Page 6 of A Marriage is Arranged

The inexperienced, unsubtle girl was at that moment engaged in drawing a caricature of her future husband.

Louise had discovered a talent for this type of art while she was at school. She did these comical drawings for her own lively amusement and rarely showed them to anyone. She had an uncanny knack of being able to focus unerringly on the aspect of her subject’s physiognomy that, when exaggerated, made him or her appear ridiculous. Her drawings of unpopular teachers had once been discovered and shown around amongst the other girls at school, causing anger and recriminations. She had apologized, and thereafter vowed to keep them to herself.

Her mother entered her room just as she was finishing the caricature of the Earl of Shrewsbury. It exaggerated his large nose, lowering brow and ape-like shoulders. It was clearly recognizable as him; he looked both comical and slightly frightening.

“Oh, my dear!” exclaimed her mother, “You aren’t still doing those unflattering drawings, are you? I hoped you had learned your lesson. Really, you shouldn’t! Especially not of the Earl! It isn’t proper to make fun of him in that manner.”

Louise hastily shoved the drawing into a leather bound portfolio. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it. Don’t scold me, mama. It amuses me and helps me to see things clearly. If I find myself thinking too much about a person, drawing a caricature helps to… to relieve my mind. ”

In fact, she was trying to convince herself there was nothing lovable in the person of the man who made her heart give that uncomfortable jump when she saw him.

“But why shouldn’t you think about your fiancé? I’m sure his rather fierce and haughty appearance conceals a kind heart.”

“Oh, Mama, you know you don’t think that at all! I’m sure he looks fierce and haughty because he is fierce and haughty and has a bad temper besides! But it’s not that, mama. I can deal with bad temper. It’s the whole question of conjugal rights . It’s worrying me. It must have worried you before you were married?”

“Well, yes, it did, but your father was a gentleman and it was perfectly fine in the end.”

“Oh dear! I’m sorry to persist, mama, but what do you mean in the end? What about the beginning? What is he going to do exactly?” Then she added, looking down and blushing, “The girls at school had some idea about it being just like when you mate horses. The stallion puts his… thing in the mare’s bottom! Is that it?”

Her mother looked embarrassed. “How you do take one up, Louise! And I find it very distasteful to discuss such matters. I’m shocked to think that was the tenor of the conversation amongst you young ladies!”

As Louise began to protest, she hurried on, “But since you ask so plainly, I shall answer you plainly. Yes, it is like a horse, but not your posterior, the other, er, opening in that, er region.”

“You mean my…?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Oh.”

There was a silence.

“But what about if I have my… my monthlies?”

“Well, of course, you don’t do it then .”

“But how will he know?”

“You’ll tell him.”

“You mean we have to talk about all that ?”

“No, not exactly. You just give him a hint the first time and after that he’ll be able to work it out.”

“A hint ? What sort of a hint? Anyway, how will I know if he wants to… you know. Will he send me an appointment calendar?”

Either because her nerves were on end or because it sounded so ridiculous, Louise went off in a peal of laughter.

Her mother frowned. “I can’t imagine what you find so amusing, although,” she added darkly, “according to what the Earl said, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how they do it in France. But no, Louise! Women have managed these things since time immemorial! He will say something like I wish to visit you tonight and you will say not tonight my dear, I’m afraid it isn’t convenient.”

“It sounds as if you’re making an appointment with the housekeeper!” Louise giggled. Then she controlled herself and said, “But in any case, monthlies or not, isn’t it very unpleasant for him and very uncomfortable for me?”

“Gentlemen do not appear to think it unpleasant at all. In fact I believe they all like it a great deal. And yes, it is uncomfortable for us at first, and there is even a small amount of blood. But it gets better. Sometimes, believe it or not, it is even quite pleasant.”

“How extraordinary!” said Louise all mirth gone. “The girls at school also said there are women who do this for a living, poor things! The sort of women most gentlemen visit, including my future husband, I suppose?”

“Again, I’m amazed that such discussions should have taken place in an educational establishment. But yes, I’m afraid so.”

“What a dreadful way to make a living! One should feel sorry for them, rather than calling them names! They must only do such an unpleasant thing because they have no alternative!”

She thought for a moment. “And really, mama, how is one to learn these things if we women do not talk together? Did you not learn anything from your friends?”

Her mother seemed reluctant to answer but then she said, “Yes, I did, of course, though less, er, graphically than you, perhaps. But well-bred women like us are not expected to know very much about it before we marry.”

“It seems to me that the whole relationship between ladies and gentlemen is based upon a series of half-truths and downright lies,” said Louise, wonderingly. “We are brought up to believe marriage is the acme of all achievement, the goal to which every maiden must aspire, but in fact it lays us open to unpleasantness and even downright pain. And gentlemen are led to believe we women know nothing of their activities with opera dancers and the like, when in fact we are only too well informed. Really, mama, it’s all a tissue of mutual deception!”

“If this is the type of argumentation they encouraged at that school,” said her mother shaking her head, “I can only say I understand why your dear papa did not believe in the education of women. I am now inclined to think he was right!”

“Oh mama, don’t say that! Don’t you see it’s education alone which gives us any hope for a future, however distant, when women will no longer be so ignorant about matters essential to their happiness?”

Mrs. Grey looked at her daughter as if she were a changeling. “I can’t imagine what your papa would say if he were to hear you,” she said. “Or the Earl of Shrewsbury, come to that.”

There was a tap at the door and Rose, Louise’s maid, came in. She was a very comely girl of sixteen, with a creamy complexion, blue eyes, and blond curls. Having been pretty all her life without needing to make any effort, she knew nothing about helping her mistress to improve her appearance .

She was not above average intelligence, and though she had been lucky enough to go to the village school run by the vicar’s wife, she had emerged at the end not much better informed than at the beginning. As is often the case with very good-looking people, their deficits in achievement are more than compensated for by their appearance. It is a rare teacher who will take a lovely girl severely to task for not completing her assignments, and there are always others who will willingly complete them for her.

Rose could read so long as the text were not too difficult, write well enough in a rounded, childish hand and do her sums sufficiently well not to be cheated when she bought her ribbons. Luckily, her duties were limited to seeing to her mistress’s linen, keeping her few gowns brushed and ironed, helping her to do them up, and brushing out her braid.

Under normal circumstances she would never have been engaged as a lady’s maid, for which she had neither training nor talent. But she was niece to Mrs. Grey’s own rather superior dresser Wilkins, and that lady had been pleased to help her sister by arranging her to have the position when Louise came home from school.

In fact, she suited Louise very well, since she was a pleasant, cheerful girl, with a sunny temperament. Being, frankly, rather empty-headed, it never occurred to her to advance an opinion concerning clothing, or anything else. She simply did what she was told.

“Oh, beg pardon, Madam, I didn’t know you was here!” she said. “I thought Miss might be wanting to get ready for bed.”

“It is getting rather late,” said Mrs. Grey, “so you may as well come in.”

She turned to her daughter. “I hope you sleep well, my dear. After seeing him again today, I am convinced the Earl will be an admirable husband.”

She kissed her daughter’s cheek and left.

As she slipped off her old brown dress, Louise knocked to the ground the portfolio into which she had slipped the caricature of the Earl of Shrewsbury. The drawing fell out. Rose picked it up and looked at it in wonder.

“Is that what he looks like then, Miss, your intended?” she asked. She was mentally comparing him to the baker’s boy who had been lingering to talk to her at the kitchen door for some weeks. Jimmy was much better-looking, she thought. This man looked like a monkey.

Louise took the drawing from her hand. “Not really. That is, yes, but I’ve made him look…,” how could she explain the image to this girl? “Well, I’ve made him look much worse than he is.”

“But why, Miss?”

“It’s called a caricature. It’s meant to draw attention to the person’s worst characteristics.”

Seeing incomprehension in Rose’s eyes, she said, “It’s just for fun, really.”

“Oh.”

Rose couldn’t understand why anyone would want to make a bad picture of the person they were going to marry. Even for fun. But it did not occur to her to ask for more explanation.