By The Sea, Book One: Tess Read Free Page A

equal confidence to the
tables of both, the chief difference between them consisting, as
the Duke of Marlborough once had it, "of several square yards more
of elbow room, and several pounds more of food" for each guest at
the Newport table.
    At any rate the linen, being in constant use
and of considerable value, required an uncommon amount of
attention. As a result, the huge coppers were filled three times a
week instead of once, and there was never a day when something was
not being soaked, boiled, rinsed, rubbed, or wrung in the wet
laundry; and mangled, starched, glazed, or ironed in the dry.
    Still, this particular Sunday was less
grueling than some others, perhaps because both sisters were in
such cheerful spirits. Maggie was looking much better, smiling
often in happy anticipation of the afternoon holiday. She coughed
little, almost not at all, and insisted on helping Tess with the
wet, unmanageable damask tablecloth.
    "We really could use more help with this,"
ventured Maggie.
    "With this and with everything," said Tess.
"The Blessed Virgin herself would be hard put to keep up with this
laundry, if her Son was to turn out a different miracle every day
of the week. It's wearing you to the bone, that it is."
    "How did you ever manage by yourself in
Wrexham?" asked Maggie.
    "That was in a simple English country house,
goose. The laundry was a bit of a simplicity by comparison. Do you
think Lady Meller cared a fig if Lady Shaftesbury set a heavier
damask? That wasn't the point, was it? But in Newport, it certainly
is."
    Tess shook her head and sighed. "The fact
is, I don't understand what the purpose of all this is," she
said as she stretched the cloth over the massive, specially made
drying rack. "To cart a piano, half a ton of silver, chinaware to
fill a dozen lorries, and rugs and tapestries to cover up a soccer
field, all the way from New York City to a wee speck of an island
no one in Ireland has ever even heard of, and in eight weeks to be
carting it all back again—whatever is the point,
Maggie?"
    Tess looked more carefully at her sister,
who had lost much of her animation. "Maggie?"
    Maggie managed a trembly smile. '"Tis the
air in here, Tess, I do believe it: I feel as if my breast were
made of sopping wet sponges. Do you think we can go now?" she asked
plaintively.
    "In a bit, I should hope." Tess was not in a
position to say yes; permission must be got from the head
laundress, a lazy, flirtatious woman with good skin but very little
else. She was married to the head coachman, although Tess had never
once witnessed an exchange of affection between the two. After much
hemming and hawing and a stern look or two, Enid granted the two
girls their leave, admonishing them to be indoors by eight o'clock
or to risk the considerable and probably tragic consequences.
    Maggie's spirits rallied when they returned
to their room and changed into walking clothes. She put on a blouse
of navy blue poplin fronted in a multitude of pleats and tucking
into a too-bright skirt of magenta poplin, edged with row after row
of white braid. Tess settled for a simple, very proper dress of
black twill, which fit perfectly and showcased her glorious auburn
hair.
    Maggie was fitting on a black straw hat,
atop of which was perched a white feathered bird very like a large
seagull. "How do I look, Tess?"
    "Oh, quite grand, Mag," Tess answered
affectionately. Maggie had little skill with the needle, and no
good eye for fashion. She was drawn invariably to bright colors and
outlandish hats, almost as if to compensate for her quiet,
washed-out manner. Tess found the effect to be in marginal taste
but utterly charming.
    By the time the two young women slipped away
from the great marble cottage into the hedge-lined servants' path,
it was four-thirty and the carriage parade up and down Bellevue
Avenue was in full swing.
    The daily coaching parade was one of the
more curious phenomena associated with the intensely competitive
and mostly hollow rituals