inside and turned hastily at a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

They were servants and they had a corset on offer.  I rejected it and asked cordially for a cloth band and a plainer dress.  The shoes were comfortable enough, though.  I was made to regret my decision of allowing the lady’s maid to do my hair.  I had long, curly hair that I usually wore in a tapering plait down my back, not because I liked it, but because it was the only way to keep it from going wild.  I winced as the comb was dragged through the snarls and knots.  I envied Wayne his simple, brown hair.

Now what kind of book is it? I asked myself.  The decoder makes it sci-fi, Bouvier makes it thriller, Pemberley makes it—not a sci-fi thriller at all.

I refused the term “romantic comedy”.  It wasn’t funny, and I was not in love.  And this whole thing was ridiculous.  Decoder, parallel worlds, duplication rubbish... not to mention Schrodinger’s cat, whatever that was.

“There you are, ma’am,” said the maid.  “And may I say, it is very becoming indeed!”

I looked in the mirror.  My hair had been woven into an intricate design on top of my head, with a few curls trickling over my forehead.

“Is it time for breakfast yet?” I asked.

“You may go down, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Breakfast was an awkward affair, but the food was fantastic.  The Darcys probably kept a French chef.  Amy pointed and giggled at my hair, but I could equally laugh at her corset, which did indeed change her athletic body shape dramatically.  “Boobs on a platter” was the choir slang for lifting your ribs to accommodate the lungs, but my platter would never be heaped quite as high as hers was at this moment.  After the meal, we all sat down in one of the thousands of sitting rooms and chatted awkwardly.

“My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, is coming to visit us within the week,” said Darcy.

Lucy’s eyes shone with pleasure at this welcome intelligence.  I was also glad, if merely because he could break the stiff silence between the current party.

“Does he know of us being here?” asked Wayne.

“Yes, he does,” replied Georgiana, “for I sent him an express mentioning you.”

“You have a very beautiful instrument here,” said Lucy, looking at a piano.  “You promised to play for us yesterday.  Would you...?”

Georgiana walked over smilingly and opened the lid with tender care.  The wood was dark and natural, the keys brilliant white and black.  Georgiana arranged her skirts over the stool and sat down gracefully.  It was a Chopin waltz, with beautiful flowing chords in the left, and a trilling sweet melody in the right.  Georgiana’s balance was excellent, and the music lacked nothing.  When she finished, it was to stunned applause.  Lucy stood, white bandage stark against her crimson dress.

“May I try?”

Georgiana smiled.  “Of course!”

Georgiana Darcy was a talented pianist.  I remembered her described as “accomplished” by Austen.  But she was about to meet her match in Lucy, I knew.  She spread out her heavy skirts on the stool, lifting them over one knee with much less elegance than Georgiana, but they slipped down again.  Lucy flounced out and ignored them.

“What are you playing?” I asked.

“A bit of Debussy, nothing fancy.”

And with a few sweeps of the hand, Lucy launched into Reverie, my favorite, which I had never been able to play.  I gave Georgiana a sidelong glance.  Her mouth had fallen open in a very unladylike manner.  I countered her expression with a grin.  As the last euphony melted away, Darcy started to clap.  Lucy sat motionless, but a sneaky smirk tweaked the corner of her mouth.  Georgiana overcame her shyness in a flood of questions and demands.

“Sing with me, Essie,” pleaded Lucy.  “Let’s do something pretty.”  She pouted.  I gave in.

“Something out of a musical?” I queried

“More classical.”

“Something from Don Giovanni?”

Lucy thought.  “Can’t remember those.”

“How about Carmen.  Habanera.”

“The one that goes something like... this?”

She confidently struck into the accompaniment.  I instinctively closed the piano lid to dampen the loud chords—Lucy was too used to performing alone.  My conspicuous soprano voice rang through the room and I blushed inadvertently as it came out too loud.  But I shook myself and continued, hoping that my French was not as reprehensible as I imagined.  My operatic voice had always been a humiliation at school, especially when it caused heads to turn while we sang the national anthem in assembly.  Now at least it had some use.  I scrutinized the faces of the assembly with amusement.  As the song ended, I relaxed my muscles and allowed my chest to deflate.  Wayne was the first to thaw, having heard me sing Habanera before.  Darcy and Georgiana were still in shock.

“Have you not heard the song before?” Wayne broke the silence.

“No,” answered Darcy.  “It is wholly unknown to me, like the work which your friend honored us with earlier.”

“Georgiana, why don’t you play for us again?” Lucy asked.  “My fingers tire quickly.”