Rebecca of Halstead Hall

Chapter One

In 1805, Rebecca Thompson was the eldest child and daughter of a reasonably wealthy grain merchant. She and her family lived in the small town of Newport in Shropshire; her mother had some pretensions of grandeur, but Becky (as she was mostly known) had little interest and anyway, besides the county ball, there was nothing to be grand about. Consequently, Becky, who was eighteen, was allowed to chase her two younger brothers around their garden and over the nearby fields, dressed only in a muslin dress and flat shoes.

Come the time of the county ball or for Christmas parties her mother tried to smarten Becky up, trying to make her wear light corsets to improve her bosom (which really did not need much help), and put up her hair in the latest complicated fashion. But Becky helped her not one jot, turning up late and fidgeting through the whole preparation, so that her mother soon gave in and Becky usually ended up wearing a simple dress with her hair in a simple chignon.

One day, her mother tried once more to 'tidy' Becky up, but with the same amount of success, and dressed tidily, but unfashionably, Becky was called to her father's study to meet his guest. His guest was Lord Halstead - he had been a customer of her father for some years, as he owned several breweries in Burton Upon Trent, and had come to visit her father to sample a new variety of grain that her father was promoting.

Her mother had many times told Becky about Lord Halstead, how he had been famous in her mother's youth in the late 1770's, as he and his beautiful young wife Selina led fashion for several years, being seen at all the fashionable balls, watering holes and soiree's across England. But then his wife had died very young, and Lord Halstead had retired to his country estates and, bar his business interests, nothing much had been heard about him for nearly thirty years.

Becky reached her father's study door, knocked and entered. Lord Halstead was standing with his back to her as she entered the room and her father, seeing her, said, "Ah, Becky I would like you to meet Lord Halstead." And with that, Lord Halstead turned round, started to say something and halted with his mouth half open. Becky was at a loss at what to do as he stood there staring at her as if he had seen a ghost. Her father looked at Lord Halstead and said, "My Lord is there something wrong? Can I get you anything?" Becky's father moved toward Lord Halstead and gripped his arm; at the touch, Lord Halstead snapped out of his trance and said to Becky, "I am terribly sorry to act like this, but you remind me so much of my late wife that I was taken aback as the resemblance is remarkable. I will show you." He then took a locket from his pocket and showed Becky and her father a miniature picture of a young woman with her hair dressed high in the fashion of the previous century, but with a face that had an uncanny resemblance to Becky's. Lord Halstead discussed the resemblance with them for over half an hour, and seemed reluctant to continue his journey, so her father invited asked him to stay, which he quickly accepted and, at lunch, and during a walk in the garden afterwards, he paid particular attention to Becky, never leaving her side.

* * * *

Over the next few months, Lord Halstead was a regular visitor to their home, always lavishing great praise on Becky's looks and demeanour. One evening, after he had left, her father called her to his study and said that Lord Halstead had asked for her hand in marriage and he gladly acceded. He went on to say that, although Lord Halstead was thirty years her senior, the match would be good one for Becky and her family. It would, he said, be undoubtedly a much better match than she could ever have hoped for. Becky having no option really, acceded to her father's wishes.

* * * *

The wedding followed shortly, and afterwards, Becky accompanied her new husband back to his estate in Leicestershire. In the following weeks, she tried to take up the reins of running a large house, but she had little experience, as she was only eighteen. The housekeeper, who was called Mrs. Sheraton (she had been Lord Halstead's late wife Selina's maid), had been running the house to Lord Halstead's complete satisfaction for over thirty years and, while not objecting in anyway to Becky's assistance, she made Becky feel uneasy about any decision that she made, so Becky thought it better not to interfere, and spent her days walking and doing needlework. All over the house were pictures of Selina, Lord Halstead's late wife, and Becky was astonished at the resemblance, but always a little amused at the fashions of thirty years ago; one, in particular, showed Selina and a massive wig, which must have been over two feet high and almost as wide, with an impossibly minute waist, and skirts which stood out to at least four feet either side. The dress itself looked to be of a lavish gold coloured cloth with the Halstead crest embroidered all over it in black. Becky always thought that the little white powdered face was totally engulfed by the opulence surrounding it.

Initially, her new husband was completely attentive to her every wish, but after a while, Becky began to sense a nervousness in him whenever he was in her presence; but he never explained his uneasiness. One day Becky, who was desperately trying to be a good wife, asked him, "My Lord, is their anything I am doing that is not pleasing to you?" At first he was reticent, then, slowly, he replied, "It is nothing that you are doing my dear Becky, but it is that, although I am so pleased that you resemble my his late wife, the resemblance is so close, that I feel uneasy that you never look quite right." He went on to say, "I have considered the problem, and I feel that if you would start to wear some of Selina's clothes, makeup, and dress your hair in the same fashion as Selina wore it, I feel that the uneasiness would go, and I would be completely happy."

Becky, feeling that wearing a few old dresses was small thing to do to please her new husband said, "If this thing will make you happy, I will gladly oblige."

Lord Halstead smiled widely and said, "My dear, you have made me so happy, I will inform Mrs Sheraton of our plans and we shall start tomorrow."

Chapter Two

The next morning, when Becky was finishing breakfast, Mrs. Sheraton came into the dining room and asked Becky when she would like to start trying on the clothes. Becky replied, "Oh, straight away, let's get it over with."

Mrs. Sheraton raised her eyebrows slightly and said, "Right, My Lady, I have laid out some items in your dressing room, and we can start as soon as you are ready." Mrs Sheraton left the room and Becky followed her into the large dressing room which adjoined her bedroom. When she entered, Becky was amazed, for around the room on chairs, dresser, doors, and on the floor was dress, after dress, after dress, all containing an astonishing amount of material. Standing to one side was Abigail, one of the house maids; Mrs. Sheraton reached for a piece of cord and said, "Right My Lady, if I could just measure you."

Becky nodded, and Mrs. Sheraton passed the cord around her bosom, and waist, and then from shoulder to floor, each time laying the cord against a wooden ruler which was attached to the wall. Mrs. Sheraton turned from the ruler and asked, "Has My Lady ever worn a pair of stays?"

Becky replied, "Sometimes."

Mrs. Sheraton went on, "And what was your smallest waist?"

Becky said quickly, "Oh, they never compressed my waist, they only really smoothed me to the hips and supported my bosom."

Mrs. Sheraton was quiet for a few seconds and then said, "Well I am afraid because your waist is quite large at twenty four inches and you will at best fit into Miss Selina's looser morning dresses, and that will take some lacing before we will be able to close the back." Becky nodded not really knowing what Mrs Sheraton meant. "Well, if My Lady is ready, we will start to dress." Becky, wanting to get it over with and go for a walk, was also keen to start.

Mrs. Sheraton first helped her on with a tight shift that reached to her thighs, and then she eased on some 'clocked' stockings of a striped design, holding them up with some tight, frilled garters. The garters were tied tightly to the the top of Becky's thighs and compressed the flesh quite deeply. When she commented that it was quite painful, Mrs. Sheraton was adamant that the garters were required to be that tight as it would be "quite the wrong thing if the stockings ended up around My Lady's ankles."

Mrs. Sheraton then held out some cloth-covered shoes with what Becky thought were dreadfully high heels of at least two inches; the shoes had a waisted heel and a lace-up strap that would come over her instep. Becky thought that they looked very small compared to her flat slippers. Mrs. Sheraton then fitted the shoes on and forced Becky's feet down into them using a shoe horn; they were quite narrow, and so short that her toes were severely cramped. Becky spoke out. "Mrs Sheraton, these shoes are too small, my feet and toes are being squeezed dreadfully."

"Oh no, My Lady", said Mrs Sheraton calmly, "Your feet are smaller than Miss Selina's, and she had no problem at all." And at that Becky could not think of anything to say.

As Mrs Sheraton prepared the next item, Becky tried out walking in the new shoes and found herself very unstable, as she tried to keep her balance in the strange-feeling high heels, which felt much higher than her flat slippers. She was just about to remark on their height when Mrs Sheraton turned and said, "We will have to start you on low heels until you are used to them, and build up to some proper heels as we go along." Mrs. Sheraton then advanced towards Becky with a stiff-looking object, which, when Becky recognised them for what they were, quite filled her with horror.

"They are stays," she thought; she recognised them from the ones her mother used to wear for special occasions when she was younger, but, compared to the light ones her mother used to wear these were a more serious item indeed. These stays were so solid that held their shape on their own, with the wide shoulder straps sticking up above main bulk of the them. "Mrs. Sheraton," Becky spurted out quickly, "surely I do not have to wear anything like that or, at least, I can wear some lighter ones."

"But My Lady," retorted Mrs. Sheraton, looking slightly confused, "these are the lightest stays to start you off gradually; they have only whalebone stiffening at quarter spacing and are much shorter in the waist than some of the more formal." Becky was not convinced, but Mrs. Sheraton lifted her arms into the shoulder straps and, pulling the stays around Becky's waist, she went behind her to start threading the lace. Mrs. Sheraton was very fast, but even so it took ten minutes to thread the lace; the stays felt very stiff around Becky's torso and the sharp top lifted and squeezed her breasts and already felt uncomfortable.

When Mrs. Sheraton had finished threading the laces, she asked Becky to grasp the strong handle that was attached to the dressing room wall. Mrs Sheraton then said, "Right, we will start with some initial lacing, and then do your hair while your body settles in to the tightness, and then we will finish off later." Bracing her strong arms, Mrs. Sheraton then rapidly pulled the laces out, stopping occasionally to pull the slack from the top to the bottom. The poor girl could feel the stays start to compress her from breast to waist, with the pointed lower front of the busk digging into her lower stomach. As the stays tightened, she fought for breath to say, "Mrs. Sheraton, I thought you said these were the lightest ones, I can hardly breathe."

"Oh, don't be silly, Miss," as she tied of the laces. "I've only half tightened them."

Becky was aghast, "Only half tightened?" She was gasping for breathe, the stays already tight on her bottom ribs, her waist feel like it was being crushed. The pointed end of the busk dug further into her lower stomach, and the top squeezed her breasts. The only way she could find relief was to lean backwards which, along with the shoulder straps pulling her shoulders back and the rising front of the stays, made her bosom stick out as though it was being presented for approval. Becky looked down with amazement at the unnatural acres of flesh thrust out in front of her, panting up and down uncontrollably, rising unnaturally high with every laboured breath.

Mrs. Sheraton let her settle, and then led her over to the dressing table, "Right Miss, now for the hair, if you will sit down, we will get started." Becky started to sit down, but with a dreadful creaking sound from the stays and a severe increase in the pain level at her waist and ribs, she was quickly came back upright. Mrs. Sheraton took hold of her shoulders and pressed her gently down to the seat, saying, "Now miss, they are bound to feel tight at first, but you will soon get used to them." Becky was not so sure as the nagging ache from the stays went from her waist all the way up her ribs, and the only relief from the pointed end of the stays was to sit with her legs apart. Well she thought it would only take a minute to comb out her hair and she could last that long.

While Becky was squirming in her chair, searching for a comfortable sitting position, Abigail pulled over a large trolley, which was loaded with hairpieces, makeup, patches and powder. Then Becky remembered that ladies of the 1770's wore amazingly high wigs, as in Selina's pictures downstairs, and then she also remembered, with some dismay, hearing her mother reminisce one day that some of the most lavish styles had taken over six hours to create, rising up to two and half feet above the head. "Mrs Sheraton," asked Becky in a trembling voice, "how long will this take?"

"Oh, I should say with your hair arrangement and face paint, it will only take about two hours, as it is a simple style, and we will only use a minimum of paint and patches." Becky sighed as best the stays would let, and tried to relax herself against the pressure of the stays.

Becky thought that Mrs. Sheraton would produce a wig, but none was in sight, and she was slightly confused when Mrs. Sheraton combed out her long hair, with about half of it going forward over her face and the rest down her back. Then she picked up a padded form about six inches high and fitted it to Becky's head, where it sat like a high hat. Mrs. Sheraton then pulled large strands of Becky's hair through holes all around the form, and pinned each strand tightly, so that Becky could feel the tightness all around her scalp. She then took a large handful of scented pomade and rubbed it into the fringe of hair hanging in front of Becky's face; when the hair was thickly coated and nearly a solid mass, she lifted the fringe up as one and laid all around the front and over the top of the form. She then pinned it lightly all over to the back of the form, and then picked up a wide tooth comb and started combing the heavily pomaded hair from Becky's forehead upwards for what seemed an age, slowly arranging the hair until it was a smooth mass from each side and the front. Every so often, Mrs. Sheraton would stop and pull some strands tighter and use several pins to hold it in place.

At last, Mrs. Sheraton stood back, satisfied with the front of the hairstyle. Putting the comb and pins down, she took another large handful of pomade and rubbed it into the hair still hanging down at the back; when she had finished, Becky could feel it lying in a solid mass down her back. Becky watched in the mirror as Mrs. Sheraton took a length of hair and rolled it into a horizontal curl, and, using three large pins, attached it to the top of the gap at the back of the hairstyle; she then filled in the rest of the gap with similar rolls of hair. When she had finished, she was still left with some tresses of hair hanging down at the back on either side. She split each tress in two and picked up a hot curling tong which had been warming in an oil burner and deftly wrapped the hair round, leaving it in coil. She left it until there was a slight smell of burning, and pulled the curling tong out to leave a large, tight corkscrew of hair hanging down to Becky's shoulders. This was repeated with another one on that side and two more on the other.

With a few more touches all around, and after nearly two hours work, Mrs. Sheraton pronounced herself satisfied.

"That is just a simple style for a morning dress; we will build up slowly to a proper full style later on. And now, Miss, a little more tightening of your stays before the paint."

CHAPTER THREE

Becky had not forgotten about the stays, but her body had adjusted to them slightly. Why her body should adjust to them she did not know, as no woman was of that shape; women's bodies were made up of curves from the breast, smoothly into the waist, and then out to the hips - they were not the shape of the stays, which forced her body into a rigid cone shape. Mrs. Sheraton helped her up and led her over to the handle. Becky grasped it with some reluctance and tensed herself, as Mrs Sheraton began to tighten the laces. Becky felt the pressure and increasing again and was forced to relax and let out some air as the stays increased their pressure against her stomach and chest. The lacing continued until Mrs. Sheraton was satisfied and tied off the laces and then used a pair of scissors. Becky held onto the handle with one hand and pressed the other into her waist to try and get some relief, but the rigid whalebone was immovable and she might as well of been pressing against a stone wall.

Mrs. Sheraton passed a piece of cord around Becky's waist and then measured it and said, "There, Miss, that was not to bad, you have already come down four inches - another few and you will be able to wear some of the nicer dresses."

"Another few inches," thought Becky. "I will never survive."

"And now for your face, Miss, we will keep it simple at first."

Mrs. Sheraton led her over to the dressing table again and helped her to sit down again;, the creaking was even greater this time, and Becky's poor waist was put under even more pressure. Mrs. Sheraton ignored her moans and began to apply the paint: First she plucked Becky's eyebrows completely bare, and then applied a base of thick white lead paint from her now high forehead down to her shoulders, she then drew on two thick high raised eyebrows well above Becky's natural position. The next stage was heavy areas of rouge on her cheeks, and then an application of rouge to her lips, which did not follow the natural line of Becky's lips but was higher and lower in the middle and narrow at the side, making Becky's mouth look smaller. Mrs. Sheraton finished by sticking on some small patches - one star-shaped high on Becky's cheek, and one moon-shaped on the other cheek down, towards her lips.

At the end of all this Becky was astonished. She did not recognise herself in the mirror; she thought that she looked totally false, nearer to a doll than a living woman.

While Becky was 'admiring' herself, Mrs. Sheraton had fetched her next item of apparel, which looked more like an basket than anything else. Becky stood (with relief) and the basket was upturned, split in the middle, and a belt was passed around her waist and fastened behind her. The upturned sides of the 'basket' stood out from her hips about a foot either side, but did not protrude forwards or backwards at all.

"Are you sure I have to wear these, things?" she enquired. "They will get in the way all the time, when I turn round, sit down, go through doors . At least let me wear a smaller pair."

"But My Lady these are the smallest pair of panniers we have, any smaller and it would not look right, and none of the dresses will fit without them."