On the Experiences of an Exceptional Gentlewoman
Title: On the Experiences of an Exceptional Gentlewoman or ... (something else, that I will discover eventually)
Author: Alsike
Pairing: None, as of yet
Fandom: Take a wild guess.
Rating: PG as of now
Apologies: I don't even know what this is, or where it might be going, if anywhere, but it made me laugh, so I will share it.
A Teaser of my 18th century fic. Sadly it seems to have crept up, and it might be more of a ninteenth century fic, but I don't think i have enough of it worked out to know for certain.
Heavily influenced by everything I've been reading (and writing), and may in fact be a bit of a response to A Great and Terrible Beauty, which I despised as an incredibly poor, incredibly American version of faux Victoriana. Not that I'm claiming mine to be better.
Miss Emily Prentiss had once been a young lady, or as much of a young lady as you could be when you were born in India. Her father had been a colonial official, the governor of Rajasthan. But he died unexpectedly when Emily was only eleven, and she and her mother had been put on a ship of the line by the lieutenant governor and sent back to England.
Emily’s mother was also of a wealthy and socially well-situated family, and they had written many welcoming letters, saying how they would be pleased to have Emily and her mother stay with them. And, when they arrived, they were as good as their word, although perhaps only the letter of it, rather than the spirit. Elizabeth had caught a fever on the ship. Her relatives were appalled, and nursed her solicitously, bringing in the best doctors, but Emily sat quietly in the corner, knowing none of the bleeding or vile-tasting opiate medicines would be of any use.
And, dreadfully, she was right. Her mother died a few days later and Miss Emily Prentiss was left an orphan, at the mercy of her relatives.
“She’s not a very personable child,” said one, while Emily was reading behind the curtain in the window seat.
“No, and except for languages, her education has been rather poor.”
“Except for languages? She doesn’t even speak French! Knowing heathen tongues is of no benefit in society… nor in employment.”
Used to derision, Emily did not listen until employment was mentioned. Did they intend to expel her from the house?
“Employment? Doesn’t she have an… inheritance?”
“Tied up until she’s married, or thirty, and only a few hundred pounds a year. The estate was entailed. I really don’t know what her father was thinking. As if a girl who looks like that is about to get married. He’s made her a burden on her relatives.”
Emily was quite aware that this was a hint that she should make an effort to not be such a burden on her relatives. But she wasn’t even twelve yet, and had no real idea how to go about it. What she wanted was to go to school, or go back to India (and preferably back in time to when she wasn’t an orphan and a worthless burden with a clear lack of prospects), but as a Ward in Chancery her actions were severely curtailed.
She spent the next few years as a ghost in her family’s house. She spent much time below stairs, getting in the way of the servants. They all knew her position and weren’t afraid to give her a cuff or a shout. But they often spoke to her, rather than above her head, which was preferable. Otherwise she hid in the library.
Her cousins despised her for her odd manner and lack of prospects, and at lessons they teased her for her poor French and even worse embroidery. “You don’t even have the ability to be a governess! No one would hire you to teach their children Rajput!” And they would roll over laughing.
She didn’t respond to it, but they only mocked her more.
She was a lanky, hollow-cheeked thirteen when her aunt came to find her in the library.
“I have come to tell you that I have procured employment for you.”
Emily’s eyes widened at this. She was certain she was to be hired out as a scullery maid.
“There is a lady, who is blind, and she requires assistance in her daily life. She is a Marquess, and it would be perfectly respectable for you to become her companion.”
A companion to a real lady was indeed respectable, although she didn’t believe that many of them were blind. She assumed the lady must be confined to her bed. It was a sort of nursing, she supposed. It would probably be awful. She hated sick rooms. But she nodded.
“When do I go?”
Her aunt laughed. “Don’t be so eager! The lady will come tomorrow, to… inspect you, I suppose. Do try to be presentable, although I guess it doesn’t matter so much about your clothes.” She laughed, as if it were funny.
Even if it didn’t matter very much, Emily was rather frightened by the idea of being inspected, and did her best to be as neat and as well put together as she could be, although she mostly only owned dresses she had brought back with her from India, which had become far too short as she had grown taller.
She had expected the woman to be carried in state into the parlor, wrapped in rugs of lace, but instead the woman walked in under her own power. She held the arm of the butler, and a long wooden cane, but stood pin straight, and she wasn’t old at all. Her hair had just begun to grey at the edges. She also wore an odd pair of smoked glasses that Emily supposed kept those conversing with her from being frightened by her lack of eye contact.
“May I present Lady Adler,” intoned the butler.
“How do you do,” Emily stammered. And to her horror Lady Adler turned right towards her and took two spidery steps until she was close enough to touch her.
“You must be the orphan.”
“Emily,” Emily said.
“Indeed.” And suddenly Lady Adler’s fingers were on her, feeling the contours of her face, and examining her collar and her hair. “You made your own toilette?”
“I- I don’t have a maid.”
“Good. I’m afraid I can’t have any mollycoddled brats in my employ. When one is blind one must rely on the opinions of others for the appearance of things, but it is still important to maintain quality. At the very least I can tell a silk from a calico, and a straight seam from a crooked one. But for everything else I must depend upon outside opinions. Do you have any pretensions of taste, Miss Emily?”
“No, madam.”
“Good. I generally stick to grays myself. It… makes the right impression. But I will have you appropriately schooled in such things. I’m afraid the position is basically that of a valet. Do you read?”
“Yes, madam.”
“I mean, of course, are you skillful at reading aloud? I am in the middle of quite a few interesting novels, and I would be distressed at too much stumbling.”
“I think I would manage. I…” Emily winced at the thought, but in the end it would be more rude to trail off. “I like to do accents.”
“Really?” Lady’s Adler’s thin face contorted into a smile. “Do one now.”
“What… what should I say?”
“Oh, anything, recite a poem.”
Entirely embarrassed, Emily began the first few lines of Dryden’s Aeneid in a heavy Irish brogue. “Och, Arms, an’ ayn man I sing, who, fursd by fate, An’ hawty Juno's unrelenting hayit…”
Lady Adler burst out laughing and Emily stopped, humiliated. “I love it! I truly do. Honestly, even if you could not so much as curl a hair or sew a seam I would take you, just for that.”
Emily knew she was flushing red, and was grateful that it was not observed.
“Well, it’s settled then. Pack your things and have them delivered to my house and present yourself not after ten o’clock tomorrow morning. We have much to do, for on Friday we leave for Paris.”
“Paris?” Emily exclaimed, half horrified and half thrilled by the prospect.
“Of course. I’ve heard you’re quite a hand at languages. It will give you an opportunity to improve your French, as I am certain it languished when challenged by the distractions of Urdu and Bengali, or whatever you may have studied.”
“But I’m a Ward in Chancery.”
“Happily,” Lady Adler smiled tightly, “I have procured a special dispensation. You will be under my protection, which…” she paused, “can be more… emphatic than you might think.”
* * *