Lost in thought, Eliza tried to soap her body and wash her hair, but it was difficult with one hand. Her bandages were soggy anyway. She unwound the dressing and set her injured knuckles beneath the spray.
She lathered her hair and scrubbed it until the suds ran clean. Her knuckles stung, but it was worth it. She used a bar of soap—now she smelled likehim—to scrub her face, her neck, her breasts, her belly.
Eliza washed her entire body twice over. When she was through, she wrapped in a towel and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. Next door, her blue bedchamber had been transformed into a makeshift dressing room. Trunks of frocks, hats, and underclothes cluttered the floor, and her bed was hardly visible beneath piles ofmoreclothing.
She’d never seen such pretty things!
Her hands flew through the trunks, hauling out silk skirts and shirtwaists. Jumpers and cardigans of the finest cashmere wool. Bonnets, and picture hats, and knitted mufflers. Shoes that looked hardly worn.
If this was Sir Mark van Bergen’s sister’s cast-offs, Eliza trembled to see the woman’s dress bills.
She went to the wardrobe and flipped through the dinner frocks. She saw sequins, silk ribbons, dyed feathers, and ermine trimmings. Satin, taffeta, brocade, velvet. Eliza gawked, utterly struck dumb by the multitude of it all.
These werehersto wear.
She could not decide which to choose first.
Eliza walked to the mantel and pulled the cord. If she was to turn herself out properly, she’d need another pair of hands.
In a moment, a maid in a mobcap tapped upon the bedroom door. “You rang, miss?”
“Yes, come in,” Eliza said, stepping aside to let the girl through.
“Cor!”the maid whispered. Apparently, Eliza wasn’t the only one awed by it all.
“I know, it’s extravagant.” She held her injured hand out to the girl. “Hullo, I’m called Eliza.”
The maid wouldn’t shake her hand. She curtseyed instead. “Jenny, miss, at your service.”
Did they think she was a toff? No one here needed to bow and scrape to her.
Eliza let her hand fall. “I’ve dirtied the bathtub. You’ll want to scrub it before it dries.”
“Not to worry, miss. We’ll have everything ship-shape whilst you’re eatin’ your supper.”
Supper—her stomach danced at the thought. What did a lady wear to dinner? Would Sir Mark expect her in a flouncy evening gown?
“I wondered if you’d help me sort through all this. I’ve busted up my hand, you see, and don’t want to bleed on anything. It’s all so very dear.”
“Oh, aye, if it belonged to Miss Ann, you can bet it would be. She goes down to breakfast lookin’ turned out for the races.”
Eliza grinned. “Will you turnmeout for the races?”
“It’d be my pleasure, miss.”
Together, they cleaned off a space at the dressing table. The maid offered Eliza a dressing gown trimmed in frothy lace. Thankfully, when she dropped the towel to slip it on, Jenny said nothing about her bruises or bite marks. The girl plucked up a silver-handled comb and began working the knots from Eliza’s hair.
Jenny tried to be gentle, but the tangles were stubborn. She pulled and picked until Eliza yelped. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, I never seen hair so knotty before.” She raked the comb through one section. “In some places, there are great piles of it. Then there are bald patches in others.” Jenny lowered her voice, “You must not get enough to eat.”
Eliza’s shoulders sagged. “That’s true.”
“It’s all right, miss. I know the feeling. Before I came here, when I still lived at home, there never was enough to go ‘round.”
She met the maid’s gaze in the mirror. “I wonder why that is? Why do some folk have so much, whilst others have so little?”
“I try not to dwell on it. Sir Mark is a good employer, and pays well. He even helped out my family once when my youngest brother fell sick. He paid for his stay in hospital. Now the lad’s as healthy as a horse.”
