The Wayward Muse Read Free

said, shaking her head.
    They ate the rest of their meal without speaking. The only sound was Mr. Burden’s grunts as he mopped his plate with the bread. Mrs. Burden and Bessie and Jane had only boiled potatoes. As soon as Mr. Burden’s plate was empty, he clapped Jamey on the shoulder and they left the house without a backward glance. They would spend the evening at the pub and return after the women were already in bed.
    After washing up, Jane and Bessie went to the bedroom to get ready for the theater. Jane’s yellow dress was made of the cheapest wool available, and had been worn so many times that the once gold-colored fabric was dull and pilled. At least the style suited her figure, thought Jane. Mrs. Burden might be illiterate, but she was widely known to be the best dressmaker on Holywell Street, and she had imparted her only useful skill to her daughter. Jane had altered the one pattern they owned, so that her dress had dolman sleeves and lowered armholes. For the thousandth time she thought how nice it would be to have braided or fringed dress trim and an amber brooch.
    Anxiously she studied the hem of her skirt. “I think it is too short,” she said. “Can you see the tops of my boots?”
    Bessie had decided that the hair ribbon she had planned to wear wasn’t fit to be seen and tossed it to the floor. Now she turned to look at Jane. “Yes, you can,” she said. “I think you are going to be a giantess, Jane. Isn’t there any way to let it out?”
    “There’s no more hem left,” said Jane.
    “Look in the fabric bag,” said Bessie. “Maybe you can cut out a quick band and sew it on. How do you like my hair?”
    Jane found a piece of cloth that would do for the hem of her skirt. She took off the dress and laid it on her pallet. Then she set to work, clad only in her chemise. She had to hurry if she was going to be ready in time.
    The blue cotton she had found was left over from making Bessie’s dress and would look very odd, but it was better than being indecent. In a very short time, the task was done and she put the dress back on.
    Jane tied Bessie’s sash so that each loop of the bow was the exact size and shape of the other, and vigorously brushed the lint and dirt from the back of Bessie’s skirt. She straightened Bessie’s velvet collar and curled her front hair with hot tongs. Bessie glanced at her reflection in the window and, with a satisfied toss of her head, pronounced herself ready.
    “What about me?” said Jane. Bessie turned and looked at her sister. She clapped her hand to her mouth and tried to stifle her giggles, but couldn’t.
    “Oh, Jane, you look terrible!” she said.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Jane in alarm.
    Bessie showed her the large spot of mud on the front of her dress. “I don’t know how you missed seeing this. Your collar is crooked, your skirt is twisted, and two of your buttons have popped off.”
    Just then Mrs. Burden barreled into the room.
    “Look at the two of you,” she said. Her eyes were still sleepy with drink but her voice was sharp. “I often wonder where I went wrong,” she continued, “one daughter so ugly as to be deformed, the other as silly as a Punch and Judy show. I suppose it was marrying your father, though he was handsome enough then.”
    “I think I look very nice,” said Bessie stoutly.
    Mrs. Burden laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, you’ll get a husband, I’m sure. Mind he doesn’t send you back when he finds out how lazy and rude you are. But at least you’ve got proper carriage. Not like this one. Look at how she slouches. Another girl would be walking about with books on her head, but she just stands there with rolled shoulders.”
    Jane thought to herself that if there were any books in the house, she would gladly practice, but she said nothing.
    Her mother smacked her on the side of the head. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Ungrateful girl.” Then she collapsed onto the pallet she shared with Mr. Burden and