Anne
Gracie here, asking the cheeky question, what's in your closet? I'm not talking
deep, dark secrets, but wondering if there are clothes you've kept long after
you've worn them, perhaps because you wore them on a special occasion, and they
have memories for you.
In
my latest book, The Autumn Bride, Abby and her three impoverished
"sisters" (in reality, one sister and two friends) have been taken
under the wing of recovering invalid, Lady Beatrice Davenham, who has claimed
them (quite untruthfully) as her nieces.
Having
no money, the girls are making their own clothes, and that's not the worst of
it.
“You mean you make your dresses from old clothes?” Lady Beatrice exclaimed.
“We can’t afford to buy material new,”
Daisy said. “The fabric is the most expensive part of any dress. I can get half
a dozen old dresses for the price of one length of new material, and depending
on what they are, I might get as many as three or four new dresses out of them.
Or a dress and a pelisse.”
“But you can’t wear other people’s old
clothes!”
“Where do you think I got the material
for that?” Daisy pointed to Lady Beatrice’s pink-and-green dressing gown and
said proudly, “Two dresses I got down Petticoat Lane and some of me bits and
pieces.”
“My dressing gown? Made from rags cast off by strangers?” The old lady recoiled, casting a
horrified glance down at herself, as if her favorite garment had suddenly
turned into a pile of old rags, reeking and crawling with vermin.
Abby laughed at her expression.
“Everything is perfectly clean.”
“Rags? They’re not rags,” Daisy said, clearly offended by the
slur on her shopping abilities. “I only buy the best, me. I’m very choosy!”
“Old clothes worn by complete
strangers,” Lady Beatrice muttered crossly, smoothing her hand over her
dressing gown. She was obviously torn
“No choice, me lady,” Daisy said.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Lady Beatrice drew herself up in her
bed. “I,” she said in
the voice of outrage, “am not a beggar!”
She narrowed her eyes at Daisy. “And neither are you, m’gel. Abby, ring the
bell for Featherby.
So she sends
for a trunk of her old dresses. As she tells the girls, the trunk contains her
youth, and it becomes the occasion for reminiscence.
“This is beautiful,” Daisy said,
shaking out a dress in apple green silk trimmed with white gauze and knots of
ribbon.
“Oh, yes, that one.” Lady Beatrice
gazed at the dress fondly. “I wore that one at a ball given by the Duchess of
Salisbury. Ah, what a night that was. I danced until
dawn. . . .”
“Who did you dance with?” Jane asked.
“Everyone,” she said with
satisfaction. “I was no beauty, but I was never a wallflower. I remember
. . . Oh, you don’t want to listen to an old lady boring on.”
“Yes, we do,” said Abby, “and it’s not
the slightest bit boring.”
Jane joined in. “Yes, please go on.
Our mama used to tell us stories about her come-out, and I loved them.”
“Well, if you
insist . . .” The girls gathered around. “It became quite warm
in the ballroom, and one young man enticed me onto the terrace to cool down.
Oh, it was all perfectly respectable at first—there were plenty of others doing
the same.” She sighed. “But this man had rather a naughty reputation, and we
danced on the terrace, and soon we found ourselves alone. . . .”
She gave them a mischievous look. “Without my realizing it, he’d danced me off
the terrace and down the garden path—in more ways than one.” She sighed. “My
first kiss. My mother scolded me roundly for disappearing, of course, but oh,
it was worth it.” She stroked the green dress. “That man kissed like a dream.”
Have you
kept clothing from your past for sentimental reasons? Do you remember your
first grown-up outing — your first proper date, or dance, or special event?
Your first kiss? Do you remember what you wore? Tell us about it. I'll give a
copy of The Autumn Bride to someone who leaves a comment.
***Annie's winner is Mary Hawkins! Please email totebag@authorsoundrelations.com with your mailing information!***
