“It is a fine thing, is it not?” The maid hurried to it, lifted the top, and folded it over to the side. Then she pulled open one door and revealed a seat with a hole in it. “There ye be.” She tapped on the door below it. “Down here’s the chamber pot. Either Janie or Alice cleans it out four times a day. There’s a garderobe on this floor as well. That way, if the need arises, ye dinna have to come all the way back to yer wash cupboard here. Is it not grand?”
“Grand, indeed.” Lorna tried to sound impressed and grateful to have such a convenience built into her room. “Thank ye, Ebby. I think I’ll strip down and have a good wash, since my last shower was yesterday morning.”
“Yer last what?”
“Uhm…shower. That’s what I call it when…I splash. A lot.” Damning herself for using modern terminology again, Lorna backed into the water cupboard and tried to close the door.
Ebby stopped the door from shutting. “But do ye not need help with yer buttons and laces?”
“I am fine. Really.” Lorna wrinkled her nose and tried to play off as being secretive. “I got lazy today and didna wear my stays.” She offered a sly wink. “Dinna tell anyone, aye?”
“No stays?” The maid’s mouth dropped open. “Ye must wear stays. A proper lass like yerself has to.”
Lorna closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. “I promise to wear them to the feast. While I wash, how about ye pick me out something to wear, aye? I trust yer judgment.”
Ebby brightened like a sunrise. “I will, mistress. All will be ready when ye finish.” She allowed the door to shut, leaving Lorna in the small, windowless room.
“Give me strength,” Lorna said under her breath as she hiked up her skirts, shimmied her panties down around her knees, and sat on the wooden toilet. All the intricate realities of surviving in this era threatened to suffocate her. No toilet paper. No feminine hygiene products and dubious options to keep her armpits and other bits from getting ripe. She smacked her lips and ran her tongue across her teeth. And no feckin’ toothbrush or toothpaste. Or coffee or tea. Had those even been discovered yet?
“One hurdle at a time,” she told herself. “Just pee.”
It took a minute or two to convince herself to release the stream. Once she did, she blew out a relieved breath, then twisted to open the drawer that supposedly contained the equivalent of toilet tissue. She found fluffy clumps of wool and bits of linen torn into small squares. One of those sufficed for what she needed, but then she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Did everything go into the chamber pot, or was she supposed to put it somewhere else so it could be cleaned and reused?
“Oh, bloody hell.” She opted for dropping the cloth down beside the chamber pot, hoping that would be all right until she confirmed otherwise.
A light tap on the door halted her in the middle of unlacing her stomacher. “What is it?”
“Once ye remove yer things, hand them out here so ye will have more room for yer washing.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Bloody hell!” She silently cursed herself for using that word again. “I will hand them out to ye straight away.”
“Good, then,” Ebby said, sounding a bit bewildered. “I shall wait right here.”
“Thank ye, Ebby.” Lorna huffed as she finished unlacing her jacket and slipped it off. She opened the door a crack and held it out. “Jacket and stomacher. Soon the rest.”
“Merciful heavens,” Ebby said from the other side of the door. “How did the seamstress manage such fine stitching?”
Lorna went still in the middle of unbuttoning the waistband of her skirt. She had never been one to lie, and explaining herself in this time was straining her creativity. “I dinna ken how she did it. Wondrous, is it not?”
“Aye, it is. I wish I could train with her.”
“I wish we could both train with her,” Lorna muttered. “Then we would be back in my time.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Almost done. Do ye have a fresh shift for me too?” She had to keep the girl busy while she figured out a place to hide her bra and panties. If she stashed them in any of the drawers, Ebby or one of the other maids would surely find them. She couldn’t keep them on. Not with the maid expecting to stuff her into stays and help her dress.
The walls were whitewashed stone and the rafters too high for her to reach even if she stood on the commode—although she wondered if they called them that yet. She vaguely remembered Mrs. Crowley having a book entitledThe History of Toiletsthat said that they did not coin the term until the seventeen hundreds.
“Oh, who gives a shite,” she said as she dropped to her knees and peered up under the table that held the water pitcher and basin. Her heart lifted as soon as spotted the reinforcement wedges in the corners. If she wadded up her underthings in the smallest ball possible, she could stuff them up between the wooden wedges and the underside of the tabletop. Tonight, once everyone had retired, she could rinse them out and hang them by the fire to dry. After that, she didn’t have a clue what to do with them if Ebby insisted on helping her dress each day.
She filled the basin with water, wet a rag, and wiped her face. A pat on her hair confirmed it to be a ratty mess in dire need of brushing. Maybe Ebby could help with that. She opened the pair of crocks and sniffed them. The one with the waxy white paste had the faint scent of roses, and the other held what looked like olive oil but gave off a pleasing aroma of fresh lavender. She assumed the paste was the soap but didn’t have a clue what to do with the oil. Moisturizer? Then she remembered Ebby’s promise that one of the two would keep her lady bits and oxters fresh. Oxters? She hadn’t heard that term for armpits in ages.
Desperate for something to make her mouth feel cleaner, she rubbed her teeth with the wet linen and wiped off her tongue. She had read somewhere that castle kitchens had herb gardens. Maybe they had some mint she could use.
