An enlightening and spine-tingling tale that explores mother-daughter relationships, sexuality, class, rampant Victorian colonialism and bodily freedoms. There are some facts about the world that only your mother can teach you. So into the attic she had gone, climbing the stairs towards her promised freedom, and she would stay there until she had learned the lessons that would prepare her for the real world, the lessons that only a mother could teach. Marguerite Perigord had been confined for the sake of her wellbeing. That’s what her mother had said. Marguerite has been locked in the attic of her family home, a disintegrating Chelsea house overlooking the stench of the Thames. For company she has a sewing machine, a copy of Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management and trays of congealing food carried up to her with little regularity. Marguerite has been confined by her mother Cecile, who is concerned about her engagement to an older, near-penniless solicitor Mr Lewis, and wishes to educate her daughter on ‘proper’ married conduct, lest she drag the family’s good name into disrepute. But why is Marguerite pursuing the aged Mr Lewis in the first place? Why are her mother’s visits seemingly becoming less frequent? And just how much time has passed since the lock closed on the attic’s hatch?
