Rani nodded, “It is. I want to just stand, close my eyes, and smell.”
Mrs. Dunstan smiled, delighted at Rani’s reaction to Lady Branstoke’s dressing room. She crossed to a large, white-painted armoire, trimmed with gold gilt, that stood in the corner.
“Would you prefer a black or gray dress? I’m afraid that is all that is here,” she said, looking through a small stack of folded gowns stored in a lower drawer. “These were her mourning clothes. Madam has no need of these now.” She pulled out two dresses, shook them out, and laid them across the back of a light blue damask covered settee. She looked from the dresses to Rani, then back. She picked up the gray dress.
“This one will be better for you,” she said. “Go behind the screen to try it on while I look for a chemise and a night rail.”
Rani took the dress from her. “It is heavy!” she said in surprise.
“Compared to the fabric of your Indian dress, I imagine it is,” Mrs. Dunstan agreed. “But it will keep you warmer,” said the practical woman. “Here is a chemise to go with it. Let me know when you get it on, and I will help you with the laces. Unlike Mr. Charwood and his obsession with his dignity, I am not averse to being a helping maid when the need arises,” she said, with a nod and pursed lips.
Rani nodded and slipped behind the screen. She unwrapped her saree, careful to remove the papers and money she had secured within the fabric folds. She hadn’t read the documents Sahib gave her. She was proud she could read English, thanks to her uncle allowing her to assist in his schoolroom. Still, she would not read documents Sahib gave her without permission.
She put the dress on, surprised to see it was not too long and only a little loose on her. She gathered up the lengths of her green saree and draped it over the screen before she came out to have Mrs. Dunstan assist her with the dress fastenings.
“Yes, this will do,” Mrs. Dunstan said. “When we get you your own clothes, we will ensure they have front fastenings.”
Rani felt self-conscious under Mrs. Dunstan’s critical eye. She understood servants did not have dressers and felt uncomfortable with the need for the dress she wore.
“Turn around so I can lace the back.”
Mutely, Rani did as she requested, feeling like the child with a nursemaid, instead of being a nursemaid.
“Is that one long length of fabric?” Mrs. Dunstan asked, nodding toward Rani’s saree as she pulled on the dress laces.
Rani’s head bobbled. “Yes, yes,” she said. “That one was Memsahib’s, my mistress’s. Sahib say I need to look good on the journey, so I am not, hmm—abused, he say. I’m to take Memsahib’s clothes, as they are better than mine.”
“This Memsahib, she is deceased?” Mrs. Dunstan asked.
“Yes, over a year,” Rani said sadly. “She nice to me, both she and Sahib nice to me.”
“How do you keep it on? Aren’t you afraid it would, well, fall off?” the woman asked.
Rani laughed a little, releasing the sadness she’d felt thinking of her employers. “I have a blouse and petticoat under my saree, as that is as the British in India say is proper. We use tucking, pleating, and pins to arrange and hold our sarees and to drape our pallu,” she explained, mimicking with her hands the motions of tucking, pleating, and pinning her saree.
“Pallu?”
“The cloth on the shoulder. It can cover the head and be a shawl as I wore or used to carry children.”
“I hadn’t realized that was all the same length of fabric. That is quite long.”
Rani looked over at her saree. She frowned. The wider and longer-length saree allowed her to create the secure folds for the money and papers she carried. She shook her head. “I don’t like saree that long. But it was necessary.” How will she carry money and papers without saree? Reticules she see English women carry look too small.
Mrs. Dunstan finished tying the dress and stepped back. “I don’t believe madam’s shoes will fit. Your feet are larger than hers.
“It’s all right. I wear sandals.”
“Well, let’s gather your things and take them to the nursemaid’s room. I had it cleaned and decorated once Sir James married—just in case, you know,” she confided.
Rani giggled at that.
“Then we had best get back to the kitchen. Hopefully, the gentlemen will have succeeded in their task.”
Rani laughed louder. “That Mr. Charwood, he not be happy.”
“No, I don’t understand it; it is not like him, but don’t you let it fret you. It’s alright,” Mrs. Dunstan claimed. “He’s been moody for over six months now. It has nothing to do with you.
* * *
