One Time to Another
Ludgate, England
December 21, 1878
My head on my soft, goose feather pillow, I sighed. It was so early, the sun just barely breaking the clouds. Why does mother make me wake so early? Actually it was Lucy waking me, pulling open the drapes and letting in the morning light, and saying my name.
“Miss. Elizabeth, it is time to wake. Your mother requests your presence at breakfast.”
I groaned, turning my head into my pillow. It smelled of the lavender oils she had rubbed into my hair the night before. I don’t want to get up, I really don’t. But mother had insisted, and good girls do what is asked of them. Oh mother, on a bloody Saturday of all days. I sit up, and brush my hair to one shoulder. The blonde mess is everywhere, tangled and fuzzy. Poor Lucy, working through this mess will take hours.
“Come on Miss, you won’t want to be late,” said Lucy tying back the curtains.
Sunlight filtered through the window. I have a great view of the Thames, not that it’s that great to look at, black oily water, flowing by. This time of year chunks of ice littered its surface, spots of white in the grey water. The bridge itself is rather large with several arches along its underside, made of weathering stone, grey from the toll time has taken. Everything was covered in a dusting of snow, the classic picture of England at Christmas. Boats sail underneath avoiding chunks of ice as they pass, minding their own business none the wiser that I’m sitting here watching them. I like to think they too are observing the world, watching, noticing the little things most people miss.
Blinking, I gather my night gown and sit at my vanity. Lucy picks up my hair brush and starts the painstakingly slow task of combing my hair. I want to cut it but mother insists on keeping it long, after all ladies have long locks. Only men have practical, manageable hair styles.
“Did she tell you why she wanted me?” I ask Lucy looking at her reflection in the mirror.
She was a pretty thing, long black hair kept in a tight braid down her back, pale skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose. She was seventeen and had come to England from France. If anyone was my best friend, it was Lucy. I know its cliché, being best friends with my ladies maid but she is the only person besides Edward who I can be completely honest with.
“No Miss, I mean Elizabeth,” she said glancing at my reflection with a small smile “she did not say. But she did say to wear a parlor gown.”
I sighed. Mother was probably trying to have me meet with a suitor. She was always trying to play matchmaker with whichever merchant’s son was in town for the weekend, at age sixteen I was at a good age for marriage. But marriage has no interest for me. I do not need a man at my side, yet no one except Lucy seems to understand. Mother is very formal and family focused, and therefore expects her daughter to be the same. Setting down the brush, Lucy walked over to the wardrobe and opened both doors, I could feel the draft from across the room.
I turned to face her, watching as she shuffled through the rack of colorful dresses until she found one in particular. It was pretty, with a floor length skirt and a low v shaped neckline. The sleeves went to the top of the shoulder and were lined with white lace, as was the edge of the neckline. The dress was a midnight blue, a shade darker than my eyes. Normally I hate dresses, and dread wearing them but this one was perfect. Looking at the dress, I tried to frown in disapproval but it wouldn’t come. Lucy grinned, pulling it the rest of the way out of the wardrobe. Hanging it on a rail across the door, she proceeded to brush out the fabric preparing it for wear.
I turned back to the mirror and continued brushing my hair. Today is going to be a very long day, I thought pinching my cheeks to add color to my pale complexion.
