“Does this stay on?” she asked, plucking at the chemise.
“Nay, m’lady.” Agnes charged forward as if unable to contain herself any longer. “A new shift is the order of the day. Did her ladysh…did ye not get over warm earlier?” She beamed a proud smile for correcting herself.
Come to think of it, the thin linen gown was still a bit damp from her sweaty panic attack. She gave herself a critical sniff. “Another wash wouldn’t be amiss either.”
“Here, m’lady. I’ve the water ready in the bowl.” Lorna waved her toward the corner of the room partitioned off by a trio of wooden panels hinged together. Behind the ornately painted screen was the chamber pot stand, as well as a pitcher and bowl for washing. “Whilst ye were in the garden, I fetched the last of the rose oil from Merdrid’s stores. I thought ye might enjoy it.”
“I’ll be right there.” Evie went to the trunk holding her things from the future and retrieved her soap, body spray, and deodorant. She had thought to hoard the items for special occasions and, even then, use them sparingly. She thought it the best way to ease herself into the hygiene of the thirteenth century and its raw, earthy aromas. But this was her wedding day. She would not go to Quinn smelling like a goat, as his sister had so aptly put it.
As she passed the seamstress hunched over the gown, the wizened old woman squinted up at her. “Smaller waist,” she mumbled, then bent back to her task. Her nimble fingers flew across the seams, nipping and tucking.
“Lovely color,” Evie commented, feeling she should say something to acknowledge the woman’s hard work.
“Silk,” the seamstress replied without looking up. “Himself said must be the best. ’Tis the dearest I had on hand ’til Himself grants another trip to the port when the ships from the east arrive.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Evie said, hoping the seamstress would somehow understand the compliment. The woman seemed absorbed in her world of sewing and nothing else. “I feel sure it will be perfect.”
“M’lady?” Lorna called out from behind the screen.
Soap, deodorant, and body spray clutched to her chest, Evie forged ahead, determined to keep a level head and get through this. She set her precious items on the stand beside the bowl, then stripped off the chemise. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Lorna tilting her head and frowning at the bottle of body spray.
As she lathered up a cloth and set to washing, she smiled at the maid. “Well, go on then. Pick it up and have a better look at it. I would’ve thought you’d given it a once over when you unpacked my things.”
Lorna’s eyes flew open wide. “Oh no, m’lady. That would be wrong.”
Guilt swept across Evie. She’d meant the girl no harm. Such nosiness was completely natural. As she rinsed and scrubbed, she nodded toward the articles again. “I know I can trust you, Lorna. You and Agnes both. Go ahead. Have a look at them if you wish.”
“What is it?” Lorna asked as she finally found the courage to pick up the body spray and examine the plastic bottle closer. She tilted it back and forth, frowning at the liquid sloshing inside.
“Uhm…fragrance.” Evie doubted body spray would be a wise term to share. She popped the lid off her deodorant and applied it sparingly.
Lorna noticed and arched a brow. “Her ladyship rubs wax ’neath her arms?”
“Additional fragrance, you might say.” Evie held it out. “Smell. Lilies of the valley. My favorite.”
The maid sniffed it and smiled. “Verra nice.” She held up the body spray. “And this?”
“White musk.” Evie removed the cap, sprayed it all over, then handed it back. “You press down here, and it sprays. See?”
Lorna did as instructed, startling herself when it sprayed. She sniffed the air, then gave the bottle a wide-eyed look. “Such a wondrous scent it whooshes out into the air. Where did this amazing fragrance come from, m’lady?”
“France,” Evie lied. Lorna would never understand about corner shops in London.
The girl placed it back on the table. “Verra nice, m’lady.” She lifted her chin. “But we mustn’t keep Himself waiting, and Mistress Kemp has the trimmings to finish once her ladyship dons the gown.”
“I suppose so.” Evie gave a heavy sigh. The inevitable could be delayed only so long. “I am washed and ready,” she announced, stepping out from behind the screen completely nude. Shyness about her body had left long ago because of communal showers at boarding school.
“And you may dress me this one time,” she added when she noticed hosiery, ribbons, combs, and pins laid out on the bed. She’d never figure all that out by herself.
Agnes and Lorna sprang into action like a pair of girls with a new doll on Christmas morning. First layer was a fresh chemise. This one a finer weave, with fitted sleeves and a low-cut neckline bordered in lacy frills. Then came the hose, which they secured above each of her knees with a ribbon tied so tight, she worried about blood flow. A pair of pointy-toed slippers made of leather so soft they turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Agnes laced them so snug, Evie felt sure her toes would soon be numb.
“We’re ready for the gown, Mistress Kemp,” Lorna called out.
The seamstress pulled a stitch taut and bit through the thread. She rose from the bench, carrying her creation like a treasured child. “Dress her ladyship in it whilst I stand back and watch the folds. ’Tis a waist tuck I have never done before. The skirts should fall just so.” The petite woman’s hands chopped the air with every word, directing them like a conductor.
Evie held up her arms and bent forward, trying to remain as pliable as possible. Someone else dressing her took some getting used to. As they tugged it down into place, she straightened but kept her arms held aloft.
“This bodice fits much better than the blue,” Agnes observed, yanking the snug piece into place. She took hold of the pale green ribbons and gave a warning look. “Breathe in, m’lady.”
