nose.”
“Yes, Mrs. Needham.”
For the next ten minutes, the girls suffered through being positioned and repositioned by Mrs. Needham in various tableaus she thought would be pleasing to her new client’s discerning eye. Unlike most parlors of the time, theirs was exceptionally uncluttered. Trinkets, porcelain figurines, walls filled with artwork and mirrors, windows covered with heavy velvet curtains…all inhibited movement, blocked the light and distracted from the natural beauty of her girls. Mrs. Needham knew what her clients’ needed most was to see her girls’ features in natural light. They needed to see how they moved and in order to do that the girls needed to move freely; unhampered by footstools, umbrella stands and funny little ceramic pug dogs.
In the end, Mrs. Needham decided on the cakewalk pose. The girls would pose as if they were going through the steps of the popular cakewalk dance. It was a favorite of Mrs. Needham’s because with the arched back and high knees, it showed their figures to advantage.
“Mrs. Needham,” interrupted Sarah. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling so well. I feel I bit lightheaded. Perhaps I could sit down?”
All the moving about. Sit in the chair. No, move to the window. No, stand by the fireplace. No, now we’re going to do the cakewalk! Had taken its toll on Sarah. The tight lacing of the corset was digging into her sides. There was a slight sheen of perspiration across her décolletage that gave her a fresh dewy appearance. She could not remember the last time she had taken a full deep breath.
“Nonsense,” objected Florence. “The little savage just wants to be shown to advantage on her own in front of the client!”
Mrs. Needham waved her handkerchief in the air to signal she wanted quiet. “No one is going to be signaled out. Sophronia, you will stop your complaining and line up with the other girls. Really,” she snorted. “I thought you colonialists were supposed to be made of sterner stuff or some such nonsense. Don’t you eat raw meat as babies?”
“We’re Americans not colonialists and…oh, forget it.” Sarah did not want to waste precious breaths educating Mrs. Needham on over one hundred years of British-American relations or on any of her other nonsensical misconceptions about Americans.
Ever the calming presence, Victoria interjected, “I believe with the late afternoon sun, we would look to better advantage in our domestic poses.”
Sarah gave her a grateful look.
“Oh, very well,” agreed Mrs. Needham. At that moment Mary, the parlor maid, entered to announce Lord Warrington was in the entryway removing his hat and coat.
The girls let out a small gasp as they all scrambled to find their places. Sarah sat by the fireplace with some prop needlepoint. Florence by the window with her chin artfully raised to catch the light. Elma, because of her slight stature, remained standing by the mantle gazing down at Sarah.
Mrs. Needham could be heard greeting their exalted guest out in the hall.
“Mrs. Needham, I presume.”
“Lord Warrington, it is a pleasure to meet you,” simpered Mrs. Needham.
“I’m looking forward to an introduction to the celebrated beauties in your employ.”
Sarah froze at the sound of his voice.
“You are too kind, my lord,” fawned Mrs. Needham as she led the way into the front parlor.
During this entire exchange, Sarah was doing her best to disappear inside the thick upholstery of her chair. Of all the gentlemen throughout the entire crowded city of London why… why did it have to be him !
Oh what a fine mess!
At any moment, Mrs. Needham was going to introduce her and Lord Warrington was going to say “are you not the little strumpet who allowed me liberties in front of decent god-fearing folk out on the street?”. Then Mrs. Needham would start shrieking in indignation and throw the pot of clotted cream from the tea tray at her before tossing her out on her ear. She would have to return to