All Out--The No-Longer-Secret Stories of Queer Teens throughout the Ages

by Saundra Mitchell

  “The princess has asked—” The other servants had ceased to watch them, but Mary lowered her voice all the same. There was shame in the admission. “She has requested that you instruct me in the proper way to dress her hair for the ball this evening.”

  “Requested?” Susanna narrowed her eyes, as though this might be a trick Mary was pulling. But something in Mary’s face must have convinced the maid of her sincerity, for after a moment, Susanna nodded. “Did Barnaby show you the way here?”

  “He did.” Mary was surprised to notice that Barnaby still leaned against the door.

  “Lingering in the corridor by Lord Hervey’s chamber again, were you?” Susanna’s tone was scolding, but from the tilt to her head Mary could see that Susanna and Barnaby got on well.

  “Aye, mistress.” Barnaby inclined his head in return. “I thought he might require assistance dressing this morning.”

  “No need for that,” one of the maids, a pretty girl with dark hair, called out. “His Lordship already gets all the help he might need with his garments from Lord Fox.”

  “And more besides,” one of the other footmen replied. “Though if our Barnaby had his way, I’m sure he’d provide his particular assistance to the both of them when there were no garments anywhere in sight.”

  The room erupted into laughter as Barnaby good-naturedly swatted the other footman across the ear.

  “Oh, don’t listen to any of them.” Susanna and Barnaby shared a smile before the maid turned back to Mary. “Right, then. We shall do as Her Royal Highness bids. Have you found your way to your own breakfast yet?”

  Mary shook her head, chastened at how little she understood the workings of this odd place, where there were multitudes of servant dining rooms, and lords helped other lords with their underclothes.

  “Fetch the new girl some porridge, would you, Lydia?” Susanna called to the dark-haired maid. “She’ll need to eat quickly if we’re to see to the princess’s request before she returns to dress for dinner.”

  Frowning, the other girl spooned a small quantity of porridge into an empty bowl and thrust it across the table. Mary curtsyed in thanks and took it from her hand.

  “Have you not had the care of a lady’s hair before, then?” Susanna asked as she led Mary up the dark stairs. Susanna carried no candle, and seemed not to need one. Mary focused on shoveling porridge into her mouth and following Susanna without tripping over her skirts, a daunting task indeed.

  “No, no, I have. I cared for my last mistress’s hair, as well as her clothing, and her chamber, too. But I’m afraid I’m not yet versed in the ways of young ladies’ hair for court.”

  “Her Royal Highness is very particular about her toilette. All the ladies are, but the princesses most of all.”

  They reached Princess Amelia’s chamber in only moments with Susanna leading the way. Mary finished her porridge and set aside the bowl just as Susanna cracked open the door, and then, on seeing the room empty, pushed it open.

  “We haven’t time much for lessons.” Susanna laid the curling irons carefully in the fire, thrust open the windows to air out the chamber and gathered up bellows, brushes and glasses into her arms. “I need to change the linen and you need to arrange the princess’s dinner dress before she’s returned from her lessons. Quick, into the dressing room.”

  Mary reached out to help Susanna carry the hair things, but the chambermaid cast a scalding glance her way and she withdrew her hand. She followed Susanna into the smaller room just off the princess’s chamber, where Her Royal Highness’s wardrobe was stored, from her finest mantuas and hoods to her simplest shifts and patches. That morning, when Mary had first seen the dressing room by the light of day, she had feared to do her mending surrounded by such splendor.

  “A shame we don’t have a girl to practice on,” Susanna mused as she carefully set out the combs and pins on a dressing room shelf. “But no one would be able to spare the hour. Right, then. To start, I shall do up your hair the way the princess likes it, so that you may see it in the glass, and then I suppose you’ll have to do up mine. Sit.”

  Susanna stood behind Mary and reached up to grasp her by the shoulders. Mary collapsed underneath her, startled at the other girl’s strength, and knelt on the floor, careful to spread her skirts about her. She had brought only one other dress with her to court, and it was not nearly so fine as this one.

  Susanna jerked off her cap and thrust it down into Mary’s trembling fingers.

  “Your hair is much thicker than the princess’s.” The chambermaid wound her fingers into Mary’s curls and began to comb it through. “I do not think yours would require as much powder. Though, of course, we cannot waste Her Royal Highness’s powder on your hair, or mine, so you must listen closely as I describe its use.”

  “Of course.” Mary grimaced as Susanna tugged at her scalp, holding up one of the princess’s miniature looking glasses so she could follow the maid’s movements. “Do you usually pull her hair so fiercely as this?”

  “Fiercely?” Susanna snickered, though Mary noticed she tugged with less force after that. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never touched the princess’s hair.”

  “Haven’t you?” Mary watched closely, trying to memorize her movements as Susanna’s fingers moved quickly from curl to curl. Susanna fetched the hot curling iron, a rag wrapped around the end to protect her hand. “But Her Royal Highness said you knew how she liked it.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Mary caught a glimpse of Susanna’s face in the glass as she spoke. Her eyes were downcast, her lips set and straight. “I’ve oft been in her chamber, assisting with the fire and things, while she prepared for a ball. And I’ve practiced dressing hair in all sorts of ways, though only on the other maids, of course. I’ve been trying out a special French sort of style, with flowers woven in between the strands of hair. It’s long been a dream of mine to try it on the princess herself for one of the grand palace balls.”

  “Perhaps you should have become Her Royal Highness’s dresser, then.” Mary sighed. “I fear I am not fit for it. The princess was most unkind to me this morning.”

  Susanna tugged Mary’s hair into a high, wide bun. “Her Royal Highness is most unkind to everyone. Not just servants, either. Why, yesterday Lydia heard her tell Lord Hervey himself that he looked quite the fop in his new waistcoat.”

  Mary couldn’t help but smile.

  “She’s the prettiest of the king’s granddaughters, though,” Susanna went on, “and they say she’s the cleverest, too, but she’s also the most forthright. A terrible quality in a princess. The king fears he’ll never find a monarch in all of Christendom who will stand to be her husband. Though we shouldn’t say such things about Her Royal Highness, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mary agreed, her head spinning. She had never imagined the palace chambermaids would know how His Majesty viewed his family affairs.

  “There, now.” Susanna rested her hands on Mary’s shoulders where her skin met the neck of her gown. The sensation made Mary flush. “Take a look and see how I did it.”

  Mary did her best to view her hair in the little looking glass. Her long, dark curls sat atop her head, each strand tucked into place carefully over the wool pads Susanna had inserted to make the hair stand tall, in the fashion of the court. She looked ready to be powdered and presented to a ballroom full of admirers, if only from her neck upward. Mary couldn’t imagine how Susanna had accomplished the feat in such a short time.

  “Now you.” Susanna settled herself onto the floor next to Mary, her legs tucked neatly underneath her, a smile on her lips. She was proud, Mary saw, to demonstrate her skill.

  For a moment Mary did not wish to rise. She preferred to linger there beside Susanna. If she was not mistaken, the chambermaid’s voice had taken on a slight hint of kindness as her fingers had slipped through Mary’s hair.

  But there was no time for
frivolities. Mary climbed to her feet as Susanna slid the cap off her head, revealing soft light brown waves pinned up neatly.

  Mary released the pins, letting Susanna’s hair flow free. Touching the maid’s hair felt intimate in a way that taming the princess’s thin blond tendrils had not. Mary tried to imitate what she’d seen Susanna doing in the looking glass, but her fingers fumbled, more with nerves than inability.

  “How long have you served the princess?” Mary asked, wishing, she realized suddenly, to know everything about Susanna.

  “Many years.” Susanna drew her cap over her hands. Her fingers, Mary noticed before they disappeared beneath the white fabric, were red from handling the curling iron. The tips were blistered, too, and the nails short. Mary knew well the effects of tending to fires and scalding ewers and rough soap day after day.

  “You must have been quite young, then, when you came to the palace.”

  “I was born in the palace.” Susanna tightened her grip on the cap. “It would have been near to the time the princess herself was born, in Hanover, you know.”

  Mary and Susanna—and, she supposed, the princess—were of an age, then. Her Royal Highness’s fifteenth birthday had been celebrated earlier that summer with a grand ball. Mary had heard tell of it even in Hertfordshire.

  “Your parents served Queen Anne?” Mary asked.

  “My mother did. She worked in the kitchens. Careful, there, you missed that strand on the side.”

  “My apologies, mistress.”

  “You needn’t call me ‘mistress.’” But there was mirth in Susanna’s voice. “You’re the dresser, not me.”

  “My apologies.” Mary bit her tongue so as not to say mistress again. “Is your mother here in the kitchens still?”

  “No.” The mirth in Susanna’s voice had vanished. “She died two days after my birth. The Lord Steward had always liked her, so he did me a kindness and asked the laundresses to bring me up until I was old enough to work.”

  Mary knew more of that sort of story than she wished to. “Your father, he died, too, then?”

  “My father spoke not of me.” Susanna’s words now came fast and short, as though they meant no more to her than Princess Amelia’s chamber pot. “Nor of my mother. He was far too grand to be saddled with a kitchen maid or her offspring.”

  Mary’s hands faltered in Susanna’s hair. “My father wouldn’t own to me, either.”

  Susanna turned ever so slightly, as though to meet Mary’s eyes. “And your mother?”

  “She died. A year or so past.” A year, two months and three days. Mary slipped a pin into Susanna’s soft waves. “I was to be sent to the workhouse, but a woman from my village took me for her maid instead, as an act of charity. Then, just a few days ago, Lady Portland sent for me, saying that Her Royal Highness’s dresser had run off and I was to take her place. My mother had been governess to Lady Portland, you see.”

  “Two bastard girls in the princess’s service.” Susanna’s voice was gentler than her words. “Would that Her Royal Highness were aware.”

  Mary slid the last pin into place. Her fingers no longer trembled. “How did I do?”

  Susanna climbed to her feet and peered into the glass. “I wouldn’t say admirably, but it represents a great improvement from your first attempt.”

  Mary’s face sagged. “My first attempt?”

  “I spotted the princess on her morning walk about the gardens. I must say, even for a princess who defies convention, I’d never seen her hair look quite so...unconventional.”

  Susanna met Mary’s eyes. Her lip trembled. Soon she began to laugh. And, after a moment, Mary could no longer prevent herself from laughing, as well.

  The feeling was tremendous as the tension rolled out of her limbs. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

  Susanna began to explain how Mary should apply the powder, but her laughter did not cease, even as she puffed out the bellows. Soon she was bent at the waist with the bellows pointed high in the air puffing out tiny white clouds. She clutched at Mary’s arm, much as Mary had clutched her wrist in the servants’ hall that morning.

  Her touch felt warmer now.

  But they had work to do, the pair of them, and less time to do it than they should. Still giggling, Susanna showed Mary how to use the strange white powder—a mixture of wheat flour, lead and finely milled starch that would hold the princess’s hair in place and give it a bright sheen—and then they set about their other morning tasks. Susanna stripped the bed of its linen and hung it up to air while Mary brought out the petticoat and dress the princess was to wear for dinner.

  When Susanna reached for the chamber pot, Mary did not interfere, but when Mary held out her hand to catch one end of the bed linen to help lay it back in place, Susanna allowed her help. She even nodded in a gesture that might have been taken as gratitude.

  The girls talked as they worked, keeping their voices low in case any servants or ladies passed in the corridors on either side. Susanna told Mary of court life, and of the other palace servants, and of the French way of styling ladies’ hair that she’d attempted to learn.

  During a quiet moment, Mary picked up one of Her Royal Highness’s fans from a table. “What does the princess do with this, do you think?”

  “Oh, she carries it about. All the ladies do.” Susanna grinned and stole the fan from Mary’s grasp, spreading it wide. A pastoral landscape was painted across the front, a young man beseeching a beautiful girl while cherubs danced about them. “If a lady touches the tip of her fan while looking at a gentleman, it means she wishes to speak with him.”

  “Does it really?” Mary couldn’t quite believe fine ladies would use such trickery. “What does it mean if a lady opens her fan?”

  “If she opens it and then closes it again, she’s accusing the gentleman of cruelty.” Susanna’s smile grew wider. “And if she touches the fan to her lips, it means she wishes to be kissed.”

  “Certainly not!” Mary blushed bright. “No lady of the court would wish such a thing! Except perhaps of her husband.”

  Susanna laughed harder than ever. “You haven’t yet witnessed a royal ball, I see.”

  The princess was due back from her lessons shortly, so Susanna finished her sweeping and slid out of the chamber, leaving Mary to attend Her Royal Highness. Fortunately, when the princess arrived a few moments later she was in much grander spirits than she had been that morning. A music lesson was scheduled for the afternoon with the princess’s favorite teacher, Mr. Handel.

  While Mary dressed her for dinner, Her Royal Highness chattered on to Mary about the operas she’d seen and complained about having to share the music lesson with her sisters. It seemed she was not particularly keen on her elder sister, Princess Anne, the one who would have been pretty had she not been so badly marked by the pox, or young Princess Caroline, who was meek and conscientious where Amelia was stubborn and loud. Her Royal Highness was so caught up in her complaints that she failed to comment at all on her appearance in the looking glass as she swept out the door to join her sisters in their private dining room.

  Much of the day passed swiftly after that. Mary joined Susanna for the lower servants’ dinner, ignoring the haughty looks from the other maids, and the two girls worked together that afternoon, cleaning the bedchamber once more and mending a petticoat Susanna assured Mary the princess would want to wear to the ball that evening.

  Before Mary even had time to grow nervous, the ball itself was imminent, and Princess Amelia was once more standing before her dressing table waiting to be laced into her stays.

  Her Royal Highness, still happy from her music lesson, lay her finger beside her chin and nodded absently at one of the three mantuas Mary had laid out for her selection, to the dresser’s delight. When the princess was attired—not an easy feat, given that the whalebone hoops extending beneath her skirts on either side m
ade Her Royal Highness wider than she was tall—and a short muslin cape draped over her shoulders to protect the elaborate dress, Mary set about her hair.

  The princess’s threat from that morning was still clear in Mary’s mind. She expected her hands to tremble as she began her work. But to her surprise, her fingers moved easily in the princess’s soft blond curls. It wasn’t so different from handling Susanna’s hair, really. And after the morning they’d spent together in the dressing room, Mary felt startlingly at ease.

  She took up the curling iron and set about imitating the techniques Susanna had shown her that morning. When she was done, she laced Her Royal Highness’s hair with generous puffs of white powder from the bellows while the princess held a paper cone over her face to avoid its awful scent. Mary had no such protection, but she managed not to cough too audibly. After she had carefully applied the princess’s delicate collection of patches to her cheeks, Mary decided to try out the trick Susanna had described, the new French style. She plucked a few flowers from the vase on the princess’s dressing table and laced them between the strands of hair.

  When she was done, Mary braced herself for Her Royal Highness’s anger. But when the princess peered into the looking glass, she merely shrugged.

  “It’s an unusual sort of style.” Her Royal Highness lifted her chin to scrutinize it. “One I’ve not seen at court before. Perhaps you learned it in the country? Or was it Mistress Susanna who showed you?”

  “I—” Mary hesitated. She did not want to claim the style was her own invention, but she did not want Susanna to incur the princess’s wrath if she disliked it, either. The latter seemed the likelier possibility. “It was of my own invention.”

  “No matter.” Princess Amelia stood and selected a fine lace fan from her dressing table. “We shall see what the other ladies have to say about it. For my part, though, I will say that I do prefer this sort of strangeness to this morning’s.”