The Education of Bet

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  I shook off those thoughts as the old man indicated I should take a seat beside him.

  "Tell me," he said, "how things have been going for you at school."

  That sense of relief once again flooded me: relief that, at least for now, rather than having to fool five hundred boys, I had to fool only one old man.

  And a handful of servants.

  I arrived so late that first night that I did not see any of the servants, but I did not have to wait long for a problem to arise.

  The biggest servant hurdle came the following morning, just as I was waking for the first time in Will's spacious bedroom, in Will's spacious bed.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of Wiggins, Will's manservant, puttering around the room. In my long journey home in the carriage, alone this time, I had given great thought to how I would behave around the maids now that I was Will: the need to combine an air of entitlement with a basic casual geniality, even a little harmless flirting. But I had forgotten all about Wiggins, perhaps because he had only ever belonged to Will's world, and not at all to mine.

  Wiggins was old; ancient, really. Wiggins was so old, the maids often joked that he had been the old man's manservant when he was a child.

  "I have drawn your bath, sir," Wiggins said, finally noticing that my eyes were wide open. He came to attention at the side of the bed as though waiting for something.

  "That is, er, good," I said, holding the sheets firmly at my neck. "Thank you."

  Still, he stood. Honestly, he was so old, it was a wonder he didn't tip over as he swayed there.

  "Is there something more?" I asked.

  "Of course, sir. I am waiting for you."

  "Waiting for me? To do what?"

  "Why, to get out of bed and get into the bath." He paused, as though trying to remember what came next. "And then I will help you get dressed."

  Well, that certainly wouldn't do!

  "You know what, Wiggins?" I said, forcing a smile. "When I am at school, I do not have the luxury of a manservant, let alone one as efficient as you. The sad truth is, I am used to doing certain things for myself, and I should like to go on doing so now that, er, I am practically a man."

  Wiggins looked scandalized. "But you never felt that way when you returned from school before."

  "Well, I do now," I asserted vehemently, feeling very masculine.

  Wiggins looked worse than scandalized. He looked confused. "But if I am not helping you dress, what shall I be doing?"

  "You will be a man of leisure, Wiggins!" I announced, feeling most beneficent.

  "A man of leisure?" Worse than scandalized, worse than confused, he now looked horrified. "You mean I am to be put out on the streets after all these years?"

  Oh, dear. Now I felt dreadful.

  "Of course not, Wiggins," I hurriedly reassured him. "You are too valuable for that. We could never survive without you. But you deserve, I think, a respite from work after all your years of service."

  "And what shall I do with this ... respite?"

  I tried to think what Will would suggest. "Why, you will flirt with the maids!" I said brightly.

  The idea obviously appealed to Wiggins.

  "But don't think it'll be like this all the time," I called after him as he hurried to depart. "You never know when I might change my mind and need your services again," I cautioned genially, thinking that if—when—Will returned, he would want his manservant back.

  Of course, later in the day, when I went down to breakfast and came in contact with the other servants and saw their skeptical looks as they regarded me from behind the master's back, it struck me for the first time: What had Will and I been thinking? Yes, at school, where they were simply expecting a Will Gardener but not a specific Will Gardener, I'd been able to fool people. And yes, I'd been able to fool poor Wiggins, who was very old and somewhat dotty, and even the master, who was practically blind. But it didn't matter that Will and I shared several physical similarities; I was shorter than Will, shaped different than Will. How had we ever imagined we could get away with this?

  And yet we did get away with it. The servants never let on, despite their occasional skeptical glances in my direction, for the old man seemed unaware that anything was out of the ordinary.

  Did the servants, I wondered, recognize me beneath my disguise? And more important, why didn't they say anything to the old man?

  Then I understood: like Will, like me, they simply did not want to cause him any grief.

  We were all willing to do whatever we had to in order to keep him happy—except, on Will's and my part, forsake our dreams—and he was happy, happy to have first one and then the other of his children back home with him.

  ***

  "It is odd, Elizabeth," the old man said, for now I was Elizabeth again, the first week of Christmas holiday having passed, "is it not, that Will left for a week to stay with school friends just before your arrival? You two have always been so close—like brother and sister, really—I would have thought he would stay at least long enough to say hello."

  What was really odd was having to get used to a corset again after so long without one. The dratted thing was driving me mad! Although it was nice not to have to bind my breasts for a week. And it was really nice that, as rare luck would have it, my week as Bet coincided with my monthly bleeding, so that for one month I would not have to contrive anything to do about that. On the other hand—there were so many other hands now!—it was all I could do to keep myself from striding manfully across rooms. I'd grown rather used to striding.

  "It is odd, sir," I allowed now, "but it is also not odd."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Perhaps Will told his school friends that he would arrive at a certain time, and perhaps, further, Will has now matured enough that little things like—oh, I don't know—punctuality have grown important to him?"

  "That doesn't sound like Will at all."

  I had to admit that it did not. Why, right at that moment, Will was probably late for whatever battle he was supposed to be fighting in or at least drumming during.

  Still, I felt as though I had to defend Will's honor. Or was it my honor now? Sometimes, it was all so confusing.

  "But didn't you notice any changes in Will during the week he was here?" I asked.

  "Changes? What sorts of changes?"

  "Well, it's just that, in his letters to me at least, he really does seem to have grown up quite a bit. All he ever talks about now are his lessons, how important they've become to him, how proud he wishes to make you. Did you see none of that while he was here?"

  "I suppose I did, now that you mention it. In truth, you are right, and he seemed quite changed. Still, given how close you two always were, the fact that he could not wait even a single hour longer for your arrival, it is odd ..."

  Odd? I knew what was odd. During the week I'd been Will, it was odd for me to talk about myself—meaning Bet—in the third person to the old man, discuss the letters I'd had from "her" all about her new position as companion and how she was liking it. It was just as disorienting in the second week to be talking about the changes and achievements of "Will" at school when, in reality, I was talking about myself!

  If things became any more confusing...

  ***

  "It was wonderful having Elizabeth here again for a whole week," the old man said. "I had no idea until she left to become companion to that ... woman"—he refused, in his resentment, to call the new employer by name—"how much I'd grown to depend on her presence in this house."

  When I'd woken up that morning, having contrived the ruse of Bet returning to Mrs. Larwood's the previous evening, I hadn't known who I was supposed to be. Should I put on a dress? A suit?

  "Yes," I said now, having figured out that I was Will once again and having donned the appropriate suit. "You probably miss how she used to read to you, using all those voices, and how she could complete a piece of mending for you better than any of the other maids." I realized I had been unsuccessful i
n masking the resentment in my voice about the sort of things I assumed the old man might miss Bet for, but he didn't appear to notice my tone or take offense at it.

  Rather, he waved my words aside with a dismissive hand.

  "I couldn't care less about any of that," he said. "I simply miss her. I miss the light and energy she used to bring to this old house. I miss hearing the two of you scheme and bicker between yourselves as you used to do." He paused. "And I still do not understand why you could not stay at least an extra hour so that you might see her before trotting off to be with your school friends, and I really do not understand why that ... woman she is now companion to insisted that she had to return to her job at a most exact hour so that she could not be here to see you—"

  Oh, no. Not that again. Hadn't we already been down this road?

  "I know I can never read to you half so good as Bet can, Uncle," I said. He was like a dog with a bone on the topic of the timing of Will's and my—or do I mean my and Bet's?—comings and goings, and I sought to distract him. "But if you like, I can read to you for a while. We have been studying Shakespeare's Twelfth Night at school, and while I don't think I can accomplish Bet's feat of mimicking male actors who are themselves mimicking female characters, I think I can at least do a credible job with the male voices."

  "I suppose," he said. "I suppose that might be mildly entertaining."

  I had hardly completed the first few scenes when the old man gave a discontented sigh.

  "You read passably," he said, "but it is not the same."

  I wasn't sure if I should feel insulted that my reading as Will was judged inferior or proud that my talents as Bet were so highly prized.

  Since I was dressed in my Will costume at the time, it was easy to opt for being offended. It was what the real Will would have done.

  "Would you like me to get you more port, Uncle, before I continue?" I offered through gritted teeth.

  "Very well," he allowed, "very well."

  By the time I got to act 2, the old man was beginning to drowse, sometimes snoring noisily, in his chair. He was a little drunk too.

  "Shall I help you up to bed?" I offered. "Or perhaps get some of the servants?"

  "No, that is..." He waved a hand, nodded off for a moment, then roused again with a start. "I have wondered sometimes," he said, "if I have been unfair in my treatment of Elizabeth."

  "I'm sure she does not think so," I reassured him.

  "Yes, but she doesn't know ... you know ... that's right, you don't know..."

  What was he talking about?

  "What doesn't she know?" I asked him. I had no idea what he could be referring to, but I certainly was alert now. "What don't I know?"

  But it didn't matter how I phrased the question, for he'd nodded off to sleep again, this time more soundly than before. And when he finally did wake, he was obviously so confused and disoriented—an old man who'd fallen asleep in his chair beside a dying fire—I did not have it in me to press him further.

  Chapter nine

  All anyone could talk about was the dance.

  ***

  January 15, 18—

  Dear Will,

  It was bad enough your not warning me in advance about compulsory sports, BUT I WOULD THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE MENTIONED DANCES!!! Imagine my horror—no, my humiliation—when, upon returning to school for Lent half, having successfully impersonated you at home over the holiday, I was informed that there is to be a dance here in one month's time? As you well know, I have never even received any training that would enable me to dance as a girl, which is what I am, never mind to lead as a boy, which is what I am supposed to be. Now I ask you: How am I supposed to pull this off? I can assure you, memorizing all of Homer and reciting it while standing on one foot would be easier.

  Oh, and my roommate. To have him witness my humiliation, not to mention the way he will tease me ... But that is a story for another time.

  It occurs to me that it has been quite some time since I received a letter from you. I certainly hope you are still alive. I need you to be alive, Will, SO I CAN KILL YOU MYSELF FOR NOT WARNING ME ABOUT SCHOOL DANCES!!!

  Your loving sister in spirit,

  Bet

  ***

  All anyone could talk about was the dance.

  It was as though the whole world had gone mad.

  We were at dinner at Marchand Hall our first night back. Hamish, seated at the head of the table, had just announced the specific Saturday in February that Dr. Hunter had informed him would be the night of the dance.

  "What dance?" I whispered to James, hoping none of the others heard me.

  He looked surprised at my question. "Why, the annual winter ball," he whispered in return, although he needn't have bothered; all around us, the others were chattering so excitedly about Hamish's news, we might have shouted and still not been overheard. "The days are so short now, the nights so long. It breaks up the monotony of the dreary cold season, gives everyone something to look forward to, and, at least according to the masters, provides us with the opportunity to comport ourselves as gentlemen."

  That last sounded as though he was quoting something direct from Dr. Hunter's mouth.

  "I thought we were always supposed to comport ourselves as gentlemen," I said, adding, with a snort, "well, except for when we're treeing one another or beating each other up without anyone trying to stop it." I was puzzled. "How does this 'dance' thing work?" I said. "What—we all dance with each other?"

  "You mean, the boys with the boys?" he countered.

  I nodded.

  He looked at me for a long moment. Then: "How many schools did you say you'd been at before?"

  "Three," I said, then shook my head in self-correction. "I mean four."

  "And at all these other schools, either you never had dances or you all danced with each other?"

  "Well, of course at my other schools we had dances. I suppose I just didn't pay much attention to them, and so I was, er, wondering what the protocol might be here." I was blathering now. "You know, every school I've been at differs in some way, however small, from the others. Sometimes chapel services are longer. Sometimes the food is even worse. Sometimes my room is on a different floor. So I think you will find it only natural that I would wonder—"

  "Girls, Will." James cut me off. "We dance with girls."

  "Girls?" I sat back so abruptly, I almost tipped over in my chair. "Where do we get girls from? Surely, we're not all going to take turns dancing with Dr. Hunter's wife and Mrs. Smithers, are we?"

  There was that long stare again. "Those dances at those other schools you attended—how many schools was that, again? twelve? twenty?—they must have really been something."

  I was beginning to resent his remarks.

  "We invite the girls, Will."

  "Oh!"

  "The older boys, some have sweethearts already, so they invite them. The younger boys and those who have no sweethearts invite sisters or cousins."

  "Oh, I see."

  I became lost in thought, envisioning myself as Will Gardener trying to lead Hamish's sister around the dance floor. Of course I did not specifically know him to have a sister, but James had said the boys without sweethearts brought relatives, and since it was impossible to picture Hamish with a sweetheart, suddenly I couldn't stop myself from picturing a barely feminine version of that most detested of boys, all dead fish eyes and meatiness in a dress. I shuddered. She'd probably beat me up if I didn't lead properly. It was going to be awful, a nightmare.

  "Tyler!" Hamish's voice barking at my roommate intruded upon my happy thoughts. I looked up to see Hamish jutting out his chin at James. "Who're you bringing?"

  "No one," James said coolly.

  "Figures." Hamish turned to me, another chin jut. "And what about you, Gardener? No girls for you either?"

  "Actually," I said, straightening in my chair, "I do have someone to invite."

  "You do?" James asked before Hamish got the chance to.

  "Yes. My
sister, as a matter of fact."

  "You have a sister? But you never said—" James began.

  "And you never asked. But I do have one, all the same."

  "And does this sister I've never heard of have a name?" James wanted to know.

  "Oh, yes. Her name is Elizabeth, although we all call her Bet." I paused. "She's my identical twin."

  "Identical twin?" James cocked an eyebrow at me. "Is your sister, then, perhaps a brother?"

  "What?"

  "It's just that identical twins must be the same gender. So if your twin is identical, either your twin is a boy, or you are a girl."

  "Of course I know that." I felt the blush heat my face all the way up to my hairline. "What I meant to say is that Bet and I look so much alike, we might as well be identical twins."

  "Oh, I see now." James eyed me coolly.

  Three hours later, in bed for the night, the room darkened all around us, James still hadn't gotten over his surprise.

  "I can't believe you kept something like that from me! You have an entire twin and I'm only just learning this four months after meeting you?"

  "Is there any other kind of twin except an entire one? Are you suggesting it's possible that I might have half a twin, or possibly three-quarters of one? And what do you think I should have done, held out my hand back in September and said, 'Hullo, name's Will Gardener, and oh, by the way, I have a twin sister'?"

  "No, of course not." I could hear his exasperation even though I couldn't see his face. "But you might have said at some point—"

  "Don't you have any siblings you've never told me about?"

  "No. I'm an only child."

  "Oh."

  "I still say that's quite a secret—"

  "No secret, James. I'm not keeping any secrets at all. It just never came up before." I paused. "But now it has."

  All I knew was, if there had to be a dance, I was damned if I was going to dance all night with Hamish's no doubt awful sister. Instead, I would dance, at least once, I hoped, with James.