produced a hand mirror. 'You can hold this for me.'
Meg dutifully held the mirror, while Oriole sat on the bed and applied creams and unguents to her face. 'Why are you doing that?' Meg asked. Oriole glanced at her. 'To keep my skin soft,' she said.
'You will have to start using them as well. I also discovered, on the ship coming over, that I had to use more, and to protect my face from the sun. Your complexion is a disgrace, Margaret. How your father could have permitted you to spend so much time in the sun I shall never know. And it's a shame, because you could be such a pretty girl.' She sighed. 'I will do the best I can ...' She removed herself and her jars, and instead picked up a hairbrush. By the time she is finished, Meg thought, it will be time to get up all over again.
Oriole walked to and fro, brushing and counting. 'How many strokes do you give it?' Meg asked.
'Forty-three, forty-four, one hundred, and don't talk or I'll lose count, forty-five, forty-six ...'
Meg lay down to watch her. But at last she was finished, and blew out the candle. 'Now move over,' she commanded. 'And don't wriggle.'
Meg opened her mouth to say, it's my bed, and thought better of it. Oriole's feet slid under the sheet, and Meg was enveloped in that delightful perfume. Oriole sighed, and then sat up straight, throwing back the sheet. 'What on earth ...' She felt beneath herself. 'Crumbs? When last was this bed made?'
'Well ... today.'
Oriole had hopped out and was brushing away at the bottom sheet. 'You wretched girl. You've been eating biscuits in bed. Where did you get them ?'
'Well ...'
That nigger housekeeper of your father's. My God, I'll have a word with her. She'll have to go.'
Meg sat up. 'Prudence? You couldn't sack Prudence.'
'Don't be absurd.' Oriole seemed satisfied, lay down again. 'You'll be telling me next she's your friend, like those ghastly little boys.'
Meg lay down cautiously. 'She is my friend. She's the oldest friend I have. She's been here ever since I can remember. She and Percy.'
Oriole raised herself on her elbow, looked down. 'You are an unhappy child, aren't you?' 'Unhappy? Why ...'
'Layabouts and niggers for friends, no clothes to speak of, no breeding, I think I got here in the nick of time.' She lay down again, and to Meg's amazement, slid her arm under her neck to hug her close. 'I'm going to be your friend from now on, Meg. I'm going to make you into a lady. Far more important than that, I'm going to make you into a Hilton. Because you are the very last Hilton. Didn't you know that? The very last'
Meg awoke with a start, for a moment and for the first time in her life unsure where she was. In her own bedroom, of course. But Oriole's arms were wrapped around her, and her head rested on the soft lace of Oriole's nightgown, and the entire room was filled with the delicious glow of Oriole's scent.
Gently she disengaged herself, slid out of bed, threw her nightgown on the floor and dragged on her clothes. It was very late, at least seven o'clock. She couldn't remember when last she had slept in, mainly because Prudence always awakened her. But no doubt Prudence had been afraid to enter the room this morning.
'Whatever are you doing ?' Oriole inquired.
'I must hurry,' Meg explained. 'I shall be late for school.'
'You have forgotten your petticoats,' Oriole pointed out.
'I don't wear petticoats,' Meg said. 'No one does, as a rule, in Jamaica. It's too hot'
Oriole sat up. 'Good Heavens. I thought, yesterday, that ... but I supposed it was the sun. Good Lord. You must wear a petticoat, Margaret I can see right through that gown.'
'I don't have any petticoats.' Meg emptied some water from the ewer into the china basin and splashed it on her face.
'Anyway,' Oriole said. 'What do you want to go rushing off this early for? It's barely dawn.'
'School starts at eight,' Meg explained. 'Because we stop for breakfast and siesta at eleven. Then we go back at three until five.'
'I never heard such
Meg dutifully held the mirror, while Oriole sat on the bed and applied creams and unguents to her face. 'Why are you doing that?' Meg asked. Oriole glanced at her. 'To keep my skin soft,' she said.
'You will have to start using them as well. I also discovered, on the ship coming over, that I had to use more, and to protect my face from the sun. Your complexion is a disgrace, Margaret. How your father could have permitted you to spend so much time in the sun I shall never know. And it's a shame, because you could be such a pretty girl.' She sighed. 'I will do the best I can ...' She removed herself and her jars, and instead picked up a hairbrush. By the time she is finished, Meg thought, it will be time to get up all over again.
Oriole walked to and fro, brushing and counting. 'How many strokes do you give it?' Meg asked.
'Forty-three, forty-four, one hundred, and don't talk or I'll lose count, forty-five, forty-six ...'
Meg lay down to watch her. But at last she was finished, and blew out the candle. 'Now move over,' she commanded. 'And don't wriggle.'
Meg opened her mouth to say, it's my bed, and thought better of it. Oriole's feet slid under the sheet, and Meg was enveloped in that delightful perfume. Oriole sighed, and then sat up straight, throwing back the sheet. 'What on earth ...' She felt beneath herself. 'Crumbs? When last was this bed made?'
'Well ... today.'
Oriole had hopped out and was brushing away at the bottom sheet. 'You wretched girl. You've been eating biscuits in bed. Where did you get them ?'
'Well ...'
That nigger housekeeper of your father's. My God, I'll have a word with her. She'll have to go.'
Meg sat up. 'Prudence? You couldn't sack Prudence.'
'Don't be absurd.' Oriole seemed satisfied, lay down again. 'You'll be telling me next she's your friend, like those ghastly little boys.'
Meg lay down cautiously. 'She is my friend. She's the oldest friend I have. She's been here ever since I can remember. She and Percy.'
Oriole raised herself on her elbow, looked down. 'You are an unhappy child, aren't you?' 'Unhappy? Why ...'
'Layabouts and niggers for friends, no clothes to speak of, no breeding, I think I got here in the nick of time.' She lay down again, and to Meg's amazement, slid her arm under her neck to hug her close. 'I'm going to be your friend from now on, Meg. I'm going to make you into a lady. Far more important than that, I'm going to make you into a Hilton. Because you are the very last Hilton. Didn't you know that? The very last'
Meg awoke with a start, for a moment and for the first time in her life unsure where she was. In her own bedroom, of course. But Oriole's arms were wrapped around her, and her head rested on the soft lace of Oriole's nightgown, and the entire room was filled with the delicious glow of Oriole's scent.
Gently she disengaged herself, slid out of bed, threw her nightgown on the floor and dragged on her clothes. It was very late, at least seven o'clock. She couldn't remember when last she had slept in, mainly because Prudence always awakened her. But no doubt Prudence had been afraid to enter the room this morning.
'Whatever are you doing ?' Oriole inquired.
'I must hurry,' Meg explained. 'I shall be late for school.'
'You have forgotten your petticoats,' Oriole pointed out.
'I don't wear petticoats,' Meg said. 'No one does, as a rule, in Jamaica. It's too hot'
Oriole sat up. 'Good Heavens. I thought, yesterday, that ... but I supposed it was the sun. Good Lord. You must wear a petticoat, Margaret I can see right through that gown.'
'I don't have any petticoats.' Meg emptied some water from the ewer into the china basin and splashed it on her face.
'Anyway,' Oriole said. 'What do you want to go rushing off this early for? It's barely dawn.'
'School starts at eight,' Meg explained. 'Because we stop for breakfast and siesta at eleven. Then we go back at three until five.'
'I never heard such
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