breaths, Lucy brooded silently. How, Bessie. How did you know the baby was sick? No messenger had come to the house. Poor Bessie, who could not make up a lie to save her life.
“You weren’t at your sister’s house,” Lucy whispered. “Where were you?”
5
Easter arrived, and as soon as they returned from the church on Sunday, the women began to prepare for the Embrys’ masquerade that evening. Lucy knew that the magistrate didn’t really approve of the Embrys holding such an extravagant affair on a holy day, but he didn’t wish to refuse his wife and daughter the delights of the ball, and of course no one wanted to be viewed as a Puritan these days. Even the servants would be allowed to share in a bit of the festivities, though naturally they wouldn’t be mixing with the Embrys’ guests. Only Lucas would not be attending the masquerade, having decided to help the reverend with the Easter evening service instead.
Lucy did not dare touch the shining silk brocades that Bessie had spent several hours ironing to perfection. Instead, she brushed shoes, smoothed petticoats, and found Sarah’s tiny silver combs. Finally, Mistress Hargrave, her hair curled and dress pressed, waved Lucy and Bessie away with a smile. “Go,” she said. “Make yourselves gorgeous.”
Once in their own room, Bessie helped Lucy pull on her only dress suitable for such an affair, a heather blue taffeta that Miss Sarah had given Bessie the year before. Slight watermarks had stained the sleeves and the skirt but no longer showed after Bessie’s expert alterations. Bessie’s dress was a soft mossy green taffeta that emphasized her well-formed figure.
Lucy twirled in her dress, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her body. Bessie had also loaned Lucy her second-best petticoat, a black one that was full enough to let the skirt flare out softly.
Bessie sniffed her underarms. “Yuck,” she scowled. With a bit of cloth, she lightly powdered each armpit with alum. “You want some?”
“No, thank you,” Lucy said. Better to have a little sweat under the arms than to have that unpleasant tingling all night.
“How about this?” Bessie uncorked a small bottle of scent, dabbing a few drops of the liquid behind her ears. She handed the vial to Lucy. “For your complexion, my lady,” she said, mimicking the gypsy’s wheedling tone. “Tonight, when you meet the man of your dreams, he will be unable to withstand your charms.”
Laughing, Lucy put a few drops behind her ears, careful not to spill on her beautiful dress. Why not? Indeed, Bessie’s own skin glowed, and she was flushed and lovely in the twilit room. To be sure, she looked like a princess, or at least like one of the king’s lady loves. For a moment, Lucy was filled with great admiration and love for this girl who had become like a sister.
“Oh!” Bessie recalled herself with a start, becoming a well-trained servant again. “I forgot! The vizard! The mistress wanted me to fix it. And I must still do my hair.” She pulled out one long blond curl forlornly. “Perhaps it is good that Will shall not see me so.”
The vizard was a harlequin mask that the women would use to court mystery and mischief at the ball. It would not do for the mistress to appear without hers, and several feathers still needed to be attached.
“Oh, I can take care of it,” Lucy reassured her. “I know where it is. You finish getting ready.”
Lucy ran lightly down the stairs, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of taffeta against her skin. It was not silk, of course, but it was a great improvement over the wools and heavy cottons to which she was accustomed.
Retrieving the vizard, Lucy rushed out of the mistress’s chamber, keeping her head down so as not to put her foot through her skirts. In her haste, she collided with Adam walking swiftly down the narrow corridor, smashing her nose on his book. The book and vizard flew in the air. Losing her balance, Lucy stumbled backward, hovering
“You weren’t at your sister’s house,” Lucy whispered. “Where were you?”
5
Easter arrived, and as soon as they returned from the church on Sunday, the women began to prepare for the Embrys’ masquerade that evening. Lucy knew that the magistrate didn’t really approve of the Embrys holding such an extravagant affair on a holy day, but he didn’t wish to refuse his wife and daughter the delights of the ball, and of course no one wanted to be viewed as a Puritan these days. Even the servants would be allowed to share in a bit of the festivities, though naturally they wouldn’t be mixing with the Embrys’ guests. Only Lucas would not be attending the masquerade, having decided to help the reverend with the Easter evening service instead.
Lucy did not dare touch the shining silk brocades that Bessie had spent several hours ironing to perfection. Instead, she brushed shoes, smoothed petticoats, and found Sarah’s tiny silver combs. Finally, Mistress Hargrave, her hair curled and dress pressed, waved Lucy and Bessie away with a smile. “Go,” she said. “Make yourselves gorgeous.”
Once in their own room, Bessie helped Lucy pull on her only dress suitable for such an affair, a heather blue taffeta that Miss Sarah had given Bessie the year before. Slight watermarks had stained the sleeves and the skirt but no longer showed after Bessie’s expert alterations. Bessie’s dress was a soft mossy green taffeta that emphasized her well-formed figure.
Lucy twirled in her dress, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her body. Bessie had also loaned Lucy her second-best petticoat, a black one that was full enough to let the skirt flare out softly.
Bessie sniffed her underarms. “Yuck,” she scowled. With a bit of cloth, she lightly powdered each armpit with alum. “You want some?”
“No, thank you,” Lucy said. Better to have a little sweat under the arms than to have that unpleasant tingling all night.
“How about this?” Bessie uncorked a small bottle of scent, dabbing a few drops of the liquid behind her ears. She handed the vial to Lucy. “For your complexion, my lady,” she said, mimicking the gypsy’s wheedling tone. “Tonight, when you meet the man of your dreams, he will be unable to withstand your charms.”
Laughing, Lucy put a few drops behind her ears, careful not to spill on her beautiful dress. Why not? Indeed, Bessie’s own skin glowed, and she was flushed and lovely in the twilit room. To be sure, she looked like a princess, or at least like one of the king’s lady loves. For a moment, Lucy was filled with great admiration and love for this girl who had become like a sister.
“Oh!” Bessie recalled herself with a start, becoming a well-trained servant again. “I forgot! The vizard! The mistress wanted me to fix it. And I must still do my hair.” She pulled out one long blond curl forlornly. “Perhaps it is good that Will shall not see me so.”
The vizard was a harlequin mask that the women would use to court mystery and mischief at the ball. It would not do for the mistress to appear without hers, and several feathers still needed to be attached.
“Oh, I can take care of it,” Lucy reassured her. “I know where it is. You finish getting ready.”
Lucy ran lightly down the stairs, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of taffeta against her skin. It was not silk, of course, but it was a great improvement over the wools and heavy cottons to which she was accustomed.
Retrieving the vizard, Lucy rushed out of the mistress’s chamber, keeping her head down so as not to put her foot through her skirts. In her haste, she collided with Adam walking swiftly down the narrow corridor, smashing her nose on his book. The book and vizard flew in the air. Losing her balance, Lucy stumbled backward, hovering
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