CHAPTER XII
MONTE CARLO in the morning is very unlike Monte Carlo in the afternoon or evening.
Though the sun poured down on the beautiful gardens, there was a sleepy, unawakened look about the place—an air of déshabille. The majority of the windows of the Hôtel de Paris were still closely shuttered, and the Paradise of Pleasure Seekers, as it has been somewhat cynically called, was now given over to the toilers whose lifework is to provide life-ease for others.
Dozens of gardeners were busily engaged in sweeping the paths of the embowered gardens, and in watering the brilliant, many-hued blossoms which compose the vast, carpet-like parterre in front of the Casino. Ant-like convoys of country folk, laden wth vegetables, flowers, eggs, cheese, and so on, were moving slowly across the Grande Place.
Lily looked about her with curiosity and interest. The Monte Carlo of the foreigner and the gambler was still fast asleep. Was it likely that any of the smart shops would be open?
The Countess called out to the driver and the carriage stopped. Then, turning to Lily, she observed: “We will walk to the Galerie Charles Trois. I know a very good dressmaker there—as a matter of fact, she is connected wth the Polda family, for her grandfather was steward to your Uncle Angelo's grandfather. Her sister keeps an hotel in the Condamine.”
The Galerie Charles Trois, with its luxurious-looking, magnificent restaurants and elegant shops, also looked strangely deserted, though it was occupied by an army of dusters, sweepers, and window-washers. Several of the shops were shut, but still, many were open, and the two ladies walked slowly along, admiring the pretty things on view. What specially fascinated Aunt Cosy were the jewellers' windows, and Lily had never seen such splendid gems or such gorgeous ornaments even in Bond Street or Regent Street.
All that makes of Monte Carlo a place absolutely apart seemed this morning more vividly real to the English girl than anything she had seen yet. Those for whom all these preparations were being made, and all these luxuries laid out, were still heavily asleep for the most part. But the army of men and women who ministered to their pleasure were all hard at work, for the most part with an air of anxiety and fatigue on their faces. Even the working folk of Monte Carlo do not go early to bed.
At last, when they were close to the end of the Galerie, the Countess exclaimed: “Here we are!” And Lily, looking up, saw a modest little shop, inscribed in gold letters, “Madame Jeanne.” In the window were displayed three simple-looking hats and a muslin gown, also a plain grey and white silk jumper, with regard to which, nevertheless, Lily told herself that it was one of the prettiest jumpers she had ever seen.
“Now, Lily,” said the Countess earnestly, “you may absolutely trust the taste of Madame Jeanne. She was première in a great Paris house before she started for herself; and though there may not seem to be much in the shop, what there is will be of the very finest quality; also, she will know what young girls are now wearing in Rome and Paris.” As she said those last words she walked into the shop, and a pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman came forward.
“Madame la Comtesse? This is indeed a pleasure!” she exclaimed effusively. “Why, it is more like years than months since last I had the pleasure of seeing Madame la Comtesse!”
“Yes, my good Jeanne,” said the Countess graciously. “It is indeed a long time since we met. But the Count went to your sister's hotel only yesterday, and was able, I am glad to say, to do one of her clients a little service. I am bringing you to-day a good new customer! We want two or three pretty dresses, and we want them at once. As you see, Mademoiselle is in half-mourning, so we must only choose white and grey gowns, for mauve is not a young girl's colour.”
“I can make Mademoiselle something very pretty,” began the woman, but the Countess cut her short: ”We want to-day a simple, yet smart, coat and skirt, an afternoon Casino and restaurant gown, and a simple, girlish evening dress. We want to take them away now, this morning.”
Mme. Jeanne looked a little uncomfortable, and also a little surprised.
“Everything is very dear” she began, hesitatingly, “though of course I should always make a very special price for Madame la Comtesse.”
“I count on that, my good Jeanne, for Mademoiselle will pay ready money.”
The woman's face cleared as if by magic. “If I have not got exactly what Mademoiselle requires, I can borrow something from one or two of my rivals,” she said smiling.
The two ladies were shown into an inner room panelled with looking-glass. There they waited for a very few minutes—though the Countess was fidgety, and kept saying that she thought Jeanne might hurry herself a little more—before two neatly-dressed girls with beautifully-done hair, brought in, the one a selection of delightful-looking pale- grey and cream coats and skirts, and the other an armful of filmy white blouses.
Lily tried on all the coats and skirts, but the second one she had put on obviously suited her the best. It was of a delicate, pale brownish-grey tint, and though it was very simply made, she was at once agreeably aware, as she gazed this way and that, seeing reflections of herself wherever she turned, that she had never looked so well-dressed in her life as she looked in this little coat and skirt.
As for the blouses to be worn with the frock, they were all so pretty that she could not make up her mind between them, and she ended by choosing five.
Before she took off the coat and skirt, Mme. Jeanne suddenly exclaimed: “Surely Mademoiselle will want a hat to match the costume?” And before Lily could answer a delightful little grey toque, trimmed with Mercury wings, was produced.
The selection of a muslin gown and of a silk coatee to wear with it was a very quick affair. In spite of the Countess's objection to mauve, Mme. Jeanne persuaded her that Mademoiselle would look well in deep violet. The collar and cuffs of the coatee were of dark fur, and the same note of colour was repeated in a tiny round purple hat trimmed with some pompoms of fur which Lily felt she must certainly buy too!
Then came the important question of the evening dress. Over that business the two ladies spent a long time. Gown after gown was rejected by the Countess as too elaborate, and not young enough for her niece, and at last Lily felt quite tired out of standing like a doll to be dressed, redressed and undressed.
Mme. Jeanne, on her side, began to wonder if she would ever please her difficult client, the Countess Polda, when suddenly a simple pale grey chiffon gown was produced and slipped over Lily's head. It was what is called in England a picture dress. It belonged, that is, to no special time or fashion, and it was extremely becoming to the wearer's delicate, brilliant complexion, and beautiful fair hair.
“Even if Mademoiselle is in mourning, could she not wear with this gown a turquoise-blue velvet belt?” Without waiting for an answer, Mme. Jeanne fetched a bit of turquoise ribbon and put it around the girl's slender, rounded waist. The effect was enchanting!
But the sight of the velvet ribbon made Lily feel guilty. Though she often felt now as if she were living in another world, she did not forget The Nest at Epsom, and Aunt Emmeline's long, loving kindness to her. She grew very red, and said quickly: “I would rather have a black belt.”
“No, no, not black!” exclaimed Mme. Jeanne decidedly, “but grey if you like, to tone in with the gown, Mademoiselle. That will be quite pretty. And here is something else—a real bargain this time!” As she spoke she went to a cupboard and took out a black and white striped evening cloak. It was a very attractive garment, though perhaps a little old for a girl.
“This was ordered by a war widow; but between ordering this cloak and its completion, which was only three days, the lady became engaged! So she made up her mind she need not wear mourning for her departed hero any more. Only three hundred francs?”
She threw it over Lily's shoulders, and the girl realised that it gave a touch of elegant finish to her appearance.
“The cloak goes so well with this dress,” went on Madame Jeanne, “because it, also, was copied from an old picture—a picture which hangs in the Palace of Monaco. If I may venture to advise Mademoiselle, I should have this beautiful cloak repeated when Mademoiselle goes back to colours. It would look exquisite in pale lemon yellow and turquoise blue.”
And as Lily was still hesitating, Mme. Jeanne exclaimed: “Oh, but I forgot—there is a bag that goes with the cloak. That alone was to have been a hundred francs, but I shall give it to Mademoiselle—it shall be thrown in!”
She pulled out a drawer, and took from it a quaint little silk bag. The clasp was of light tortoiseshell, and it really was a charming little object.
“Thank you so much, Jeanne! I knew I could count both on your kindness and on your beautiful taste,” said the Countess very cordially. “And now,” she turned to Lily, “we must go off to the bank and get the money for Mme. Jeanne! Make out the bill Jeanne, and remember that we are paying cash!”
Madame retired into an inner room for a few minutes, then came back and handed the account to the Countess.
“I hope Madame la Comtesse will consider that I have been more than reasonable,” she said a little nervously.
The Countess frowned as she loked over the bill. Then she sighed. “Yes, my good Jeanne, I suppose that these monstrous prices are being given nowadays! But still, three hundred and fifty francs for a muslin gown—and two hundred for the silk coatee! The sort of gown which as a young girl I should have had for a hundred francs—or less, indeed, had it been made at home! And the hats? Jeanne, Jeanne—the hats are surely very costly for a young girl?”
Madame looked over the bill as if she had forgotten what she had put down for the hats; then she observed with a virtuous air: “I will take ten francs off each of the hats to please Madame la Comtesse.”
All this time Lily stood by, not being consulted, not even knowing the amount which she was going to pay. The only time she herself had interfered had been in connection with the grey gown. The Countess had seemed to think that the price of the very simple chiffon frock—five hundred francs—was really too much. But Lily had suddenly felt she must have this dress! It was the prettiest evening gown, so she told herself secretly, that she had ever had the chance of wearing, and she did not want to lose it.
“Get everything packed as quickly as possible,” exclaimed the Countess, “for the Count and I have a great deal to do before the arrival of Count Beppo.”
“Is Count Beppo coming to Monte Carlo?” exclaimed Madame Jeanne, evidently much interested by this little item of news.
“Yes,” said the Countess. “He was not coming till the spring, but now, to my great joy and satisfaction, he has been able to leave Rome, and we hope he will be with us for some time.”
“And is Mademoiselle also staying at La Solitude?” asked the woman. There was a touch of eager, but kindly, inquisitiveness in her voice.
”Yes, my good Jeanne,” said the Countess. “We hope to keep my niece all the winter.”
“I hope it will not be long before I see Madame la Comtesse again,” said the woman.
“As you know, I cannot walk uphill, and carriages are now so expensive” the Countess sighed. “But still, while my son is here I hope to come down to the town now and again, and I will certainly look in.”
She went out of the shop, followed by Lily. “Now, my dear, we must go to the bank, come back here, and then return as quickly as possible to La Solitude. You will not mind lunching by yourself? Uncle Angelo and I have several things to do in view of our beloved Beppo's visit—and his train arrives at two o'clock.”
Not for the first time the girl was struck by Aunt Cosy's air of fierce determination. She looked, in spite of her weak heart, energy personified.
But, determined as was the Countess Polda, there was a strain of obstinacy in Lily Fairfield, too, as the older lady sometimes found to her cost.
When they got back to La Solitude, before the Count and Countess started for Monte Carlo, quite a passage of arms took place between them. The Countess was not satisfied with the simple frock in which Lily had come down that morning, and, to please her, Lily changed into a white serge skirt and put on one of her new blouses. But, even so, the Countess was still dissatisfied.
Then it was that Lily made a stand. “No, Aunt Cosy, I really can't put on one of the smart dresses we bought this morning—I should feel so queer and uncomfortable!”
Aunt Cosy had given in, but there came a gleam of anger in her bright blue eyes. “I asked you to do so in your own interest,” she said coldly. “Beppo is very observant. He is an expert as to ladies' dress. I have heard him make very scathing remarks about the clothes worn by certain pretty ladies!”
A very scathing reply trembled on Lily's lips—but she forced it back; and, at last, to her secret relief, she saw the Count and Countess disappear together on their way down to the town. What a singular young man Beppo Polda must be! Lily made up her mind that she was not going to like him.