The Cordless Diaries

Luncheon

Two days later I sent a note by hand of Mary, who went almost daily into Cordless for bread and eggs, to Felicity. It read as follows:

My Dear Flick

I have been remiss in not writing to thank you for a delightful afternoon. I do so now with genuine pleasure.

It is my intention to take the carriage into Bath tomorrow morning. I need to buy a few things and I hope Jolly’s may be able to oblige. If you would care to come with me do please say so to Mary, who is a good girl and will advise me. If you care to accept this invitation I shall call at your home at nine to collect you. It will, of course, take all day so I shall understand if it is inconvenient for you but it is my profound hope that you will accept.

Your friend
Emma


Mary returned from the village at eleven, I was brushing Caroline and heard the church clock striking as she walked into the yard.

‘Mrs Daker sent a note, Miss. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’

‘She is, Mary, thank you.’ She smiled and walked away, her hips moving beneath her grey dress in a way that suggested her limbs were not entirely connected to her body, so liquid was their rise and fall, swing and counter swing. I opened the note.

My Dear Emm

Thank you so much for your kind invitation. I can imagine nothing more pleasant than to accompany you and, fortuitously, I too will be able to make good use of the opportunity to visit Jolly’s. Is our misnamed schoolmaster a relative I wonder?

I too enjoyed our afternoon together and look forward to tomorrow with great excitement.

With fondest regards

Flick

Her handwriting was neat, small and utterly clear. I slid the note into the pocket of my apron and, musing on its content, resumed my attentions to Caroline’s coat.
‘Fondest regards, Caro.’ The mare whinnied and I swear she turned to nudge me with her nose as if to say, and why not? ‘You’re perfectly right my love, why not?’ We continued in companionable discussion until she looked and felt wonderful. Her white hair glistened and she smelt of summer. I let her loose into the paddock but she did not leave the gate until I turned away. Father’s spaniel came around the corner at a run, her tail wagging furiously as she snuffled the ground. Father followed in a pair of torn trousers and a collarless shirt, a many-pocketed jacket and a shotgun under his arm, broken.

‘What ho, Emm. Been chatting to Caro, have we? She’s a lovely mare that one.’ He embraced me as always he did when we passed each other. ‘Your mother is having one of her days of attempting to correct me so I thought young Scamp and I would go and try to kill something before I turn the gun on myself. Want to come along?

I begged him give me a moment to change and he smiled his assent. ‘Don’t let your mother see you in trousers. Come out the side door, she’s being virtuous in the breakfast room.’

As I changed I remembered the note and placed it open on my dresser. ‘With fondest regards.’ My hand strayed downwards. I was a few minutes longer returning to Father than I had anticipated.


The fair, sandstone city of Bath lay spread before us as we breasted the hill. Already the day was warm and the sandstone houses of the city seemed to grow paler and more honey coloured in the sunlight. The gelding between the shafts snorted, lifted his rump and deposited a sweet smelling and copious gift to Mother Earth. Flick gave her wicked laugh and we smiled together. I clicked my tongue and Henry, the horse, moved off. Father might not please Mother but he knew horses and this one, like Caroline, was tractable and willing.

My family has used Hawkins the ostler for as long as I can remember. He is a florid-faced man with unfeasibly luxuriant whiskers, permanently clad in a leather apron and his face set in a wide, warm and toothless grin.

‘You leave young Henry with old Hawkins, Miss Cordless. We’ll have a fine time until you and your friend are ready to go home.’ He slipped something into the horse’s mouth and it was clear that both enjoyed the other’s company.

Flick, in another yellow dress, as soft as saffron, shorter than usual and revealing buttoned ankle boots, walked beside me. Her hair was loose and shining. I couldn’t help but wonder if ever she wore the constraining garb that Mary had tied onto me that morning before we left. My dress, of cream linen was longer and covered my own boots but also covered that detested bond, a camisole, petticoat and bloomers. These, at least were silk and cool, be-ribboned below the knee. I had worn a hat but Flick had asked that I let my hair down or I should make her feel under-dressed and the small, ridiculous confection now lay in the back of the carriage, along with some of my modesty. My own brown hair fell almost to my waist and Flick had tied it back loosely for me with a ribbon that matched her dress. She resumed our conversation of the ride into town.

‘So what is to prevent your becoming a doctor? You have the mind. The only thing I can see as a barrier is that your handwriting is entirely legible.’ We both laughed. ‘I am sure that could be corrected, it is probably something they do at the teaching hospital, teach you to write incomprehensibly so patients do not realise your prescription is a placebo.’

Her gaiety was infectious. ‘You’re right. I shall become a doctor, not some mere quack, like old Barnes in Cordless, but a professor of medicine and I shall bring medicine to the poor. I shall aid women in childbirth and children with rickets and find a cure for, well, something important.’

Jolly’s emporium has an imposing façade. The staff are courteous without being obsequious and the shelves stocked with a plethora of fine goods. Mr Jolly himself presides over the staff with his wife, a formidable but elegant and friendly lady. We browsed, took coffee, browsed some more, made a selection of purchases which Mr Jolly’s man would later deliver to Hawkins. We proceeded to other shops and repeated the process without spending quite so much of my or Felicity’s allowance. As we passed the corsetiere’s premises I said, ‘That is one place I do not intend to patronise today. God but how I detest her and her cruel goods.’

‘Corsets are like the Church, Emm, intended by men to bind us to our role, to prevent us from achieving. They are no different from the bound feet of Chinese women or the clipped wings of a bird. Much to Grenville’s disapproval I abandoned them at all but social events where my being unconventional might harm his reputation. Even then, I refuse to be laced and boned like a saddled mare.’ I remembered how I had drawn a similar comparison the night I first met Flick. ‘I bought a new style of corset, boneless and light. It passes well enough to satisfy Grenville’s friends’ scrutiny on those rare occasions when I am presented to them. I will show you some day.’

I slipped my arm through hers and felt her squeeze it against the curve of her breast. Now I knew they were unfettered. Damp silk is such a delicious feeling.