It's the day before Eliza and I leave, and I wake to the sound of someone rummaging through my closet. I rub my eyes and sit up in bed. I look around the room, but Eliza is nowhere to be seen. I'm about to get down to look for her when a maid opens the door to my suite. She gives a low curtsy, giving the customary greeting, and says, "My deepest apologies for the intrusion. Only Miss Montague said that we was supposed to start our work especially early today, ma’am, and that you wouldn’t mind.” She shifts nervously, keeping her gaze low, gauging my reaction. I recover from my initial surprise, trying to look as dignified as I can in a nightgown and messy hair. “Of course I don’t mind. Where is Miss Montague?” “She’s in her studio, packing, and she wanted me to tell you that there's a maid in your closet who'll give you a dress, ma’am." "Thank you. May I ask your name?" "My name is Beatrice, ma’am.” “Thank you, Beatrice. You are dismissed.” She curtsies again. “I’ll be outside the door if you need me, ma’am." I nod, and she closes the door behind her. I get out of bed, and try to smooth my nightgown and hair as best I can. I go into my closet and am met with Lilliana, who, upon seeing me, drops into a slightly clumsy curtsy, with a surprised sounding, “Your Imperial Highness.” She hands me a dress. “This is the dress Miss Montague has made for you, ma’am.” I take it, and my breath catches. The fabric is as light as a feather, and its yellows shift in such a way that it feels less as though it is a dress, and more as though it is woven sunlight. The bodice is dotted with small beads that are intricately arranged in patterns that make me think of long summer days in the gardens, and I can almost smell the perfume of the flowers. "I can put up your hair if you'd like, ma’am," Liliana says, drawing me from my stupor. I look at her, and realize that she is just as in love with it as I am. Her eyes are alight with excitement, and her mouth is spread in a wide smile. "That would be wonderful! Let me get dressed first." I look around, realizing that, as Eliza is gone, I have no one else to assist me. I look back at Liliana, who’s smile has faltered, and ask, “Would you mind, er, helping me?” “Of course, ma’am. Of course.” Liliana is awkward at first, battling between having to dress me and avoiding touching me, but when I reassure her that she may, her hands become confident, easily helping me into my dress. I am surprised at her skill, but decide not to pry. I slip on the shoes, golden sandals with a slight heel, and go to the mirror. I look completely different wearing a dress that I actually like. My sharpness and cruelty is long gone, replaced by kindness. I look like a true queen, not whatever my mother is. The dress is another story altogether. It flares out at the waist, dropping to just above my ankles, the soft material intertwining with golden threads in a dance that would be better fitting for a goddess. I am captivated by it, in awe; it feels like it is Eliza’s very essence in dress form. "Miss Montague is very talented. That dress is beautiful!" I hear Lilliana say from behind me. "It is. It sure is." I murmur, not looking away from the mirror. I see a movement in the corner of my eye, and finally wrench my gaze to see her moving a plum colored chair in front of my vanity. She motions for me to sit. I do, and she goes straight to work on my hair. "Up or down?" She asks, running a comb through the dark strands. "Down," I reply. I haven't worn my hair down in a long time, and the elaborate buns are far too stuffy for this dress. In the end, I am left with my hair perfectly curled and pinned with small yellow flowers that match the ones on my dress. I thank her and leave my rooms to go see Eliza. As I walk, I hear the gentle swish of the fabric against my legs, and feel the gentle breeze floating in through the open windows, and I am light enough to fly. The door to the studio is slightly ajar, and I frown at the implication. Everyone closes the doors, even if they are uninhabited, so what could be happening? When I open the door all the way, I am met with a mess of about four trunks, all of which are filled to the brim, and a very harried looking Eliza. "You do know that we are only going for three days, right?" I say, eyeing the luggage. "Yes. But because we're supposed to be ladylike or something, I'm trying to pack all of these huge dresses into these tiny trunks. Which is not going great, if you were wondering." I continue to stare in a mix of confusion and amusement. “Well don’t just stand there!” she snaps. “Help out!” "Well, I'm not exactly an expert on packing, but we can ask a maid or footman for assistance." She heaves a huge sigh, and calls for Beatrice, who is still dutifully waiting out in the hall. As soon as she walks through the door, she stops dead in her tracks, surveying the chaos around her. Then, she promptly bursts into laughter. Soon, I join in, as inappropriate as it may be. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Beatrice says through giggles, attempting to curtsy but nearly falling over in the process. “It’s quite alright.” I try to regain my composure, but fail as much as Beatrice does curtsying. “I fail to see what is so amusing,” Eliza says dryly, the corners of her lips twitching in spite of herself. “If you two would stop your cackling for a moment, then we might be able to actually pack.” "I take it you've never packed for a trip by yourself, Miss Montague?" Eliza shakes her head sheepishly. “Only the occasional venture from our estate to the main city.” "Well miss, all you have to do is iron the dresses," Beatrice’s eyes are full of laughter, something that I rarely see, and that I wish I could see more of. "But wouldn't that ruin the form?" "Not at all! Just steam the dresses when you arrive." "Thank you, Beatrice. So, so much." As Beatrice shuts the door, Eliza rubs her temple and collapses onto a chair. And as we make eye contact, we both find ourselves laughing, hands over our mouths in a futile gesture to quiet ourselves, and again I am struck by what a delightful sound she makes when she is happy. The world disappears and I am just here, in a room with Eliza, doubled over, laughing until our stomachs and cheeks hurt, letting go of the stress of the rebellion that I had not realized was there until now. I try to pull myself together, my smile refusing to fade despite the soreness in my cheeks, and ask, "You are a dressmaker. Your whole life is clothes. How have you gotten this far?" "I honestly have no idea," she says, looking absolutely dumbfounded and amused and wonderful. "A true mystery!" "Oh, shush," she says, pulling her iron from a shelf. "You have to admit it, though. It was kind of hilarious." "Something like that." +++ A few hours later, we are eating lunch in my room. My mother would not normally excuse such behavior, but as I am “visiting the farmers” she has been more flexible. "Have you ever ridden a train?" Eliza asks. "Never." "How attractive.” I blush slightly, dabbing at my face with my napkin to disguise it. What does that even mean? I inspect the napkin, and see a yellow stain from the mustard on my sandwich. It must have been on my face. Oh. So that's what that meant. She continues on. “I've never ridden one before, either. I'm excited and scared at the same time." She pours even more dressing on her salad and takes another bite. The amount of dressing that she puts on her salads should be illegal. At this point, it’s more of a chilled soup. "I've heard that it goes so fast you don't even feel like you're going." "That's believable, I guess. It's definitely faster than a carriage." She gives me a look of annoyance. “It’s obviously faster than a carriage. You don’t sound as excited as I thought you would. Are you okay?” “Of course I’m excited! Just nerves, I guess. What other dresses did you bring?” I change the subject as quickly as I can. "I picked out a lavender one, and I also made some wonderfully modern pieces for us to wear. Something your parents would hate." That's certainly intriguing. "Can I see these wonderfully modern creations of yours?" I ask her. She smirks. "Nice try, your Highness. But then it wouldn't be a surprise." Eliza looks at the clock, and then adds, "I have to go. I'm having dinner with my mother today." "Have fun," I say as she stands. "I always do." She leaves my suite and starts preparing to go back to her estate. I rise, too, and begin clearing the plates. It’s uncharacteristic of a princess to do so, but I don’t want to become like my parents, who couldn’t manage an hour without a dozen servants. "You don't have to do that, ma’am," a voice says behind me. Beatrice. She takes the plates, somehow managing to balance everything at once. I let her, knowing she could take it as an insult if I tried to help her. "You should make sure you have everything packed, ma’am. I'll clean up." "Oh, thank you, Beatrice," I give a nod of thanks, and enter my bedchamber. Making sure to close the door, I get down on my knees and retrieve the little box of knives I had hidden in the floorboards. Eliza had given me the key before, and once again I insert it into the silver lock. I carefully take out the knives, wrapping them in a sheet of thick leather, and put the locket around my neck. I check in the mirror to make sure that the chain is completely concealed, and steel myself for my impending journey. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
It's the day before Eliza and I leave, and I wake to the sound of someone rummaging through my closet. I rub my eyes and sit up in bed.
I look around the room, but Eliza is nowhere to be seen. I'm about to get down to look for her when a maid opens the door to my suite. She gives a low curtsy, giving the customary greeting, and says, "My deepest apologies for the intrusion. Only Miss Montague said that we was supposed to start our work especially early today, ma’am, and that you wouldn’t mind.”
She shifts nervously, keeping her gaze low, gauging my reaction. I recover from my initial surprise, trying to look as dignified as I can in a nightgown and messy hair. “Of course I don’t mind. Where is Miss Montague?”
“She’s in her studio, packing, and she wanted me to tell you that there's a maid in your closet who'll give you a dress, ma’am."
"Thank you. May I ask your name?"
"My name is Beatrice, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Beatrice. You are dismissed.”
She curtsies again. “I’ll be outside the door if you need me, ma’am."
I nod, and she closes the door behind her.
I get out of bed, and try to smooth my nightgown and hair as best I can. I go into my closet and am met with Lilliana, who, upon seeing me, drops into a slightly clumsy curtsy, with a surprised sounding, “Your Imperial Highness.” She hands me a dress. “This is the dress Miss Montague has made for you, ma’am.”
I take it, and my breath catches. The fabric is as light as a feather, and its yellows shift in such a way that it feels less as though it is a dress, and more as though it is woven sunlight. The bodice is dotted with small beads that are intricately arranged in patterns that make me think of long summer days in the gardens, and I can almost smell the perfume of the flowers.
"I can put up your hair if you'd like, ma’am," Liliana says, drawing me from my stupor. I look at her, and realize that she is just as in love with it as I am. Her eyes are alight with excitement, and her mouth is spread in a wide smile.
"That would be wonderful! Let me get dressed first." I look around, realizing that, as Eliza is gone, I have no one else to assist me. I look back at Liliana, who’s smile has faltered, and ask, “Would you mind, er, helping me?”
“Of course, ma’am. Of course.”
Liliana is awkward at first, battling between having to dress me and avoiding touching me, but when I reassure her that she may, her hands become confident, easily helping me into my dress. I am surprised at her skill, but decide not to pry. I slip on the shoes, golden sandals with a slight heel, and go to the mirror.
I look completely different wearing a dress that I actually like. My sharpness and cruelty is long gone, replaced by kindness. I look like a true queen, not whatever my mother is. The dress is another story altogether. It flares out at the waist, dropping to just above my ankles, the soft material intertwining with golden threads in a dance that would be better fitting for a goddess. I am captivated by it, in awe; it feels like it is Eliza’s very essence in dress form.
"Miss Montague is very talented. That dress is beautiful!" I hear Lilliana say from behind me.
"It is. It sure is." I murmur, not looking away from the mirror.
I see a movement in the corner of my eye, and finally wrench my gaze to see her moving a plum colored chair in front of my vanity. She motions for me to sit.
I do, and she goes straight to work on my hair.
"Up or down?" She asks, running a comb through the dark strands.
"Down," I reply. I haven't worn my hair down in a long time, and the elaborate buns are far too stuffy for this dress.
In the end, I am left with my hair perfectly curled and pinned with small yellow flowers that match the ones on my dress. I thank her and leave my rooms to go see Eliza. As I walk, I hear the gentle swish of the fabric against my legs, and feel the gentle breeze floating in through the open windows, and I am light enough to fly.
The door to the studio is slightly ajar, and I frown at the implication. Everyone closes the doors, even if they are uninhabited, so what could be happening? When I open the door all the way, I am met with a mess of about four trunks, all of which are filled to the brim, and a very harried looking Eliza.
"You do know that we are only going for three days, right?" I say, eyeing the luggage.
"Yes. But because we're supposed to be ladylike or something, I'm trying to pack all of these huge dresses into these tiny trunks. Which is not going great, if you were wondering."
I continue to stare in a mix of confusion and amusement. “Well don’t just stand there!” she snaps. “Help out!”
"Well, I'm not exactly an expert on packing, but we can ask a maid or footman for assistance."
She heaves a huge sigh, and calls for Beatrice, who is still dutifully waiting out in the hall. As soon as she walks through the door, she stops dead in her tracks, surveying the chaos around her. Then, she promptly bursts into laughter. Soon, I join in, as inappropriate as it may be.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Beatrice says through giggles, attempting to curtsy but nearly falling over in the process.
“It’s quite alright.” I try to regain my composure, but fail as much as Beatrice does curtsying.
“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Eliza says dryly, the corners of her lips twitching in spite of herself. “If you two would stop your cackling for a moment, then we might be able to actually pack.”
"I take it you've never packed for a trip by yourself, Miss Montague?"
Eliza shakes her head sheepishly. “Only the occasional venture from our estate to the main city.”
"Well miss, all you have to do is iron the dresses," Beatrice’s eyes are full of laughter, something that I rarely see, and that I wish I could see more of.
"But wouldn't that ruin the form?"
"Not at all! Just steam the dresses when you arrive."
"Thank you, Beatrice. So, so much." As Beatrice shuts the door, Eliza rubs her temple and collapses onto a chair.
And as we make eye contact, we both find ourselves laughing, hands over our mouths in a futile gesture to quiet ourselves, and again I am struck by what a delightful sound she makes when she is happy. The world disappears and I am just here, in a room with Eliza, doubled over, laughing until our stomachs and cheeks hurt, letting go of the stress of the rebellion that I had not realized was there until now.
I try to pull myself together, my smile refusing to fade despite the soreness in my cheeks, and ask, "You are a dressmaker. Your whole life is clothes. How have you gotten this far?"
"I honestly have no idea," she says, looking absolutely dumbfounded and amused and wonderful.
"A true mystery!"
"Oh, shush," she says, pulling her iron from a shelf.
"You have to admit it, though. It was kind of hilarious."
"Something like that."
+++
A few hours later, we are eating lunch in my room. My mother would not normally excuse such behavior, but as I am “visiting the farmers” she has been more flexible.
"Have you ever ridden a train?" Eliza asks.
"Never."
"How attractive.” I blush slightly, dabbing at my face with my napkin to disguise it. What does that even mean?
I inspect the napkin, and see a yellow stain from the mustard on my sandwich. It must have been on my face. Oh. So that's what that meant.
She continues on. “I've never ridden one before, either. I'm excited and scared at the same time." She pours even more dressing on her salad and takes another bite. The amount of dressing that she puts on her salads should be illegal. At this point, it’s more of a chilled soup. "I've heard that it goes so fast you don't even feel like you're going."
"That's believable, I guess. It's definitely faster than a carriage."
She gives me a look of annoyance. “It’s obviously faster than a carriage. You don’t sound as excited as I thought you would. Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m excited! Just nerves, I guess. What other dresses did you bring?” I change the subject as quickly as I can.
"I picked out a lavender one, and I also made some wonderfully modern pieces for us to wear. Something your parents would hate."
That's certainly intriguing.
"Can I see these wonderfully modern creations of yours?" I ask her.
She smirks. "Nice try, your Highness. But then it wouldn't be a surprise."
Eliza looks at the clock, and then adds, "I have to go. I'm having dinner with my mother today."
"Have fun," I say as she stands.
"I always do."
She leaves my suite and starts preparing to go back to her estate.
I rise, too, and begin clearing the plates. It’s uncharacteristic of a princess to do so, but I don’t want to become like my parents, who couldn’t manage an hour without a dozen servants.
"You don't have to do that, ma’am," a voice says behind me. Beatrice.
She takes the plates, somehow managing to balance everything at once. I let her, knowing she could take it as an insult if I tried to help her.
"You should make sure you have everything packed, ma’am. I'll clean up."
"Oh, thank you, Beatrice," I give a nod of thanks, and enter my bedchamber. Making sure to close the door, I get down on my knees and retrieve the little box of knives I had hidden in the floorboards.
Eliza had given me the key before, and once again I insert it into the silver lock. I carefully take out the knives, wrapping them in a sheet of thick leather, and put the locket around my neck. I check in the mirror to make sure that the chain is completely concealed, and steel myself for my impending journey. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.