by Bess McBride
Moments later, scrubbed and feeling a little bit better, Mattie pulled the door open a crack and peeped out. Jane was straightening the covers on the bed.
“Jane,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure why she instinctively kept her voice down. William seemed to have excellent hearing, and she wondered how much he could hear from just outside the doorway—if he were there.
“Yes, miss,” Jane said as she turned and approached the door.
“Could you hand me the clean drawers? I think I’ll slip those on while I’m in here. Oh, and the chemise as well,” Mattie added with a self-conscious smile.
“Yes, miss,” Jane said without expression as she handed the garments to Mattie through the crack in the door.
“I’ll be right out,” Mattie mumbled. She closed the door and pulled the towel from around her as she bent to step into the drawers. She slipped them on over her own underwear and tied them in back, wondering why on earth women bothered with the silly things if there was no protection from drafts. She promised herself that if she made it back to her own time, she would do as much research on the era as possible. There was only so much she could share with William about the difficulties she was encountering in the Georgian era, and having to wear drawers so she could hide her modern-day underwear from the maid wasn’t one of them.
She slipped the soft cotton chemise on over her head and grabbed up the habit and dirty clothes before stepping back into the bedroom.
Jane, now dusting furniture with a rag she must have had stowed in the pockets of her voluminous gray skirt, turned and hurried up to take the clothing from her.
“We must hurry, miss. We still need your stays, stockings, garters, shoes, and I need to do your hair,” Jane said as she laid the worn garments over the arm of a chair.
Mattie sighed.
“No stays for me, Jane.” She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “I broke a rib recently and find it too painful to wear them.” Mattie beamed with pride as her imagination seemed to soar to new heights.
Jane’s face registered surprise, then sympathy.
“Oh, miss, however did you break a rib?” Jane cried. Then her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side. “How do you know it’s broken?” She began to tie Mattie’s chemise, which barely covered anything as far as Mattie was concerned. Mattie submitted to the intimacy and raised her eyes to the ceiling—the better to think of a quick answer for the intelligent maid.
“Ummm… I fell last winter on some ice,” Mattie said. “And the doctor said I broke a rib.”
“Raise your arms, miss. The petticoat,” Jane murmured, and Mattie obeyed as the taller Jane effortlessly slipped a shift-like, sleeveless cotton garment over her head that settled to her ankles in a froth of delicate lace. Jane stepped around to Mattie’s back and began to fasten the petticoat. Mattie was beginning to relax when Jane spoke again.
“Well, now, miss, I think it is very interesting that a doctor knows when a rib has been broken. How could he know?” Jane asked persistently.
“Ummm… I think he just felt around and decided it was broken,” Mattie said ineffectually. If she couldn’t even fool a young maid, what chance was she going to have in a public setting with well-educated and traveled people?
“I was just asking, miss, because my father was a doctor.” Jane smiled diffidently as she reached for the rose-colored silk dress. “I assisted him on occasion.”
“Really?” Mattie asked. “But why—” She bit her tongue as she nearly blurted out a rude question, but it was too late.
“Arms, miss.”
Mattie obediently raised her arms as Jane slipped the dress over her head. It slid down over Mattie’s body in a swath of sleek material.
“You wondered why I am in service, miss? My father died, and I was forced to seek employment.” Jane’s face remained composed in a neutral expression, but two bright spots on her cheeks gave her away.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jane,” Mattie said as she grasped Jane’s hands.
Jane smiled slightly and pulled her hands away.
“It was a year ago, miss. Time passes.”
“How did you come to work here?” Mattie asked over her shoulder as Jane moved around to button the back of the gown.
“Our housekeeper knew of a position open here.”
Mattie thought hard. “But…” She stopped, reminding herself to tread lightly. This was not some fiction novel. “I mean, did you ever want to be a governess or a lady’s companion?” Surely, the daughter of a doctor had been educated, Mattie thought.
“No, miss.” Jane’s voice came from behind Mattie. “I wanted to be a nurse.”
“Can you?” Mattie asked.
“If I went to nurse’s school,” Jane responded in a matter-of-fact tone. She came around to the front.
“We must see to your hair, miss.” She led the way to the small dressing table, where an oil lamp burned bright. Mattie sat down on the small bench in front of the table, keeping her eyes on Jane in the mirror.
“And do you plan to go to nurse’s school?” Mattie pressed as Jane picked up a silver-backed hairbrush and began to brush her hair.
“No, miss. I do not want to leave Ashton House.”
Mattie blinked. “Why ever not?”
Jane stilled for a moment, and met Mattie’s eyes in the mirror. Delicate color spread across her cheeks.
“Well, miss, there is a boy…” She sighed. “I have known him all my life, and some day, we wish to be married. He is a footman now, but…”
“John!” Mattie exclaimed, as she recalled the handsome young man who had opened the door to Thomas earlier in the day.
“Yes, miss, John,” Jane said with a bright smile that lightened up her face.
“He’s very handsome, Jane.”
“Yes, miss,” she replied evenly. “And now, I must attend to your hair.” Jane flashed Mattie one last smile before she sobered and began to dress Mattie’s hair.
Mattie tore her eyes from the maid and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“This neckline is very, very low, Jane. Can I wear one of those fichu things with this dress?”
Jane’s lips twitched, but she remained solemn. “No, miss, not for evening, not unless you are a dowager.”
Mattie sighed and tugged at the neckline of her dress to pull it up.
“But,” Jane said with emphasis, “you may pretend to be chilled and wear a shawl.”
Mattie brightened.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, miss. I am sure Miss Sinclair has something she could lend you.”
“That would be great!” Mattie breathed. Jane worked wonders on Mattie’s hair in a matter of minutes, pulling and twisting it into a chignon with loose curls cascading around her face and down to her shoulders.
“There, miss. Now, it wants only a headdress. Perhaps some feathers?”
Mattie scrunched her face and shook her head.
“No feathers! Oh, no, not for me,” she said emphatically. “I don’t have to wear anything in my hair, do I?” She gave Jane a pleading look over her shoulder.
Jane allowed herself a small, patient heave of her chest, which could be construed as a sigh, and to Mattie’s dismay, she nodded in the affirmative.
“Yes, miss, you do. But I think we might make do with some ribbons. I will just run to Miss Sinclair’s room and ask her maid for a shawl and some ribbons…and some slippers.” Jane’s idea of “running” was to bob a curtsey and walk with purpose to the door, slipping through it and closing it quietly behind her.
Mattie set her elbows on the dressing table and stared at herself, wishing she at least had some lipstick—never mind mascara, eye shadow and foundation—to help brighten her face. Her pale features hardly did justice to the dazzling rose of the dress. She rose restlessly.
A knock on the door startled her, and thinking it was Jane, she rose to open the door.
William stood on the other side, resplendent in formal dress, and look
ing much more masculine than she would have thought in the golden satin knee-length breeches, stockings and black-ribboned shoes of the time. His dark blue velvet coat was cut to perfection, emphasizing his impressive broad shoulders and narrow waist.
He stared at her with his mouth half open—not something she was used to seeing from the confident man.
“I’m not ready yet,” she said hurriedly, throwing a look down the hall toward Sylvie’s room. She straightened and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t have any shoes on…or a shawl.”
William seemed to recover himself, though the color in his cheekbones was high. He looked down at her feet.
“Will you be wearing shoes this evening, Miss Crockwell? Not having had the good fortune to meet many Americans—and certainly none from the twenty-first century—I am unclear as to whether shoes are considered a necessary article of clothing.”
Mattie narrowed her eyes and stared at him as his eyes traveled back up to her face, pausing momentarily on her tightly crossed arms.
“Are you finished?” She tapped one bare foot.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Checking me out? Are you done?”
William’s face flamed.
“I have no earthly idea what that means, Miss Crockwell, but it seems to have offended you.” He dipped his head. “And for that, I apologize.” He raised his eyes to her face again, and Mattie saw not one hint of remorse in his sparkling dark brown eyes. Nor did it appear as if he failed to understand her meaning.
Under her crossed arms, she managed to tug at the top of her bodice once again, and William’s eyes dropped to the movement. His lips twitched.
“Perhaps I might fetch you a shawl?”
Mattie blushed. How had he managed to see such a slight movement, she wondered?
“Jane has gone to get me one, and here she is,” Mattie announced with relief as Jane came out of Sylvie’s room, followed by a fully dressed Sylvie, stunning in a white satin gown that draped about her body in the manner of a statue of a Grecian goddess.
Jane dropped a curtsey in William’s direction and stepped past Mattie to enter the room.
William pulled his watch from his vest and consulted it.
“Oh, do not be so stuffy, William,” Sylvie said as she sailed past him to enter Mattie’s room. “Jane assures me that Mattie will be ready within minutes.” She surveyed Mattie with a smile of pride. “She looks breathtaking, does she not, William?”
“And very comfortable, I might add,” William said with a solemn face which barely concealed his amusement. Sylvie followed his eyes to Mattie’s bare toes and laughed.
“Well, William, if you will give us just a few more minutes, Mattie can don her slippers, and we will be ready to take your arm. Mother has gone downstairs to speak with Mr. Smythe to ensure that all is ready.”
William bowed formally.
“I await your pleasure,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, which Mattie didn’t miss as Sylvie closed the door.
Jane pulled her hastily into one of the chairs and slipped the little satin shoes over her feet. She handed Mattie a paisley shawl in hues of gold and rose.
“You look wonderful, Mattie, as if you were born to this era,” Sylvie sighed. “That dress is exquisite on you and suits you much more than it would have me.”
Jane silently gave Mattie’s hand a tug and pulled her to her feet, guiding her to the small bench in front of the dressing table again. She began to weave bright satin ribbons the color of the dress throughout Mattie’s hair while Mattie clutched her shawl.
“Would have?” Mattie asked. “Are you saying you haven’t worn this dress before?”
Sylvie was twirling about in the middle of the room as she waited for Mattie. She paused.
“No, I have many dresses I have not yet worn. I had my first season in London last winter, and Mother bought me more dresses than I could ever hope to wear.”
She approached the bench and stood next to Jane, watching her dress Mattie’s hair.
“Mother would be most pleased if she could see me married alongside William.” She smiled. “You would think she must be planning to pack her bags and sail off to France or some such thing once she has seen her children settled.”
Mattie laughed.
“How funny! That is exactly what our senior citizens do.” She saw Sylvie’s eyes widen. “Not that I’m saying your mother is a senior citizen—far from it—but once children leave the home, people in my time often move to warmer climates…especially Florida.”
Sylvie chuckled. “Florida. I think this must be part of the Spanish colonies.” She nodded. “My mother would dearly appreciate a small cottage somewhere on the Spanish Mediterranean. My parents traveled extensively when my father lived.”
Mattie nodded, wondering exactly what Florida’s status was in 1825. How she longed for a good internet service with a decent search engine.
“There, miss,” Jane said as she gave Mattie’s hair one final pat. Mattie stared at the elegant hairdo and sighed, wishing she had a camera. Her hair looked gorgeous, even if she did say so herself. Parted in the middle, Jane had managed to make little ringlets out of what was normally nothing more than a natural wave. Glimpses of satin rose peeped out from the curls as the ribbon wound its way around her head and through the chignon.
“Thank you, Jane, it looks beautiful.” Mattie rose, clutching her shawl to her chest.
“You have outdone yourself, Jane.” Sylvie beamed. Jane bobbed one of her ubiquitous curtseys and moved across the room to pick up the discarded clothing from the chair.
“Mattie, you cannot clasp your shawl so.” Sylvie gave a short laugh. “Let me show you how it is draped thus.” Sylvie demonstrated how she carried her own lovely periwinkle blue silk shawl lightly about her elbows as an accessory.
“Yes, but Sylvie, I’m not wearing this shawl because it’s pretty.” Mattie saw Jane’s shoulders shake ever so slightly out of the corner of her eye as she bent over the clothing. So Jane could laugh.
“I’m wearing it to cover us this…cleavage,” Mattie said brazenly, watching Jane’s shoulders shake as if she were about to erupt into hysterics.
Sylvie laughed outright.
“Oh, Mattie, you say the most droll things. Cleavage indeed,” she repeated as she draped the shawl above Mattie’s elbows. “If you must refer to that area of your figure, we call it a décolletage.”
Jane coughed and turned to face them, sporting a bright red face and suspiciously shiny eyes. She held the discarded clothing.
“If that will be all, miss, I will just take these downstairs to have them cleaned.” She curtsied and fled the room, though with Jane, that meant walked swiftly. As she pulled the door open, William could be seen leaning on the banister of the staircase overlooking the floor below. He turned as Jane exited the room and came toward the open door.
“Come, Mattie, we have kept my brother waiting long enough,” Sylvie said as she took Mattie’s free hand and pulled her toward the door. Mattie’s other hand was taken up with holding one end of her shawl over her chest in what she hoped looked like a natural posture. She wasn’t surprised at the next comment.
“Mattie, release the shawl,” Sylvie whispered as they moved toward William.
Mattie thought the handsome William might see her heart pounding against the skin of her “décolletage,” just about where her collar line ended. Oh, for some double-sided sticky tape—the favorite accessory for Hollywood award show ensembles.
“Miss Crockwell must do as she wishes,” William said in an even voice, though Mattie could swear one corner of his mouth turned up for an instant. “No doubt, she will let loose of her shawl when she finds it difficult to dance or dine with both hands so occupied.”
“William!” Sylvie scolded as she smacked her brother with her fan in a most unladylike gesture that Mattie envied. “Do not speak to Miss Crockwell so. Apologize,” she demanded.
William inclined his head regally.<
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“Please forgive me, Miss Crockwell, yet once again. You must think me quite boorish,” he murmured as he extended his arms.
Sylvie took his right arm and Mattie slipped her hand into the crook of his left arm, requiring her to switch hands as she struggled to keep the shawl “casually” across her chest.
They descended the carpeted stairs to the hallway below, where an elderly man in a dark cutaway jacket and black breeches above white stockings and black boots bowed to them. Lined up behind him were several footmen, John among them.
“Mr. Smythe. Where is our mother?” Sylvie asked as they reached the bottom floor.
“She is in the kitchen and should return directly,” Mr. Smythe answered as he consulted his watch. “I hear the sound of a carriage arriving. It is time.”
Mattie’s stomach rolled over. Why, oh, why couldn’t she just wait up in her room until everyone had arrived and then slip unnoticed into the throng of people? As it was, the first few guests would wonder who the strange woman was, especially if she didn’t manage to pull her arm out from William’s elbow. However, her hand seemed to be locked against the side of his ribs, and he didn’t appear to have any intention of loosening his grasp. She knew, because she’d already nonchalantly tried to pull away once or twice.
She found herself being guided toward a set of large, gold-toned ornate double doors leading off from the foyer. John sprang forward to push open the doors, and William paused just outside. Sylvie released his arm and took up a position on his right, and Mattie had no choice but to stand next to him.
“William!” she whispered. “Is this a…a receiving line? Don’t make me stand in a receiving line, for goodness’ sake! Everyone is going to wonder who I am!” She tried pulling her hand from his arm again, but he placed his free hand over her cold one. His hand was warm, and she almost felt reassured by his touch…almost.
“Have courage, Miss Crockwell.” He kept his voice low as he bent his head to hers. “It is customary for visiting family members to receive our guests along with the family. And we are planning on introducing you as a distant cousin from America, are we not?”
