Two Loves

Chapter 22

CYMBELINE

"The worst is not so long as we can say 'this is the worst'" I say, and Wilhelmina looks really confused.

"But why?" she asks, and the curly spirals at the side of her head bop in question.

"Well, Wilhelmina, when I said that my favourite author is Shakespeare, you asked me what my favourite quote is, so. Here it is. The only line that made King Lear worth reading."

"You misunderstood my question, why is this your favourite quote?"

I lean forward and feel the eyes of all ten ladies in the room fixed on me. Ada smiles quietly and drinks her tea, but the rest are watching me like a jury.

"Well" I start and shift forward on the silky cushion of the chaise-longue, "contrary to first impression, it is a very optimistic quote. It means that, as long as you can still think 'this is the worst', it is not the worst to happen yet. Therefore, in any time you think 'this is the worst thing that could possibly have happened', it is not. It's still better than an infinite variety of worse possibilities that have not happened."

"In what way is that optimistic?!" Ada snorts into her cup and gives me a challenging look.

"Isn't it a somehow consoling thought that it can always get worse?"

"No!" Wilhelmina laughs, and shakes her head incredulous. "But I accept it - an interesting answer. Ada, you were right when you said that she will surprise us."

"I feel honoured to hear that from you, Wilhelmina" I say, lean back and stretch my arms over the back-lean of the chaise-longue. The salon in the house if the Thornton's - a dynasty that made a fortune by selling silk and other expensive fabrics - is large and cozy, decorated in the pseudo-Chinese style the house owner must have brought back home from his travels into the Far East. Expensive silk tapestries with embroidered birds and flowers with the carelessly energetic momentum so characteristic for this kind of art, richly ornated vases with chrysanthemums and painted fans on side-boards on the wall give it an air of quaint exoticism. The rain that is tapping against the windows is barely audible over the quiet chattering and the cracking of the fire place. On the round, low table, ten young women have placed their tea-cups and are now seated on chairs or sofas surrounding it, as if to contemplate this picture of exquisite, fragile beauty.

Ada introduced me to all of them, but I am still trying to link the names to each face. Opposite to me is Wilhelmina Thornton, the daughter of the house and a childhood friend of Ada, a small woman with brown hair and a pince-nez that make her look like a librarian, in a dress with very poofy sleeved. Then there are Lydia, Edith, Antonia, Peregrine, the two Emily's (not related) and Elizabeth, because every round needs an Elizabeth. And together they form a club called "The Rational Dress Society". Or, as I have already found out, only a part of it. It seems to be a wide-spread organisation.

"So" I say and let my eyes wander over the assembly, "what exactly is the purpose of a Rational Dress Society?"

Wilhelmina turns around to the woman next to her with a half-mocking smile. "Peregrine, your cue!"

The named girl, the fiercest-looking of the round, with black curls and tanned skin - her mother comes from the Caribbean, as Ada told me - senses her chance and sets down her biscuit.

"To reform the condition of women's fashion, of course" she says with stern voice. "We think that it is ridiculous - or, to stay true to the name, irrational - to wear clothing that deforms the figure or harms the bodily health, as corsets. Rational clothing must be healthy and make exercise and movement possible, while also remaining elegant and fashionable. Biscuit?"