The Education of Bet

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  He yanked me through the door.

  ***

  "A pint of bitter for me, and a pint of ale for my friend here," Will ordered.

  "I have never had a drink in my life," I said to him through gritted teeth as the publican moved to fill his order.

  "No time like the present, then," Will said cheerfully, locating a small table for us. The table had a wobbly leg. Of course. "And you'll like the ale. It's easier than anything else to get used to. Much smoother. Why, you should be grateful I did not order you a whiskey first thing."

  Will reached into his jacket and took out a small pouch from which he extracted a square of thin white paper and some flaky brown stuff. Then he put the brown stuff inside the paper and rolled it up.

  "Smoke?" he offered.

  "No, thank you," I said, waving the smoke away as he lit up. Not that my waving had any effect. The whole room was so filled with the stuff, it was like being in London on its foggiest day.

  "Drink up," Will instructed when our drinks were delivered, taking a healthy draft from his own pint.

  I was tempted to say "No, thank you" imperiously again, but then, thinking of what Will had said, that I would need to learn some of these things in order to fit in at school, I took a tentative sip.

  "Huh," I said. "That's not bad." I had some more. "It's a lot drier than lemonade." I had some more. "In fact, since it's not sweet like lemonade, I can see where this could be very thirst-quenching on a hot day." I had—

  "Slow down a bit." Will grabbed my wrist lightly. "You didn't really have any dinner. There's no need to drink the whole barrel your first night."

  I hiccupped.

  "Well, what do we have here?" I heard a female voice, a little rough sounding, say.

  "Looks to me like two handsome young men out for a bit o' fun," a second female voice said, sounding even rougher than the first.

  I looked up to see that two women had suddenly appeared to the right of our table. They looked to be not many years older than myself, but they wore paint on their faces; their lips somehow looked tired beneath the bright slashes of red. The low-cut bodices of their dresses were so tight, fleshy white breasts nearly spilled out from their tops. The one standing closer to Will was on the thin side, while the one beside me looked like she ate often.

  "Buy a pair of pretty ladies drinks?" the one near Will said.

  "Of course," he said with a smile. "Just go up and order whatever you want. My treat."

  "What are you doing?" I demanded in a low voice as the women went off to the bar. "I thought you said that we, that I, would need as much money as possible for school."

  Will shrugged and raised his glass. "A young man is always happy to buy a pretty lady a drink."

  "But neither one of them is—"

  "Here we are!" the thin one said. Then, without asking, she took a seat right in Will's lap. Before I knew what was happening, the heavier one was in mine.

  "Such handsome young men," Will's new friend said, stroking his hair.

  "They could be twins," mine added.

  I was shocked that Will allowed himself to be stroked thus, shocked even more at my reaction at witnessing it. I wondered at my feelings, thought they might be jealousy. But then, through the fog of ale, I saw my feelings for what they were: I regarded Will as a sort of sibling, and seeing him like this now, I thought he was better than her. Or if not better than her, then better than this.

  "Twins could be fun," Will's said.

  "We've never had twins before," mine said. "What are your names?"

  "I'm Will," Will said. "And, er, he's Will too."

  "Oh," Will's said, looking mildly disappointed, "you're not twins, then." She shrugged, brightened. "Do you have a bit o' the ready?"

  "What are they talking about?" I asked Will, not even bothering to modulate my tone now, as though the women weren't even there, as though no one could hear us and we existed in a universe of two.

  "They are trying to ascertain," Will said, speaking clearly, "whether or not we have sufficient funds to obtain their services for the evening. You know, so we could bed them."

  I was shocked. Will sounded so sure of himself. Had he bedded a woman before? And under similar circumstances? Then it hit me. Was this the sort of thing I would be expected to have knowledge of at school? And here I'd been amazed by cows!

  "Haven't you ever been with a woman before, lad?" mine asked me. Not waiting for an answer, she thrust her hand between my legs and gave a hard squeeze. It was only later on that I realized that what she'd felt was the soft wadded-up ball of stocking I'd shoved down there. "No," she said, looking puzzled as her hand groped further, "I guess not."

  "What are you doing?" I cried, abruptly rising from my seat and causing the woman to be dumped on the floor.

  Will laughed uproariously at the sight.

  "I'm sorry," he said to the women between gasping laughs, "I'm afraid we won't be needing your services this evening." Then he reached into his pocket and held out some coins to them with a good-natured shrug.

  The one who'd been dumped on the floor looked angry at first, but then her friend started to laugh and finally she did too.

  "At least we made some money," Will's said, helping her friend up, "and we didn't even have to do anything for it."

  "What was that all about?" I asked Will once they were gone. "And what was that one woman expecting to find when she ... grabbed me like that? I thought the stocking would be enough to fool anybody."

  "Oh, Bet." Will shook his head at me, smiling a smile that was equal parts happy and sad. "I am worried about you."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because you really have no idea what you're getting yourself into, no idea how dangerous this game of yours might turn out to be."

  "Dangerous?"

  "I'm with you tonight, but after tomorrow morning I won't be. Anything could happen, and no one back home would even know where you were. Why, if the boys at school ever realize you're a girl, they'll eat you alive."

  His words scared me. I can't say they didn't. But I'd already come so far.

  "I'll take my chances," I said, then added, "Now order us another round."

  ***

  A few hours later we stumbled our way back to the inn, arms flung around each other's shoulders. (The next day, as I continued my carriage ride alone, I would dimly recall that Will had taught me a song on the walk back, some strange song about a sailor.)

  We further stumbled our way up the narrow flight of stairs and into our shared room, then collapsed onto our respective beds, still wearing our clothes. "You know, Bet," Will said drunkenly from his makeshift bed on the hard floor, "I've always regarded you as the sister I never had."

  I was so stunned by this admission that it took me a long time to respond. I was unused to having someone express open affection for me in such a manner, and I wanted to return the favor, but it was awkward.

  At last, I whispered, "I feel the same, Will. That is to say, I think of you as a brother, not a sister."

  But by then it was too late, and my words were answered only with loud snores.

  Chapter five

  "Well, I am off to join the military," Will said brightly.

  I squinched one eye open just wide enough to see him heft his bag. I'd been required to bring a large trunk to hold all the things I'd need at school, while Will had brought only a bag, since he said he wouldn't need very much where he was going. Even the single lamp he had lit gave off too much illumination, causing me to shut the eye again as quickly as I could. Thank God it was still too early for the morning sun.

  "I am going to join the military," Will said again, more brightly yet.

  "Yes, I heard you the first time," I murmured. "Before you go, do you think you might tell those people on the roof to stop pounding their hammers?"

  "Poor Bet." Will laughed softly. Then I felt a feather kiss on my brow. "Good luck to you, sister."

  "And you too, brother."

  Then I rolle
d over and promptly fell back to sleep.

  Later on I would count it a kindness that I had been too tired and too debilitated from the merrymaking of the night before to take proper note of Will's departure. Had I been fully aware of the reality—that we were parting now, and that I was to make the rest of my way alone—I might have begged him not to go.

  Or at the very least, I might have begged him to take me with him.

  ***

  September 5, 18—

  Dear Uncle,

  Well, here I am at the Betterman Academy for Michaelmas half, and what a first three months this is going to be!

  Although some may regard the Betterman Academy as "last ditch," I say it is grand! Did you know that Henry V commissioned it in 1414 as a charity school for poor boys? At the time, there weren't even seventy students here. I'll bet that old Henry never guessed that over four hundred years later, that number would swell to five hundred, with enough buildings to accommodate them! Of course, the students now are not poor.

  And the buildings! All those spires! I'll bet old Henry didn't have so many spires himself at Windsor Castle! The chapel is an imposing structure, with all that stone and all those stained-glass windows and—you guessed it!—all those spires. The grounds are spectacular, and even the food here, which is served in Marchand Hall, is better than at any of the other fine educational institutions you sent me previously. Why, by the time I come home for Christmas, I think you will find me quite fat!

  The master of the house where I am lodging, Proctor Hall, is named Mr. Winter. He is a kindly gentleman whom all the boys love. On my very first day here, he showed me around, arranged for my uniform—black tailcoat, waistcoat, false collar, white tie, and gray pinstriped trousers; only special students like school prefects and king's scholars are permitted to deviate from the uniform, wearing more colorful waistcoats—and introduced me to all.

  I know you said that the students here would be—what was that phrase you used? Ah, yes. You said this was "a place for misfits, miscreants, and ne'er-do-wells." Well, I can personally assure you that that is not the case. Everyone I have met so far has been on best behavior, and I cannot imagine they are merely putting on a show for "the New Boy." Indeed, a finer group of young gentlemen I never expect to meet in life.

  I have made several friends so far, including Hamish MacPherson, who is one of the school prefects and a real leader among the boys; Johnny Mercy, apparently Hamish's best friend and just as good as his name implies; Christopher "Little" Warren, who is called so because of his diminutive size and who is quite jolly about being nicknamed thus; and, of course, my roommate, James Tyler, who does not talk nearly so much as the others, remaining something of an enigma, but whom I think I shall grow to like.

  Naturally, as much as I enjoy the company of the other boys here, I will not allow mere socializing to interfere with my studies. The Betterman Academy would appear to offer the finest educational opportunities, and I plan to pursue a course of...

  I was sure—and I really was sure, since I had read all Will's letters to his great-uncle—that Will had never written such an exclamatory letter in his life. Still, I wanted the old man to have some joy, to believe that this time things would be different, better. Nonetheless, even I could stomach the telling of only so many lies. For what in my entire letter had been the truth? The architectural descriptions, surely, but little else. I therefore finished with a loving signature and sealed up the letter after also including a second letter from Bet, having contrived a postscript explaining that Bet was including her letters to Uncle whenever she wrote to Will so that Will could forward them for her and Bet could save on postage. And I had come up with that contrivance so I would not have to create a false address from which to send Bet's letters.

  Oh, my head was starting to spin! What a tangled web I was weaving now that I practiced to deceiving!

  ***

  God, it was noisy in this place! How loud the world had grown, and how many people were in it!

  Mr. Winter, the master of Proctor Hall, was a short man, round as a Christmas goose, with little hair, only a horseshoe of black rimming his otherwise bald pate. He was also, apparently, a deaf man, for he did not seem to notice the overabundance of noise that thundered the walls as he led me up the stairs to my room.

  As we turned onto the landing, with me barely able to drag the heavy trunk up the stairs behind me, I caught my first sight of three of my floor mates. One was a tall hulk of a boy with yellow hair and disturbingly pale blue eyes. He had on a purple and red waistcoat, a sign that he was somehow different from the rest of us. Another one of the boys was also tall, but he had the build of a twisted string bean, and his brown hair and squinty brown eyes gave him the appearance of a rodent. As for the third boy, who had a shock of curly red hair badly in need of cutting, it was difficult to gauge his height since he was curled up in the large arms of the first boy.

  "Ooh, New Boy," the hulking one said upon seeing me. I couldn't be entirely positive, but I was fairly certain that that was a sneer I saw stretching out his lips. Then, as though my arrival were of no immediate importance, he turned his attention back to the string bean. "Here, catch," he said.

  Before I knew what was happening, the hulking one tossed the boy he was holding, and the string bean stretched out his arms, just barely grasping and holding on to the flying object.

  Mr. Winter began to lead us past as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening.

  "Your turn," the string bean said, and suddenly the third boy was flying through the air again, only this time he was screaming.

  I couldn't believe what I was seeing: they were playing catch with a human being!

  "Um, shouldn't someone do something about that?" I suggested to Mr. Winter, casting furtive glances over my shoulder as the master plodded down the hall.

  "Whatever for?" he said. "It's just high spirits."

  "Yes, but someone could get"—I heard a loud thump behind me, the third boy crashing to the floor—"hurt."

  "Pish-tosh. Boys will, after all, be boys." He stopped in front of a closed door. "Here we are."

  Mr. Winter turned the knob without knocking first.

  Later on, I would more fully register the appearance of the room that was to be my home for however long I could get away with my plan: the lone narrow window that let in little light even at high noon; the fireplace with no logs in it; the hardwood floors with no carpet to warm one's feet on cold mornings; the walls that perhaps had once been cream but were now stained to more of a grayish brown in spots; the two wooden desks and chairs, more utilitarian than decorative, as were the two wardrobes; the two narrow beds, shoved up against opposite walls.

  I would take in all of the meagerness of my new lodgings later, because in that moment I was too busy taking in the first sight of the person I would be sharing it with.

  "Gardener, meet James Tyler," Mr. Winter said, introducing us, although I must confess, I barely registered the words.

  I'd read about beauty in books. I'd even seen some of it in the world. But I'd never before seen so much of it gathered up into a single human being.

  James Tyler was a good six inches taller than me; lean without being skinny; with hair that looked like a successful alchemist had fashioned it, adding just a hint of platinum to all that gold; and eyes the color of the ever-changing sea.

  "Pleased to meet you," he said, holding out a hand with fingers so long and strong, I thought he must be able to play piano concertos.

  I know I must have stammered out something, but later on I could not for the life of me remember what that something had been. I do know it was a long moment before I had the presence of mind to thrust out my own hand and feel the warmth of his fingers as he grasped it.

  "You should be safe enough, at least while you are in here," Mr. Winter said, clapping his hand on my shoulder briefly, preparatory to his departure. "Tyler is one of our more, er, human students." He left the room.

  "Shall I show you
around?" my new roommate offered.

  "I wish you would," I said, only belatedly remembering that it was high time I let go of his hand. I prepared to follow him wherever he might lead, anywhere.

  "Wouldn't you like to stow your things first?"

  "Hmm?" I was still dwelling on the warmth of those fingers touching mine.

  "Your things." He indicated the trunk behind me.

  "Oh!" I said, surprised to see the handle still in my hand; I looked at the trunk as though it were a persistent stranger who had followed me in.

  "I've already put mine in the wardrobe on the right," he said helpfully.

  Glancing over, I saw that he'd left the wardrobe slightly ajar, and I observed all manner of masculine clothing peeking out. That casualness certainly wouldn't do for me, not when in addition to the suits and other articles I'd packed there was also a dress and wig.

  Opening the wardrobe on the left, I inquired, casually, I hoped, "Are there, um, keys for these wardrobes?"

  "Should be one on the top," James said, reaching over my head and, sure enough, producing a dusty key.

  "Thank you." I deposited the trunk hastily in the bottom of the wardrobe, turned the key in the outer lock, twisted the handle to make sure the door was secure, and pocketed the key.

  "You don't need to do that around here," James said, giving me an odd look. "No one will steal your suits."

  "Well"—I forced a cheery smile—"with boys being boys, one never knows, does one?" Before he could say anything else, I added, "I'm ready for that tour now!"

  ***

  I may have been overwhelmed by the beauty of James Tyler initially, but I got over it just as quickly when we exited our room and I caught sight of the same three boys I'd seen earlier. Funny how quickly violence can make one forget all about beauty.

  James hurried us toward the game of human catch, seemingly as oblivious to what was happening as Mr. Winter had been.