The two women took turns pulling clothes from the wardrobe so that Isla could try them on before the looking glass, posing and pursing her lips. They settled on a dress of white gossamer, with purple slippers and a matching bow for Isla’s hair.
Margaret styled Isla’s red curls, arranging them in a pile atop her head with several tendrils hanging down to frame her pale oval face. The overall effect was magnificent, and Isla exclaimed happily when she saw it in the mirror, clapping her dainty hands together excitedly.
“It’s quite fetching on you, isn’t it?” Margaret said with a grin. “I have often pictured my own hair in that same style.”
“Then why don’t you wear it that way?” Isla asked. “It would suit you wonderfully!”
Margaret lowered her eyes demurely. “I couldn’t, you see. The other servants would accuse me of putting on airs.”
“Oh, would they?” Isla put her hands on her hips. “Well, you are my maid now, not just some plain old servant! And the eldest daughter decrees that you may wear your hair however you please from now on! Here, let me help you with it!”
Isla reached out, but Margaret pulled away, her brow creasing with worry. “That’s extremely kind of you. Even so, I shall continue to wear my hair in this fashion. There are many among those ‘plain old servants’ who I still consider to be dear friends, and I would not want them to feel that I was placing myself above them, if you see what I mean.”
Isla considered this for a moment, then stepped forward and embraced Margaret warmly. “Of course I do. I can be so silly sometimes, and I do hope you will forgive me.” Before Margaret could answer, Isla pulled back and held her at arm’s length, looking her over carefully. “Still, if you will not allow me to style your hair, you must at least let me dress you up!”
“Oh, that really isn’t necessary!” Margaret protested. “They are your clothes, your things. You don’t need to share them with me!”
“But I wish to, don’t you see?” Isla answered, her eyes wide and earnest. “I have never had such a good friend as you. Come, let’s see which of these dresses looks best on you!”
Garment fabric billowed across the room like banners on a battlefield as Isla examined each item in turn. Frills, ribbons, and ruffles were all tossed aside impatiently after the merest glance, even though Margaret found them all to be beautiful and would have felt honored to wear any of them.
Finally, Isla settled upon a green velvet dress lined with white lace and shoved it into Margaret’s hands. “Put it on,” she said in a tone that indicated she would brook no refusal.
Margaret donned the dress and stepped into the shoes that Isla found to match it. Then Isla took her by the shoulders and led her over to the mirror.
Together, they marveled at Margaret’s reflection.
For her part, Margaret could never have imagined herself wearing anything so fancy in her life. She even felt more than a little guilty, as though she had no right to be wearing such things, as though she were stealing them rather than simply borrowing them with permission.
Still, she could not deny how good the dress looked on her. How comfortable the little shoes were, after years of rough woven footwear chafing and blistering her skin.
A thought buzzed across her mind, and she swatted it away impatiently before it had a chance to land, as though it were little more than an errant fly. Even so, the thought had been there, hovering, if only for a moment:
I could get used to this sort of thing.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. Preposterous. They were just having a bit of fun, that was all. Margaret had already risen to the rank of maid in a noble house, and she’d been lucky enough to do so. Nurturing higher ambitions—especially unattainable ones—was ludicrous and self-indulgent, and she knew that.
She shifted her focus to Isla’s reflection and was surprised to see that the girl’s eyes were misty.
“Isla?” Margaret asked, turning around slowly. “What is the matter?”
Isla wiped a tear from her cheek. “I was just picturing how lovely you will look on your wedding day someday. Dressed in a splendid gown and gazing across the altar at a man you truly adore instead of one who has been selected for you. I envy you that so much, Margaret; you have no idea.”
In that moment, Margaret felt silly and selfish wishing for a life that was more like Isla’s, without seeing the sadness within the girl at being forced to marry a man she did not love.
So she hugged Isla tightly, and comforted her, and said any words she could think of in order to soothe her.
