The carriage turned the corner and she looked back at the house. He had caught her attention. Thank goodness. She would now return so he could arrange for her to attend to his sister. She leant out the window. From this distance it looked as if she was laughing. When her gloved hand emerged from the window and she gave a little wave goodbye he was certain. She was driving away from him, but not without having a last laugh at his expense.
Chapter Four
Nellie stood outside her shop and hairdressing parlour and looked up at the sign etched out in cursive script above the door: Venus Hair and Beauty Parlour, Eleanor Regan Proprietress. She’d been open now for six months, but every time she saw that sign it filled her with a sense of immense pride. And never more than today. After that disconcerting encounter with Mr Lockhart at the weekend she couldn’t be more pleased to be able to return to the sanctuary of her own business, a place where she was in charge and no one was able to push her around. She exhaled a sigh of impatience at the memory of that infuriating man.
Who did he think he was, chasing after her like that all because she had been a bit rude to him? Well, extremely rude. But still.
Anyway, that was all over now. She was now back in her own world, away from men who thought they were better than others just because they were born wealthy.
She pulled open the door and the bell rang out a friendly greeting. All was just as she had left it on Friday evening. She looked around the shop with satisfaction. Along with providing hairdressing services the business sold an array of beauty products that an aristocratic woman would expect her lady’s maid to provide. Bottles of rosewater skin fresheners, lavender skin lotions, hand salves and an array of colognes made from essential oils were displayed on satin cloths. A selection of bejewelled hair clips and other hair decorations adorned the counter, along with ostrich, emu and peacock feathers, artificial flowers, ribbons and lace of all colours to decorate hats.
Nellie also sold a range of cosmetics, including tinted lip salves, rouge and face powders, but told her clients they were purely for therapeutic use and were most definitely not make up. That way they could feel that using a bit of help to enhance their appearance was still socially acceptable.
The scent from the muslin-wrapped lavender bath salts and rose petal pot-pourri filled the air, making the store a lovely feminine retreat. She breathed in, enjoying the sweet fragrance, pleased to be home.
She greeted her two assistants, Harriet and Matilda, who were anxious to hear all about Nellie’s weekend. Under the circumstances Nellie felt it best to leave out details of her encounter with Mr Lockhart. Instead she entertained the girls with descriptions of how beautiful the ballroom looked, what fashions the women were wearing and the grandeur of the Ashmores’ estate. Once the girls had finished recounting their own escapades over the weekend it was down to business.
As usual, the appointment diary was booked solid for the day and the first customer arrived on the dot at nine o’clock. Nellie greeted her and escorted her through to the private hairdressing parlour at the back of the premises.
As happened every morning, when Nellie entered her parlour pleasure washed over her. It was as if she was seeing it for the first time. She had decorated it herself in a style that resembled a fashionable dressing room of an aristocratic lady. She knew that being attended to in such surroundings was an important part of the experience for her middle-class customers. They wanted to feel as if they were having their hair dressed by their own lady’s maid in their own luxurious room. Her customers weren’t to know that the antiques and paintings were all sourced from flea markets and many of them were cheap but good reproductions. It was the illusion that they wanted and that was what Nellie gave them.
Her customer seated herself on the delicately embroidered bench in front of the dressing table and looked at her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. A mirror that Nellie knew was decorated with gold-coloured paint rather than gilt, but no one knew the difference and it provided the necessary impression of opulence.
The woman patted her hair. ‘I’m off to the theatre tonight and I’ve decided I want something different from my usual style.’ She reached into her beaded purse, pulled out a newspaper cutting and handed it to Nellie. ‘I want to look like that.’
Nellie looked at the clipping from the Illustrated London News, with its pen-and-ink drawing of the famous actress Arabella Huntsbury. Nellie smiled as she saw her own hair styling, with the elaborate tresses piled up high on Arabella’s head, exposing her swan-like neck, and the feminine curls cascading over her slim shoulders. Few people outside Arabella’s immediate circle knew that the famous actress was also the Duchess of Somerfeld, Nellie’s former mistress.
‘Make me look like that, please, Nellie.’ The customer tapped her finger on the drawing, then turned back to the mirror, smiling with satisfaction and expectation.
Nellie looked from the drawing of the young, elegant and beautiful Duchess to her customer, a portly middle-aged woman with several double chins. She knew it was the woman’s dream to look twenty again, but this hairstyle would not do it. It would have the opposite effect and make it even more apparent that the customer’s youth was far behind her.
Nodding her agreement, Nellie began styling her hair in a way that, although unlike the one in the drawing, would flatter her client and draw attention to her still attractive eyes and smooth skin.
Sharing gossip was an integral part of the experience of being attended to by a lady’s maid, so she asked her customer whether she had been to any interesting social events lately.
‘Oh, yes, we dined
