The Chaperone
Millvina Winsham avoided looking into the mirror whenever she entered the parlor of the vicarage in the small village of Baron's Woods. Of the four Winsham daughters, she was the only one not to have inherited her mother's fair features. Instead, she resembled her father, both in appearance and demeanor. Her three sisters, all younger in age, were pretty girls with cheerful, outgoing personalities. It was little wonder then that they found husbands while still in their teens. One sister married the village schoolteacher, another a prosperous farmer and the last a railroad engineer.
As the years passed, few people in Baron's Woods held on to the hope that the eldest Winsham girl would follow in her sisters' footsteps and walk down the aisle of her father's church. Her fortieth birthday having come and gone, even Millvina was resigned to remaining single. She devoted herself to caring for the vicarage and seeing to her widowed father's comfort, becoming housekeeper, cook, laundress and secretary to him. While Reverend Winsham appreciated his daughter's devotion and hard work, he would have preferred to see her happily married with a husband and children to care for instead of an aging father. Often, in the evenings, when he said his prayers on behalf of his congregation, he added a personal request for her happiness.
One day his prayers were answered.
"You've got a letter from London," Millvina announced after her father sat down at the head of the dinner table.
"I can't imagine who would be writing to me from London," the vicar said, adjusting his spectacles to examine the envelope.
As his daughter brought in a loaf of freshly baked bread, followed by two plates of cottage pie, he removed the letter from the envelope and glanced at the address at the top of the page.
"Ah, it's from my nephew, Emmett."
"You have a nephew living in London?" Millvina asked with surprise, taking the seat opposite her father.
"Yes, my youngest brother's boy. He studied law at Oxford, and from what my brother says, he's an important barrister now."
Although she was extremely curious about a cousin of whose existence she had previously been unaware, Millvina politely ate her dinner in silence as her father read the letter. When he folded the sheets of paper and put them back into the envelope, she looked up at him expectantly.
"You don't remember meeting your cousin Emmett, do you?" the vicar asked and then answered his own question. "No, I don't suppose you do. You were only three when my brother left Baron's Woods."
"It's not bad news, I hope."
"No. He's written me about you, actually."
The vicar paused his narrative, scooped up a heaping forkful of cottage pie and put it into his mouth.
"Me? What does he say?"
Despite her stolid deportment, Millvina was burning with curiosity.
"It seems his wife died several years ago, leaving him to care for his daughter. She's of an age now that he needs someone to look after her."
"Surely you don't mean me, Father!"
"Why not?"
"I'm not a governess."
"Emmett is not looking for one. His daughter already had a governess, but she recently moved to Ireland to get married. What my nephew is looking for is a mature, responsible woman to act as chaperone. After all, he can't allow his daughter to go about London unattended."
"But I ...."
"There's no need for you to rush to a decision. Take your time and think it over. Of course, it is a great opportunity for you, one that comes along once in a lifetime—if you're lucky. Not everyone gets the opportunity to live in a fine house in London."
Initially, the possibility of her leaving Baron's Woods was unthinkable. The remote village was her home.
Why, I've never even been to London. How do I know I wouldn't hate it the minute I stepped off the train? she thought.
"I've heard terrible things about living in the city."
"Like what?"
"It's crowded, noisy and dirty," she replied, enumerating the capital's faults. "And I've heard it smells bad. Then there's the high crime rate. They say it's not safe to walk the streets."
"Those things may or may not be true. I can't say with any certitude since I've never been to London, but I admit I've always wanted to go. When I think of all the wonderful things there are to see there—Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, the Palace of Westminster, St. Paul's Cathedral—I wish I could accept Emmett's generous offer myself."
It never occurred to Millvina that her father longed to see the world beyond Baron's Woods. He had always seemed so content with his church, his congregation and his family.
"Why don't you go to London, if you feel that way? No one would begrudge you a holiday."
A wistful smile appeared on Reverend Winsham's face, and he reached across the table to take hold of his daughter's hand.
"I'm too old. I was born in this little village, and I'll die here. Though if I were a younger man ...."
He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he picked up his fork and finished his meal in silence.
Over the next several days neither Millvina nor her father brought up the subject of Emmett's offer. They both went about their routines as though there had never been a letter from London. That did not mean, however, that the question of her rejection or acceptance was not foremost in Millvina's mind. In fact, she thought of little else.
There were dozens of reasons why she should decline. In addition to those she had mentioned to her father over dinner, there was also the fact that she would be far from home and family. Although Emmett was her first cousin, she did not know him. She would be all alone in a strange place, bound to be homesick for Baron's Woods and miss her father, sisters and young nieces and nephews.
What if I am not capable of satisfactorily performing the duties of chaperone? What if Cousin Emmett's girl doesn't like me? What if I don't like her or her father?
Balancing out the negative aspects of accepting the offer were the positive ones, the main one being that Millvina would no longer have to see the look of pity in people's eyes when they spoke to her. She would never have to read the expression on their faces that loudly proclaimed, "You poor thing. You never married. You're destined to end your days a lonely old spinster."
Maybe in London no one will care, she thought hopefully.
* * *
When Millvina Winsham got off the train at Paddington Station, a feeling of panic set in. Never had she been in such a large crowd of people. Travelers anxious to board the departing train and those who were getting off the arriving one collided on the platform, often exchanging harsh words and profanities. Unsure of where to go, she stood in one spot and was jostled by angry commuters. Tears came to her eyes and she wanted nothing more than to re-board the train and return to Baron's Woods.
"Millvina?" a man called from out of the crowd.
She turned in the direction of the voice and saw a pleasant face of a middle-aged gentlemen smiling at her.
"It is you, isn't it?" he asked. "I thought so. I can see the Winsham family features stamped on your face."
"And you must be Cousin Emmett."
"Yes. Let's get you out of here before you get trampled underfoot."
"My luggage ...."
"No need to worry. I'll take care of everything."
Before she knew it, Millvina was swept out of the crowded railroad station and placed in her cousin's carriage.
"Just those two bags?" Emmett asked as his driver exited the station with two suitcases.
"That's all I brought with me."
"No worries. I'm sure my daughter will take you shopping in the next day or so."
"I doubt that will be necessary," Millvina protested. "I don't require a large wardrobe."
Two or three homespun frocks, along with a more suitable dress for Sunday services, were clothes aplenty. A woman of simple tastes, she had no need for finery.
"Nonsense!" her cousin good-naturedly argued. "This is London, not Baron's Woods. As Matilda's chaperone, you'll escort her to parties, museums, the theatre and other public outings. You'll be expected to dress appropriately."
"I'm not sure I know what attire is appropriate to which occasion."
"I assure you my daughter does. She'll teach you how to dress."
It was an enjoyable carriage ride from Paddington to her cousin's home in Kensington. Along the way, Emmett drew her attention to several points of interest including Hyde Park, Kensington Palace and Kensington Gardens. The sight of green grass and trees in the heart of a bustling city comforted Millvina. Maybe life in London would not be as bad as she had feared.
"Here we are," Emmett announced as the carriage came to a stop in front of a grand Georgian era brick townhouse, a dwelling much larger than the humble vicarage where she was born and raised.
No sooner had Millvina alighted from the carriage than the front door opened and a young girl popped her head outside to view the newcomer to the household.
"Ah, Matilda!" her father exclaimed with unabashed parental pride and affection. "Come meet Cousin Millvina."
Despite being only thirteen years old, the girl was beautiful beyond description, an adolescent Helen of Troy in Edwardian London.
"I'm so pleased to meet you," the golden-haired beauty declared with a warm smile that accentuated the dimples in her cheeks.
"The pleasure is mine," Millvina replied, feeling every inch the frumpish old maid.
"You're just in time for tea," the girl announced, taking her father's arm and ushering him over the threshold. "The cook has prepared a special treat: banoffee pie. But perhaps you'd care to freshen up first."
Matilda led the way to a water closet, complete with a flushing toilet, a sink and an enamel tub—all modern conveniences that were not to be found in Baron's Woods where wash basins and chamber pots were still in use.
After enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of the delicious banana and toffee pie, Millvina was shown to her bedroom, which was directly across the hall from Matilda's. It was obvious from the location of her room that she was not regarded as a servant—the domestic staff were lodged in small quarters on the third floor—but as one of the family.
That night when Millvina said her prayers before getting into bed, she expressed her gratitude for the divine guidance that had made her accept Emmett Winsham's offer.
* * *
"What are you doing?" Millvina asked when she found Matilda going through the drawers of her father's desk in the library.
"Looking for paper," the girl answered. "I've run out, and Father keeps a supply in here."
"Do you still do lessons?"
"Heavens, no!" Matilda exclaimed with a girlish giggle. "I like to draw."
"Really? Will you show me some of your artwork?"
"I don't know that you would call it art. I have a paper doll collection, and I like to create my own clothes for them."
Millvina accompanied the girl upstairs to what was once a playroom. Now it contained a large table and shelves stocked with art supplies. Pencils, paintbrushes, watercolors and paper doll outfits, obviously hand drawn, were strewn across the surface of the table.
"This is Miss Clementine," Matilda said, picking up a stiff cardboard doll wearing a camisole and a pair of drawers. "Of all my paper dolls, she's my favorite model. I lay her down on a piece of paper and trace the outline of her body. Then I draw a gown, paint it and cut it out."
"And the little white tabs on the shoulders? Are they to keep the dress on the cardboard doll?"
"Yes. You just fold them over like this," the girl explained, demonstrating with a paper dress drawn in a style of late eighteenth century France. "I drew this outfit based on a portrait I saw of Marie Antoinette."
"It's beautiful! Where did you learn to draw so well?"
"My mother taught me. She was a talented painter, but anyone can draw clothes."
"Not me. I'm afraid I have no artistic talent."
"Did you ever try?"
When Millvina shook her head, Matilda put a sheet of paper in front the chaperone and handed her a pencil. Although she doubted she had any skill at drawing, Millvina traced the outline of Miss Clementine on the paper. She believed that sharing a common interest—even one as trivial as paper dolls—would forge a bond with her second cousin.
"I'm not sure what to do next. I don't know much about the au courant styles in women's clothing," she confessed.
"Just copy one of mine," Matilda suggested, pushing a box of paper outfits toward her chaperone, a collection that consisted of a farrago of fashions representative of the best and worst of Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras.
Millvina's foray into the world of paper fashion design began with an unadorned, high-waisted Empire style gown. Given her inexperience, she was surprised at how well the drawing turned out.
"That's rather good," Matilda said, examining the chaperone's work. "It looks like something the Empress Josephine might wear. What color are you going to paint it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Why don't you use viridian?" the girl asked, pointing to a specific pot of paint on the tray of watercolors. "It's one of my favorite colors."
"That's viridian? I would have called it a bluish green. I think I'll use a softer color, a nice pastel pink."
As the chaperone and her young charge painted their pencil drawings, Matilda talked about her childhood in London and Millvina, in turn, spoke of her life in Baron's Woods. It proved to be but the first of many such pleasant days in the former playroom.
The next four years were happy ones for Millvina. In addition to creating a vast array of outfits for Miss Clementine—borrowing fashion ideas from the Middle Ages, the Roman Empire, Ancient Egypt and the Tudor court—she and Matilda visited the best-known sights in London. The two women frequently attended concerts at the Royal Albert Hall, had picnics at Hyde Park, viewed the exhibits at the British Museum and admired the masterpieces in the National Gallery. With each passing day and shared experience, Millvina grew to love her young cousin as if she were her own daughter.
* * *
Her seventeenth birthday just days away, Matilda Winsham made a startling announcement as she and Millvina were riding the recently installed moving staircase in Harrods.
"I want to see their selection of bathing costumes as well as summer dresses."
"Why do you want a bathing costume?" Millvina asked.
"Didn't my father tell you? We're going to Brighton on holiday. We'll be gone the entire month of August."
"This is the first I've heard of it."
"It'll be fun. Don't you like the seaside?" the girl asked when she saw the expression of uncertainty on the older woman's face.
"I honestly don't know. I've never been there before. Prior to coming to London I spent my entire life in Baron's Woods."
"Isn't it funny, that I've seen so much more of the world in my short lifetime than you've seen in your many years on earth?"
"Not really. You're one of the fortunate people who have the means to travel. Most of us don't."
"I suppose I am lucky. When I was twelve my father took me to Paris with him and the year before that it was Edinburgh. He promised me that for my eighteenth birthday we'd take a voyage to New York."
Millvina wondered if, as Matilda's chaperone, she would be traveling along with the girl and her father.
I certainly hope so, she thought, smiling to herself at the memory of the callow vicar's daughter who feared leaving her provincial home and journeying to London. Now I want to see as much of the world as possible.
On the last day of July, Emmett's carriage conveyed the three travelers, along with their luggage, to Victoria Station where they boarded a train bound for the seaside. Upon their arrival in Brighton, Millvina was amazed by her first sight of the English Channel.
"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed as a warm sea breeze caressed her face.
"I told you you'd like it," Matilda reminded her.
"I don't know about you ladies, but I'm hungry," Emmett announced. "Let's see to our rooms and then find somewhere to eat."
As the three Winshams walked into the lobby of the Grand Brighton Hotel, a voice called out to them.
"Emmett? Is that you?"
"Randall? What a surprise to see you here! Are you on holiday, too?"
"Yes. I brought the family down with me from London."
Randall Mortimer, another one of London's prominent barristers, introduced his wife to his associate.
"Oh, and that young man over there, wearing the straw boater, is my son, Jonathan."
Matilda nonchalantly turned her head in Jonathan Mortimer's direction and was instantly attracted by his handsome features. There was no mistaking the look of interest on her face, and Millvina knew she would have to keep a close eye on the girl.
The diligent chaperone, having never fallen in love herself, had no idea how quickly it could happen, that a prosaic meeting in a busy hotel lobby between two strangers could kindle a fire that would rapidly blaze out of control. But she was about to find out.
* * *
The month of August flew by in a whirl of sand castles, Punch and Judy shows, band concerts and boating trips. Millvina accompanied the couple as they strolled on the promenade, picnicked on the beach and swam in the sea. To the chaperone's dismay, the close relationship that she had built with Matilda, in her mind akin to one of mother and daughter, began to erode. Wanting to be alone with Jonathan, the girl resented Millvina's constant presence.
"I don't see why I can't go swimming by myself," she complained. "I'm seventeen years old. I'll probably be married in another year or two. I don't need a babysitter."
"Well, you're not married yet," the protector of her virtue replied. "For a young woman in your station to go out with a boy unattended is simply unheard of. You must think of your reputation."
"Having a chaperone is a ridiculous, archaic custom, if you ask me! Jonathan Mortimer isn't a criminal, after all. He's studying law at Oxford. He's the son of a distinguished London barrister. I couldn't be in safer hands."
While Matilda viewed her suitor as a dashing, romantic figure, right out of a Jane Austen novel, Millvina felt an intense dislike of him. In the girl's biased, idealized outlook, Jonathan was an urbane scholar, a bellwether of men's fashion and an arbiter of culture and good taste. To the older woman, he was a Beau Brummell-like dandy and an insufferable snob, always making disparaging remarks about the bourgeois classes that he considered beneath him.
The pretentious young toad! Millvina thought whenever he tried to impress her cousin with his talk of art, literature or philosophy. He has no more substance than one of Matilda's paper dolls.
When the end of August came and Emmett made arrangements for them to return to London, Millvina hoped they had seen the last of Jonathan Mortimer. She looked forward to spending afternoons in the art room with Matilda, chatting away as they designed new fashions for Miss Clementine. Much to her dismay, the popinjay accompanied them to the station to see them off.
"Here's my address," Matilda said, handing him a folded sheet of perfumed stationery that he tucked into his pocket. "You mustn't forget to write."
"I shall begin my first letter as soon as I return to the hotel," he promised.
Once in their compartment, Emmett closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. Millvina tried to interest her young companion in a conversation about shopping, a subject that was usually dear to the girl's heart.
"Please be quiet," Matilda said, wiping tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "I don't feel like talking."
Her melancholy mood did not improve when they returned to London. For the next week she moped around the house, taking no interest in anything and rarely eating.
"Why don't we go to Harrods and then out to tea afterward? Wouldn't you like a nice fairy cake?" Millvina suggested, trying to chase her cousin's doldrums away with sweets.
"I'm not a child!" Matilda snapped. "Stop treating me like one."
The older woman had no idea how to react to the girl's display of anger. Should she chastise her directly or inform Emmett of his daughter's surly behavior? Or should she ignore the girl until her spirits lifted? As one who abhorred confrontation, Millvina chose the latter. Leaving Matilda to her own devices, the chaperone spent her afternoons alone in the art room with the ever-growing paper doll collection.
False modesty aside, I'm becoming quite good at this, she thought as she admired the sixteenth century Venetian-inspired gown she had just completed. I never realized I had artistic talent.
At the end of the week, a letter arrived from Oxford. Although Matilda did not reveal the contents to her cousin, it brought a smile to her face.
"Why don't we go shopping tomorrow?" she asked her chaperone at dinner that night. "I could use a new dress or two. Then we can take a stroll in Kensington Gardens."
Millvina was happy to see Matilda's smile return and correctly assumed that Jonathan Mortimer was the cause of it.
The following weekend the young law student took a train from Oxford to visit his family in London. On Saturday afternoon, he called on the Winshams. His intentions to court Matilda were made clear, and her doting father wholeheartedly approved of the match. Millvina did not offer her opinion. She was, after all, just a poor relation who was called on to act as chaperone. It would be impertinent of her to advise the girl in matters of the heart.
She probably wouldn't listen to me even if I did, Millvina thought, for despite the affection she felt for the girl, she fully realized Matilda was a spoiled child, who was accustomed to getting her own way.
* * *
Life in what Millvina thought of as the post-Brighton days soon fell into a predictable routine. At least twice a month, Jonathan Mortimer travelled from Oxford to London to spend time with Matilda. Millvina accompanied the couple to the park, church and cultural events. However, during those outings she was virtually ignored by the resentful couple. The lovers wanted to be alone, to enjoy a stolen kiss or a passionate embrace, acts forbidden to them by the social customs of the day.
Their solution was a simple one. If they were married, they could do what they wanted and go where they chose without Millvina tagging along after them, thwarting all their gestures of affection. When Jonathan returned to Oxford one Sunday in early December, he decided he would speak to his parents.
Believing her betrothal was imminent, Matilda's spirits were high. She danced through the rooms of her father's house and frequently sang with joy. Happy though she was, she did not take Millvina into her confidence. Sadly, she now saw her middle-aged cousin only as an impediment to her happiness.
As the two women discussed plans for the Christmas dinner, Millvina remarked that she loved London during the holiday season.
"You might as well enjoy it now. You'll most likely be returning to the country soon," Matilda said, callously unmindful of the other woman's feelings.
"What makes you think that?" Millvina asked, having imagined the move to London was a permanent one.
"Once Jonathan and I are married, I'll have no need of a chaperone."
"No, but I'm sure I can be of use in another way, maybe as a cook or a housekeeper."
"My father already has enough servants. No. I'm sure that once I'm married, he'll put you on a train back to Baron's Woods."
At the thought of leaving the home and family she had grown to love, it was Millvina's turn to feel morose. Being a mature woman, however, she did not sulk or withdraw from those around her. Instead, during her free time, she sought solace in developing her skills as an artist. Rather than limiting herself to creating paper doll clothes, she attempted to sketch portraits of Emmett and Matilda as well as a self-portrait of her own face as seen in a mirror. Her depictions were so accurate that even Matilda grudgingly admitted they bore a good likeness to the family members.
* * *
On Christmas Day, Matilda woke early and dressed in her holiday finest. During breakfast she could hardly contain her excitement. Jonathan had been invited to come for dinner, and she expected he would make the day even more memorable by formally proposing marriage. She at last heard the much-anticipated sound of the brass door knocker striking wood and thought her heart would burst. When the butler showed him into the room, however, Jonathan refused to look Matilda directly in the eyes.
"Merry Christmas," he said and handed her a wrapped present that was in a box far too large to contain a ring.
Somehow Matilda struggled through the day until Millvina, although still in the room watching over her charge with her hawk-like gaze, was far enough away that she could whisper to Jonathan and not be overheard.
"Did you have the opportunity to speak to your parents?" Matilda asked.
"Yes," he admitted, barely able to hide his disappointment. "They said marriage is out of the question now. I must first finish school, complete my pupillage and become a barrister."
"That could take years!"
"What choice do we have?"
Matilda thought for a few moments and then impulsively replied, "We can run away and get married."
"Without my family's support, how will we live? Where would we go?"
"Right here. My father would never see his daughter living out on the street."
In the excitement of planning an elopement, Matilda did not realize her voice was rising in volume. Although Millvina kept her head down and her eyes on the picture she was drawing, she overheard the couple's plans.
I must stop all this nonsense, she vowed. I can't remain silent while she throws her life away.
Since the couple did not intend to elope until the spring, Millvina decided to put off speaking to Emmett until after New Year's Day. Once the first week of January was behind them, however, the chaperone summoned her courage and revealed the truth to the girl's father. When Emmett called Matilda into the library to discuss the matter, Millvina went to the former upstairs playroom. Although she sincerely believed that what she had done was right, she did not want to witness the girl's tearful tantrum, which she was certain would follow.
There was a chill in the art room. Millvina shivered, stacked kindling into the fireplace and lit it. Once the fire was burning and putting out heat, she sat down at the table and picked up a pencil. Her mind recalling lines from Shakespeare's tragic tale of star-crossed lovers, she began to sketch a gown that might be worn by the fair Juliet Capulet.
In little more than an hour, she heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later the door flew open. Matilda stood on the threshold, her eyes blazing with rage.
"You told my father about my plans to elope with Jonathan!" she said accusingly.
"I couldn't let you ruin your life. Someday you'll understand."
"My father has gone to tell Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer. They'll forbid Jonathan to see me again. My life is ruined!"
"I doubt it will come to that. I'm sure once their son has become a barrister, the Mortimers will be happy to welcome you into their family."
"What do you know about love and marriage? You're a frustrated old maid, a spinster living on my father's charity."
"I know how upset you are, but there's no need for you to say such cruel things."
"Look at you!" Matilda said, her voice dripping with hatred. "You're pathetic! An ugly old woman playing with paper dolls."
"There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. It's a harmless hobby that makes me happy."
"Why should you have happiness after taking mine away?"
The shrewish girl leaned forward, took a handful of paper outfits in her hands and tore them in half.
"Stop it!" Millvina cried, attempting to rescue the undamaged dresses from destruction.
Grasping the opportunity to pay back her chaperone for the harm she had caused, Matilda grabbed a pile of her cousin's artwork and tossed it into the fireplace. When she saw the beautiful paper gowns being consumed by the flames, something in Millvina's mind snapped. For nearly fifty years she had been a plain woman dressed in drab attire, forever fading into the background while prettier girls took center stage in life. Battling long buried inner demons, the chaperone confronted her heartbroken cousin.
"You spoiled little brat!" she screamed. "Don't you dare put any more paper into the fire!"
Matilda was not to be deterred in her pursuit for revenge. As Millvina made an attempt to physically restrain the girl, she pulled away. The hem of her dress caught fire, but neither woman took immediate notice. It was not until she felt the intense pain of her burning leg that Matilda realized the danger she was in.
"My dress is on fire!"
There was no water nearby and no rug to smother the flames. By the time Millvina ripped the window drapes from their rods, the flames had spread from the girl's skirt to her bodice.
* * *
With hands still scarred from being burned, Millvina reached for the tray of watercolors.
"I remember the first dress I made for Miss Clementine," she said nostalgically as she selected a paintbrush. "It was a pretty pastel pink."
She smiled and looked across the room at the woman in the wheelchair.
"What color was it you suggested? Viridian, wasn't it? I still think of it as bluish green."
Matilda said nothing. She hadn't spoken a word since that January afternoon when a fire destroyed her father's Kensington home. Now, a decade later, all traces of the vivacious, attractive, cosseted child were gone. In what Millvina believed was a sign of God's loving mercy, the young woman's mind was destroyed by the same tragic accident that had robbed her of her beauty and her home.
The disfiguration of her face and body was but the first of the calamities that befell poor Matilda, although she was fortunately ignorant of those that followed. Emmett Winsham, originally told that his daughter would not survive the severe burns she had received, was unable to bear the thought of losing his precious child and took his own life. He was not long in his grave before war broke out. A year and a half later, Jonathan Mortimer was killed at the battle of Verdun.
Upon her father's death, Matilda inherited the family fortune, but it did her little good. Unable to care for herself, the court appointed Millvina her guardian. The former chaperone left London and took her cousin to Baron's Woods where she purchased a cottage for the two of them.
Finished with her painting, Millvina reached for a pair of scissors and cut out her artwork, careful not to rip the tabs that would hold it in place.
"There. It's done," she announced, proud of her accomplishment. "It's an excellent likeness, even if I do say so myself."
She stood up and walked across the room to the young woman in the wheelchair.
"It looks just like you!" she exclaimed as she put the paper mask on Matilda's hideously scarred face, temporarily making her every bit as young and beautiful as she was the day she met Jonathan Mortimer in the lobby of the Grand Brighton Hotel.
I distinctly remember getting rid of all my paper dolls years ago! How did this one get here?
