At first nothing was said about the incident.  Servants came in and whisked away the broken peices, righted the chairs and brought back a sense of normalcy.  Carriages were called for, and the partygoers escaped to the comfort of their own homes.  Soon it was as if nothing had happened.

Abby burnt the gown she had been wearing as soon as she got back home.  She had a hot bath and tried to pretend that she hadn't been bouncing around the parlour like a drunken pirate in a boy's adventure story.  But she had.  And she had done it well. Very well.  Like she was meant to be doing it. She had even enjoyed herself.

"Tomorrow I'll see to getting a new dress.  I'll fill my head with parties and friends and outtings and forget this ever happened."

She did go out the next day, but was forced back into the safety of her own house.  Everywhere she went people whispered behind fans.

"There she is."

"Simply scandalous."

"How can she show her face."

"She just ruined the party."

Tears in her eyes, she ran to her mother for comfort.

But no comfort was there.

Her mother just looked down at her like she was a piece of dirt.

"To think that MY daughter could do such a dispicable thing."

"What did I do?" Abby wailed.

"As if you didn't know.  You got drunk and smashed the Miller's biggest soup turrene.  Then you took the family saber off the wall and cut up Margret Stewards new gown and then stained it with lamp oil."

"I didn't do that -- it was some sort of creature.."

"NOW you have the audacity to tell tales.  You are no longer my daughter." With that, her mother turned on her heel and departed from the room.

Her bags were packed and left by the front door.  Her father slipped her some money, but would not stand against the ultimatum.

"Where am I to go?"

The only answer she got from her mother was a dissmissive flick of her hand. No unfashionable daughter allowed here.