CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HIGH SOCIETY
Mary was out shopping and then going to an afternoon tea and the children were at school. The various servants were flitting around the house with odd chores. Defoe took a break from the work in his study and found himself in his wife’s dressing room.
Milady Defoe needed an entire room for her assemblage of gowns, dresses and other paraphernalia. Just this morning, the house girl Gwen had been struggling for all she was worth to get Milady’s corset tied tightly enough.
“I have not put on weight I tell you, this thing has just shrunk is all. I’ll bet you or that old Mrs. Smith washed it and shrank it!” Mary Defoe protested.
“No Milady, we would never do that without yea leave. I was just saying that the corset seems a bit tighter than before, begging your pardon madam.” Mary was unable to respond at this point as she appeared to be completely out of breath from that last pull on the back ties.
“There Mum,” said little Gwen, looking at Milady in the long mirror. “Such a picture ye are fer sure.” Defoe had come in on the tail end of this procedure and did have to admire the end result.
His wife, although not a true beauty, was what people would call comely. With a cute little face, dimples, and curly brown hair, she could be a vision. Today she was encased in light green satin with little green leaves and bits of white lace at the square drop neck and the sleeves. The desk was pulled impossibly tight at the waist and flowed out into a large, full skirt with petticoats. Milady had had the dress made just last season.
“Isn’t that neckline a bit low my dear?” Defoe had had to comment.
“It is exactly the same as it was last year, dearest,” she replied. “Unfortunately, there is just a little bit more of me coming out of the top.” She squinted at herself in the mirror critically. Her husband chuckled to himself.
“You are nothing less than a vision my love,” and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Gwen, the hat and veil,” commanded Mrs. Defoe. She sat down at the dressing table so that Gwen could attach the matching hat and veil to the top of her hair; part of which was a wig.
Defoe could tell this was going to take some time so he began to amble toward the door.
“Daniel, won’t you change your mind and come to tea with me? The people do love to chat with you so much and hear stories about your upcoming book.” Gwen was wresting with the hat and stabbed Milady with a hatpin. “Ow! Gwen!”
“No, no my dear. I have given the publisher a date on the book and I must keep at it. Please give my regrets.”
Mary gave a quick little pout but turned back to the mirror. “Next time then.”
Defoe nodded vaguely and wandered downstairs to get himself a cup of tea.
Back in the dressing room after his wife had left; Defoe fingered one or two of the gowns. He really couldn’t blame Mary; coming from a tradesman’s background, this rubbing elbows constantly with the nobility could get to a person. He was also from a tradesman’s background and had never had the heart to tell his wife he had changed his name from Foe to Defoe before he met her. She would be crushed.
The corsets and the gowns, the dresses, stockings, makeup, wigs, jewelry, went on and on and nothing came cheaply. Old Mr. Higgins on High Street had even agreed to run them an account; Defoe was fairly certain that wasn’t helping anything. He sighed and went out of the room.
Robinson Crusoe was down at the beach scavenging for bits and pieces of ships washed up on the beach. He was always on the lookout for iron and metal that he could add to his growing group of tools. The dog started to bark and jump about and to his delight he espied a large tortoise nestled in the sand. He jumped upon it at once and started the laborious process of dragging it back to the hut.
Later that day, Crusoe had made the large turtle into soup and was enjoying the soup Immensely. The turtle was filled with eggs and he let the dog play with these and eat them as he wished. He felt very contented with his lot in life when he was done.