Perdita by Joan Smith Page B

Only let me recuperate for a day or two, and I shall show you all the sights. G’day, Miss Greenwood,” she added, acknowledging my presence.
    We made our curtsies from a distance, as we neither of us wished to contract her ailment. “How does your papa go on, and his new bride?”
    “Fine,” Perdita answered carelessly, while I readied my tale to account for our singular appearance in her saloon. Not a single word of my story was necessary. “We are en route to Aunt Maude in Brighton, and stopped off to visit you for a few days. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Mind? Why, my dear, I could not be happier. I only mind that I am not well enough to show you the sights immediately, today. But John will be my stand-in,” she added at once, with a commanding glance to her son.
    “Haven’t a second to spare, Mama,” he answered very quickly. “Got an appointment with Stultz in half an hour.”
    “Oh, my dear, I wish you would reconsider and see Weston. The whole of London recognizes your man at a glance when you frequent Stultz. Though he does give you a very handsome shoulder. Perdita will visit me till your appointment is over.”
    “Have a date at No. 13 Old Bond after that,” John informed her. “Jackson’s Parlor, you must know.”
    "That's all right,” Perdita said sweetly. “We want to see a modiste this afternoon in any case, Mrs. Alton. We accidentally left our luggage behind, at Chippenham, and Moira lost all our money, so we must have some new gowns ordered, if you will loan us a few guineas."
    Even this unlikely tale raised no eyebrows on the hopeful mother-in-law’s face. “I shall call my woman. Put it on my bill,” she said grandly. “She has her shop on Old Bond, John. Drop off word we want Miss McGavin to come to us, with some samples of her materials.”
    She ordered tea, and the three of us chatted while John dashed off to his tailor, with a casual word over his shoulder that he would be home for dinner, and he was looking forward to hearing what hobble Perdie had fallen into, by Jove, and the story had better be good or he’d turn her over his knee and give her a sound thrashing.
    The two of us, Perdita and myself, spent a delightful hour scrubbing the grime of the road from our bodies. We leaned shamelessly on Mrs. Alton’s unquestioning charity to borrow linens, dressing gowns and stockings till our outfits had been hastily washed and pressed dry. By the time we returned belowstairs, Miss McGavin had arrived, carrying her samples and fashion magazines in a black patent leather bag. Our own gowns had laundered well enough to preclude requiring an afternoon outfit. What would be necessary was one gown for evening wear. Perdita and Mrs. Alton rifled happily through swatches of silks, lutestrings, muslins and crepes to select outfits unfit for a pre-deb.
    "Perdita must wear white, must she not?” I reminded the matron.
    "To be sure she must. What a pity. This pink would suit her so well, but she cannot wear colors till she is out. That is not to say you cannot enliven your gowns with flowers and ribbons, my dear,” she added, to palliate the blow. "With a little garnishing, a white can look very fashionable.” The material chosen was unexceptionable: a white peau de soie, but the quantities of ornament chosen caused a fear my charge would look like a fruit salad on a white plate when the thing was finished.
    My hope to curtail the selection to one gown for evening wear prospered. “John is taking us to Brighton the day after tomorrow, you recall. Miss McGavin won’t have time for more than one each. Indeed I don’t see how she is to get the two made up in such a short space."
    “I have a half dozen girls working for me. The city ain’t busy yet. A month from now I could not accommodate you, but it happens I am slack at the moment. These will be ready for you by tomorrow, ladies, in the afternoon, in time for your evening party,” the modiste assured us.
    I selected for myself a plain