By the time Kitty had finished dressing her hair, however, her agitation had devolved into melancholy, and she took herself into her aunt’s boudoir. This had become something of a ritual the past few weeks, as Kitty found something indescribably soothing in sitting upon her aunt’s bed, curling her feet up beneath her, and watching Dorothy expertly apply lip stain.
‘Do you think I am a good person?’ she asked her aunt now.
Aunt Dorothy made a humming sound. ‘Do you want me to tell you you’re a good person?’
‘Only if you believe it.’
Aunt Dorothy sent Kitty a noncommittal sort of expression through the mirror.
‘Very reassuring,’ Kitty said wryly.
‘Good is subjective, darling,’ Aunt Dorothy told her, taking out her rouge. ‘Many people would consider me a bad person, simply for my previous profession. Does that weigh with you?’
‘Of course not,’ Kitty said indignantly. ‘You were not hurting anyone.’
‘Certainly never purposefully,’ Aunt Dorothy agreed with a little smile Kitty did not understand. ‘But for you, I think, it is more important what you think about yourself, than what the world does.’
There was a pause. ‘But do you think – that is, what do you feel Mama would think of me?’ Kitty asked, voice small.
Aunt Dorothy eyed her through the mirror.
‘Of what you are trying to do, here in London, do you mean?’
Kitty nodded.
‘Well, you know her background. She was a very practical woman,’ Aunt Dorothy pointed out. ‘I’m sure she would understand completely.’
Kitty considered this statement, wanting badly for it to reassure her … But it did not quite ring true. Mrs Talbot had been practical, yes, with cunning in spades, too – Kitty had always liked to think they shared that quality. The ruthless bent of Kitty’s recent behaviour, however – that her mother had not shared. Kitty could not imagine her mama ever acting to the detriment of another person’s happiness. Rather the opposite, in fact, she could unfailingly see the good in people and was forever getting herself embroiled in schemes designed to help one neighbour or another – like when she arranged for poor Mr Swift, so beleaguered after the war, to meet Miss Glover on the merest hunch they would suit well. They had married last summer, though Mrs Talbot had not lived to see it.
‘I think,’ Kitty said slowly. ‘I think she might be a little disappointed that I have not been kinder.’
Dorothy let the statement sit unattended for a while, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but rather considering it – and Kitty – frankly.
‘You have made such a mess of your hair, Kitty,’ she said finally – a response Kitty had not expected.
‘I have?’ Agitation did not perhaps lend itself to elegant hair arrangements.
‘Come here,’ Aunt Dorothy tutted. She rose, seating Kitty before her on the chair and beginning to unravel the curls gently. She dropped the pins one by one onto a silver dish with a clink, and Kitty closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed by the warmth of her aunt’s hands, the smell of her vanilla perfume.
‘Perhaps,’ Aunt Dorothy said softly, pulling a comb slowly through the tangles, ‘we ought all to try to be a little kinder. Perhaps that is what being “good” is – trying to pass on kindness, even when it is not convenient. I’m sure you could begin now, if you so wished.’
Kitty absorbed this silently – at last, a little reassured.
‘There.’
Aunt Dorothy’s hands had stilled and Kitty opened her eyes to see an elaborate knot on the top of her head secured with a jewelled comb, and ringlets – created with curl paper the night before – falling elegantly on either side of her face. Aunt Dorothy had a way with such things that bordered on alchemy. Kitty reached up and clasped the hand that was resting upon her shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply, meaning for everything. Her aunt squeezed back.
‘Are you ready, my darling?’ she asked.
26
There was a palpable sense of urgency amongst the ton, that night, as if they were all – just as Kitty was – intensely aware that time was running out. Perhaps she was not the only one conscious of the rising expense and diminishing opportunity of the remaining London Season. The dances were quicker, the champagne drunk faster, the laughter louder – the whole room infused with a frantic sort of energy.
Kitty wandered through the rooms, pretending to herself that she was looking for Pemberton, though it was the ladies’ figures her eyes were searching. She found Miss Bloom, as before, standing alone and looking forlorn. Kitty sighed sharply through her nose, gathered her skirts up, and approached the girl at a brisk walk.