The Education of Bet

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  James studied me before speaking. "You're very like him, you know."

  "Well, we are twins, after all."

  "Obviously," he said. "But I don't mean just that. There's something..."

  "Are you ready for a dance now?" Hamish was back, this time without Mercy.

  "Not quite." I forced the smile to remain on my face until he departed.

  A moment later, I saw one of Hamish's sisters tap him insistently on the shoulder. Grudgingly, he held his arms out for a dance. Then the other sister tapped insistently on Mercy's shoulder, and he too consented with little grace. I watched for a time as the girls led Hamish and Mercy around the room. It was rather fun seeing Hamish and Mercy get pushed around for once, particularly by a pair of girls.

  "You know," James said, "it is a dance. You're supposed to dance with people."

  Yes, I did know that. But there was only one person there I wanted to dance with. Really, it was the only reason I had come.

  "Perhaps," I said, realizing even as I spoke that it was the most flirtatious thing I'd ever said in my life, "I'm just waiting for the right person to ask."

  "Well, until that happens, will I do? At the very least, it will keep Hamish and Mercy away from you for a time."

  How could a girl refuse an offer like that?

  I allowed him to tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow, lead me out onto the floor. I felt him take one of my hands in his, felt him place the other hand at my waist.

  In my whole life, no one had ever touched me like that.

  I wanted to close my eyes and give in to the moment, but I couldn't do that. Supposedly, I had known him for only a few minutes. He would think I was insane. So instead:

  "Do you know how to dance, Mr. Tyler?"

  "I think I can manage a waltz without doing you any bodily harm," he said, launching us.

  "That makes one of us, then," I said, attempting to follow his lead.

  "You don't dance?"

  "Not regularly, no," I said, keeping my eyes on my feet, "although I appear to be doing so now."

  "I thought all girls liked to dance."

  It was a while before I responded. I was finding it challenging to dance and talk at the same time.

  "I did not say I didn't like to," I finally said, looking up. "I said it wasn't an activity I regularly engaged in. And anyway, how can you assume all girls like to do one thing? Do all boys like to do any one particular thing?"

  "You really are a lot like your brother."

  "I believe you've said that already. So, what of that brother of mine? You live together. Do you like him?"

  He stopped dancing and drew away a bit.

  Oh no, I thought. What a stupid question to ask. Now he would tell me that he didn't like Will, and by doing so, he would be saying that he didn't like me.

  "Well," he said, considering, "I don't know as I've ever thought of your brother in terms of liking. He is intelligent and funny, and yet there's a certain nobility about him. It's as though questions of honor and integrity matter to him in a way that they don't matter to anyone else here, certainly not the masters. I can no longer remember what it was like here before your brother came, and I certainly can't imagine what it would be like if he were gone." He shrugged, looking stunned at his admission. "I suppose Will Gardener is the best friend I've ever had."

  I was feeling all sorts of emotions then: stunned, thrilled, and not a little jealous. Stunned, because I had known James was fond of me, at least compared to how he felt about the likes of Hamish and Mercy, but I hadn't known it was to such an extent; thrilled, because of that very fondness; and jealous, because it had been possible for me to grow close to James only as Will Gardener. I could never have gotten so close to him if he had met me as Bet, the maid's daughter. What a peculiar world it was, never mind how much more peculiar I had made it.

  "You look unhappy," James said.

  I'm sorry?

  "If hearing that I regard your brother as my best friend makes you unhappy," he said, forcing a laugh, "I can certainly pretend he is my mortal enemy."

  And now here was another peculiar feature. Had I been James's friend Will right then, I knew James would never be so solicitous about my mood. There was something tender and protective about his behavior, in contrast with the bluff fraternal nature of his friendship with Will. And, I realized now, he would never have confessed to Will what he had just told me.

  "It is all right," I said with feigned hauteur that I made sure to moderate with a bright smile. "I rather like that you like my brother. You may go on doing so."

  "Are you ready to dance now?" Oh God. Hamish again. Apparently, he'd emancipated himself from his sister.

  "Much as I would like to," I said, "I'm afraid I see someone I promised my brother I would dance with this evening."

  "Who?" Hamish was outraged.

  I jutted my chin toward a boy who was shuffling his feet around the refreshments table while Stephens looked on from the other side.

  "Little?" Hamish was more outraged yet.

  "I thought my brother said his name was Christopher Warren," I said coolly. "Will described him to me right down to that shock of red hair and told me he had a sterling character. Now, if you will excuse me..."

  I made my way straight over to a stunned Little, feeling James and Hamish staring after me. I was sure James looked amused while Hamish was practically apoplectic that I'd turned him down in favor of Little. As for Little, so what if he crippled my toes with stepping on them as we each attempted to lead the other around the dance floor? It was worth it to catch that look on Hamish's face every time I spun around.

  After Little and I were finished, I made my way back to James.

  "That was a nice thing you did for Little," James said. "You know, it's probably the only dance he'll ever get in his entire career here."

  I waved off what he clearly intended as a compliment.

  "Would you care to dance with me again?" he offered.

  "No, thank you." I laughed. "Christopher stepped on my toes so many times, I think I'm done dancing for the night."

  "I'm sorry about that," he said, nodding at my feet.

  "Don't be." I shrugged. "It was well worth it."

  "Would you like to sit down? Can I get you some refreshments?"

  "I think," I said, "that I'd just like to stand here and watch, if you don't mind."

  And really, it was all I wanted right then.

  It was funny. I'd come to the winter ball with my only desire being to dance with James, and yet, after just one brief dance, I had refused a second. In part, that refusal was because it had been almost too much, feeling his hand take mine, feeling his other hand against my waist—I'd been touched so few times in my life, any physical contact was shocking. But a far bigger part was the realization that sometimes we want things, and then when we get them, we see that what we really want is something else. And all I truly wanted in that moment was just what I had: to be standing there, a girl, next to a boy I liked so much, watching the world dance by.

  "Very well," James said.

  So that's what we did.

  ***

  As it began to grow late, I asked James if we might step outside for a moment.

  "It's February," he said.

  "Not June?"

  "It'll be cold," he said.

  "It'll feel good."

  I walked, and James followed, until we were far away from the golden lights of Marchand Hall, and then I spun around.

  "Would you like to kiss me?" I asked.

  "Would I ... You're Will's sister!"

  "Yes, I do know that. Would you like to kiss me?"

  I didn't care how bold or forward I sounded. I wanted that kiss. I knew that if everything went according to my original plan, if I succeeded in finishing out my time at the Betterman Academy as Will Gardener, I'd never get another chance like this.

  "I can't—" he started to say.

  But I didn't let him finish.

  Stepping into th
e space that separated us, I rose on my toes and tilted my head up, touching my lips to his.

  Then, before he could say anything, I settled back on my feet, raised my skirts slightly, and took off running across the commons area.

  "Where are you going?" he shouted after me.

  "I'll be late for my carriage!" I shouted back. I could hear the joy in my voice even as I heard the chapel clock strike the hour.

  It struck me then that I was like a character from a story written back in 1697, Charles Perrault's Cinderella, only in my case, I'd been able to hold on to both slippers, and they weren't made of glass.

  "I'll walk you," James called out. He began to run.

  "No!" I shouted cheerfully but in a voice that brooked no argument. "You stay there! Enjoy the dance!" I ran some more, turned one last time to see him still standing there. "Thank you!" I shouted.

  ***

  A few pebbles thrown carefully at Mrs. Smithers's window was enough to make her open up for me, and I scampered back up the sheets as she and Mrs. Hunter pulled from the other end.

  "Was it everything you hoped it would be?" Mrs. Smithers asked as I all but tumbled into the room.

  "It'll have to be," I said. "It'll have to be enough."

  ***

  "Did you have a good time?" I asked my roommate from my position in bed, sheets pulled up to my chin.

  "You know, I did," he said, sounding surprised. He removed his tie.

  "And what of my sister?" I couldn't help but ask. "What did you think of her?"

  He was silent for a long moment. Then: "She's as odd as you are, isn't she?"

  Chapter ten

  February 18, 18—

  Dear Will,

  Well, I have really put my foot in it. I have gone and fallen in love for the first time, and with my own roommate, no less! I can hear you laughing at me now: "This is a fine kettle of fish, Bet! You say you want to impersonate a boy—me; you say you want to go to all this trouble so you can obtain a proper education. And what happens at the end of the day? You fall in love! That is so like a girl—and that is why education is wasted on girls! Now what, pray tell, do you plan to do? After all, your first plan has worked out so well!"

  Fine. Laugh all you want to. But I can assure you, it is not funny. I can further assure you, if you have never had such feelings yourself, that I have come to learn that one does not choose whom one falls in love with. Yes, it would have been nice if I could have waited until after my original plan had been successfully executed here at the Betterman Academy. Yes, it would have been nice if the object of my (great) affections had turned out to be someone suitable, someone I met after all this, someone whom I had not met under false pretenses. And preferably someone of my own station, since what boy whose family can afford to send him away to school would ever possibly grow warm feelings for the maid's daughter? But since, as I say, one has no choice in these matters of love, it is useless to talk about what "would have been nice."

  Oh, Will. I am heartsick, and in every way imaginable. I am heartsick because I am in love. I am heartsick because the object of that love has no knowledge of my feelings, nor can he ever! For I have determined that the only possible action to take is no action; I shall continue my quest to get an education until it is completed. And so I will put my feelings aside, push them down as though they never existed, and I will redouble my efforts in my lessons until I achieve what now seems impossible: forgetting I ever had those feelings in the first place.

  Oh, Will! I wish you were here! Or I wish, at the very least, that you would write me back, even if you laugh at me throughout your letter, for then I would know that you are well. Which I do not know, since it has been so very long since I have had any letters from you.

  Please, write and tell me you are well. Please, write and tell me what a foolish little idiot I have been and how stupid it is of me to have allowed my heart to become so engaged.

  Your sister in spirit,

  Bet

  ***

  The Sunday morning after the winter ball found me up early and at my desk, having resolved to attack my studies with renewed vigor.

  James, on the other hand, woke up angry.

  "I can't believe this!" he said, sitting bolt upright in bed and blinking against the glare of all the lamps I'd lit and the light streaming through the window's open shutters. "It's bad enough to have a roommate who insists on going to sleep in pitch darkness so that if I must rise in the middle of the night, I practically kill myself merely attempting to cross my own room. But now my insane roommate has to insist on so much light on Sunday morning, and so early, when the rest of the sane world is still sleeping?"

  I resented that remark about my sanity. Or lack thereof.

  I looked up from my studies just long enough to see a confused look cross his face.

  "And was that birds I heard chirping?" he went on. "Birds chirping in England in the middle of February?" He paused, cocked an ear. "Funny, I don't hear anything now." Another pause, followed by an accusing: "It was you, wasn't it? You were whistling while you worked, weren't you?"

  I felt the blush coloring my cheeks, for more reasons than one.

  "Good morning, James," I said, forcing myself to look at him, forcing a normal tone into my voice as if nothing had changed between us in the past day and night because as far as he knew, it hadn't. "I trust you slept well after the dance?"

  "Hey!" he said, ignoring my polite query. "You're well again! You're not coughing and sneezing as if you're dying, and you're up early, whistling like a bird!"

  "Yes, well, I—"

  "I knew it. I knew it! I knew yesterday, when you claimed to be so ill, that you would make a speedy and miraculous recovery from your deathbed, just like you did the last time. So tell me, what was that all about?"

  He didn't wait for me to answer, which was good, since I didn't have an answer; certainly not one I was willing to share.

  "I know!" He snapped his fingers at me so abruptly I flinched a little in my seat. "You were worried that if you went with Bet, none of the other boys would dance with her, and you just wanted her to have a good time."

  "How did you guess?"

  "Well, I've never been a brother, but I have read about them in books. So I know that sometimes they undervalue their sisters, think that no one will want to dance with them, so I'm guessing you figured that if you asked me to look out for her, of course I wouldn't allow her to have a bad time."

  "Yes, well, I—"

  "But don't you see, Will? You needn't have gone to so much bother."

  "I needn't?"

  "No, of course not. A girl like Bet would be fine no matter who was or wasn't with her."

  "She would?"

  "Of course!"

  "But, er ... why?"

  "Because she's pretty."

  "Well, I'm sure she would love to receive such a compliment. You know, if she were here."

  "But it's more than that."

  "More than pretty?"

  "Oh, yes. You may not see it, since you're her brother, Will. But your sister is kind and intelligent and funny. And special."

  I confess it without qualm. When I heard James say that about Bet, I had one reaction, even though I couldn't let him see it:

  Swoon!

  ***

  Oh, this was worse than worse.

  As Bet, I liked James, but could not confess that liking, while James could do nothing about his liking for Bet.

  "Do you think your sister might visit again this term?" he asked tentatively one night while we were studying.

  "No," I said. "She is kept quite busy at home. Besides which, have you not seen the snow on the ground lately? I would think that even Father Christmas would be hard-pressed to get through."

  "Perhaps when the spring arrives...?"

  "No!" I practically shouted at him. "No." I forced a more reasonable tone into my voice. "You must realize that you are placing me in a most awkward position here."

  "And how is that?"
/>
  "Well." It was all I could do not to squirm in my seat from discomfort. "It is obvious to me that you fancy yourself fond of, er, Bet."

  "I never said—"

  "And I can certainly understand that. As you have said, she is pretty and kind and intelligent and funny and—what was that other word you used?"

  "Special."

  "Of course. Special. But I, as you well know, am her brother. I am also, as you well know, your roommate. So I don't see how you can possibly expect—"

  "I never said anything about fondness."

  "No, but—"

  "I never said anything that should cause you to dither on so."

  "No, of course not, but—"

  "All I asked,"—James half rose out of his seat as he shouted at me—"was if she might be visiting again this term!"

  "Oh. Well then, the answer would be no. I'm afraid I do not think that will happen."

  I don't know how James felt, but this was starting to exhaust me.

  Honestly, it was easier, not to mention safer, to put my nose to the grindstone and just study.

  Study, study, study.

  ***

  Two weeks after the dance, March on the horizon, it was still all anybody could talk about. We were all at dinner, Marchand Hall ringing with the sound of five hundred boys eating, and Stephens was regaling us with his own memories of the night.

  Stephens was the boy who'd told Hamish and Mercy where Little and I were the day they'd surprised us fishing by the river. Stephens, a spotty-skinned boy with dirty hair who'd been held back more than once for failing to show the intelligence to advance to the next form, had originally struck me as the sort who wasn't so much stupid as scheming, always angling for better position in the pecking order. If that meant doing things that might result in other boys' harm, like informing on Little and me, so be it.

  Early on, I'd gotten the impression that all Stephens's angling was in the hopes of displacing Mercy as second to Hamish; no one could displace Hamish. In recent days, that impression had changed. Now I thought that Stephens accepted that Mercy's ability to supply Hamish with beer, not to mention Mercy's skill at providing Hamish with the optimum level of sycophancy, meant that Mercy would never be supplanted. The hierarchy of our little universe at Betterman was too firmly in position. Nothing would alter it now. I believed that Stephens resented this more than most, and for some time he'd been seizing every opportunity to throw what little daggers he had Hamish's way.