The Education of Bet (17 page)

"I suppose I did, now that you mention it. In truth, you are right, and he seemed quite changed. Still, given how close you two always were, the fact that he could not wait even a single hour longer for your arrival, it is
odd
..."

Odd? I knew what was odd. During the week I'd been Will, it was odd for me to talk about myself—meaning Bet—in the third person to the old man, discuss the letters I'd had from "her" all about her new position as companion and how she was liking it. It was just as disorienting in the second week to be talking about the changes and achievements of "Will" at school when, in reality, I was talking about myself!

If things became any more confusing...

***

"It was wonderful having Elizabeth here again for a whole week," the old man said. "I had no idea until she left to become companion to that ...
woman
"—he refused, in his resentment, to call the new employer by name—"how much I'd grown to depend on her presence in this house."

When I'd woken up that morning, having contrived the ruse of Bet returning to Mrs. Larwood's the previous evening, I hadn't known who I was supposed to be. Should I put on a dress? A suit?

"Yes," I said now, having figured out that I was Will once again and having donned the appropriate suit. "You probably miss how she used to read to you, using all those voices, and how she could complete a piece of mending for you better than any of the other maids." I realized I had been unsuccessful in masking the resentment in my voice about the sort of things I assumed the old man might miss Bet for, but he didn't appear to notice my tone or take offense at it.

Rather, he waved my words aside with a dismissive hand.

"I couldn't care less about any of that," he said. "I simply miss
her.
I miss the light and energy she used to bring to this old house. I miss hearing the two of you scheme and bicker between yourselves as you used to do." He paused. "And I still do not understand why you could not stay at least an extra hour so that you might see her before trotting off to be with your school friends, and I really do not understand why that ...
woman
she is now companion to insisted that she had to return to her job at a most exact hour so that she could not be here to see you—"

Oh, no. Not that again. Hadn't we already been down this road?

"I know I can never read to you half so good as Bet can, Uncle," I said. He was like a dog with a bone on the topic of the timing of Will's and my—or do I mean my and Bet's?—comings and goings, and I sought to distract him. "But if you like, I can read to you for a while. We have been studying Shakespeare's
Twelfth Night
at school, and while I don't think I can accomplish Bet's feat of mimicking male actors who are themselves mimicking female characters, I think I can at least do a credible job with the male voices."

"I suppose," he said. "I suppose that might be mildly entertaining."

I had hardly completed the first few scenes when the old man gave a discontented sigh.

"You read passably," he said, "but it is not the same."

I wasn't sure if I should feel insulted that my reading as Will was judged inferior or proud that my talents as Bet were so highly prized.

Since I was dressed in my Will costume at the time, it was easy to opt for being offended. It was what the real Will would have done.

"Would you like me to get you more port, Uncle, before I continue?" I offered through gritted teeth.

"Very well," he allowed, "very well."

By the time I got to act 2, the old man was beginning to drowse, sometimes snoring noisily, in his chair. He was a little drunk too.

"Shall I help you up to bed?" I offered. "Or perhaps get some of the servants?"

"No, that is..." He waved a hand, nodded off for a moment, then roused again with a start. "I have wondered sometimes," he said, "if I have been unfair in my treatment of Elizabeth."

"I'm sure she does not think so," I reassured him.

"Yes, but she doesn't know ... you know ... that's right, you don't know..."

What was he talking about?

"What doesn't she know?" I asked him. I had no idea what he could be referring to, but I certainly was alert now. "What don't I know?"

But it didn't matter how I phrased the question, for he'd nodded off to sleep again, this time more soundly than before. And when he finally did wake, he was obviously so confused and disoriented—an old man who'd fallen asleep in his chair beside a dying fire—I did not have it in me to press him further.

All anyone could talk about was the dance.

***

January 15, 18—

Dear Will,

It was bad enough your not warning me in advance about compulsory sports,
BUT I WOULD THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE MENTIONED DANCES
!!! Imagine my horror—no, my humiliation—when, upon returning to school for Lent half, having successfully impersonated you at home over the holiday, I was informed that there is to be a
dance
here in one month's time? As you well know, I have never even received any training that would enable me to dance as a girl, which is what I am, never mind to lead as a boy, which is what I am supposed to be. Now I ask you: How am I supposed to pull
this
off? I can assure you, memorizing all of Homer and reciting it while standing on one foot would be easier.

Oh, and my roommate. To have
him
witness my humiliation, not to mention the way he will tease me ... But that is a story for another time.

It occurs to me that it has been quite some time since I received a letter from you. I certainly hope you are still alive. I need you to be alive, Will,
SO I CAN KILL YOU MYSELF FOR NOT WARNING ME ABOUT SCHOOL DANCES
!!!

Your loving sister in spirit,
Bet

***

All anyone could talk about was the dance.

It was as though the whole world had gone mad.

We were at dinner at Marchand Hall our first night back. Hamish, seated at the head of the table, had just announced the specific Saturday in February that Dr. Hunter had informed him would be the night of the dance.

"What dance?" I whispered to James, hoping none of the others heard me.

He looked surprised at my question. "Why, the annual winter ball," he whispered in return, although he needn't have bothered; all around us, the others were chattering so excitedly about Hamish's news, we might have shouted and still not been overheard. "The days are so short now, the nights so long. It breaks up the monotony of the dreary cold season, gives everyone something to look forward to, and, at least according to the masters, provides us with the opportunity to comport ourselves as gentlemen."

That last sounded as though he was quoting something direct from Dr. Hunter's mouth.

"I thought we were always supposed to comport ourselves as gentlemen," I said, adding, with a snort, "well, except for when we're treeing one another or beating each other up without anyone trying to stop it." I was puzzled. "How does this 'dance' thing work?" I said. "What—we all dance with each other?"

"You mean, the boys with the boys?" he countered.

I nodded.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then: "How many schools did you say you'd been at before?"

"Three," I said, then shook my head in self-correction. "I mean four."

"And at all these other schools, either you never had dances or you all danced with each other?"

"Well, of course at my other schools we had dances. I suppose I just didn't pay much attention to them, and so I was, er, wondering what the protocol might be here." I was blathering now. "You know, every school I've been at differs in some way, however small, from the others. Sometimes chapel services are longer. Sometimes the food is even worse. Sometimes my room is on a different floor. So I think you will find it only natural that I would wonder—"

"
Girls,
Will." James cut me off. "We dance with
girls.
"

"
Girls?
" I sat back so abruptly, I almost tipped over in my chair. "Where do we get
girls
from? Surely, we're not all going to take turns dancing with Dr. Hunter's wife and Mrs. Smithers, are we?"

There was that long stare again. "Those dances at those other schools you attended—how many schools was that, again? twelve? twenty?—they must have really been something."

I was beginning to resent his remarks.

"We
invite
the girls, Will."

"Oh!"

"The older boys, some have sweethearts already, so they invite them. The younger boys and those who have no sweethearts invite sisters or cousins."

"Oh, I see."

I became lost in thought, envisioning myself as Will Gardener trying to lead Hamish's sister around the dance floor. Of course I did not specifically know him to have a sister, but James had said the boys without sweethearts brought relatives, and since it was impossible to picture Hamish with a sweetheart, suddenly I couldn't stop myself from picturing a barely feminine version of that most detested of boys, all dead fish eyes and meatiness in a dress. I shuddered. She'd probably beat me up if I didn't lead properly. It was going to be awful, a nightmare.

"Tyler!" Hamish's voice barking at my roommate intruded upon my happy thoughts. I looked up to see Hamish jutting out his chin at James. "Who're you bringing?"

"No one," James said coolly.

"Figures." Hamish turned to me, another chin jut. "And what about you, Gardener? No girls for you either?"

"Actually," I said, straightening in my chair, "I do have someone to invite."

"You do?" James asked before Hamish got the chance to.

"Yes. My sister, as a matter of fact."

"
You
have a sister? But you never said—" James began.

"And you never asked. But I do have one, all the same."

"And does this sister I've never heard of have a name?" James wanted to know.

"Oh, yes. Her name is Elizabeth, although we all call her Bet." I paused. "She's my identical twin."

"
Identical
twin?" James cocked an eyebrow at me. "Is your sister, then, perhaps a brother?"

"What?"

"It's just that identical twins must be the same gender. So if your twin is identical, either your twin is a boy, or
you
are
a girl.
"

"Of course I know that." I felt the blush heat my face all the way up to my hairline. "What I
meant
to say is that Bet and I look so much alike, we might as
well
be identical twins."

"Oh, I see now." James eyed me coolly.

Three hours later, in bed for the night, the room darkened all around us, James still hadn't gotten over his surprise.

"I can't believe you kept something like that from me! You have an entire twin and I'm only just learning this four months after meeting you?"

"Is there any other kind of twin except an
entire
one? Are you suggesting it's possible that I might have
half
a twin, or possibly three-quarters of one? And what do you think I should have done, held out my hand back in September and said, 'Hullo, name's Will Gardener, and oh, by the way, I have a twin sister'?"

"No, of course not." I could hear his exasperation even though I couldn't see his face. "But you might have said at some point—"

"Don't you have any siblings you've never told me about?"

"No. I'm an only child."

"Oh."

"I still say that's quite a secret—"

"No secret, James. I'm not keeping any secrets at all. It just never came up before." I paused. "But now it has."

All I knew was, if there had to be a dance, I was damned if I was going to dance all night with Hamish's no doubt awful sister. Instead, I would dance, at least once, I hoped, with James.

As myself.

***

It is one thing to decide that one will impersonate a boy and successfully carry out that impersonation for four months and counting. It is one thing to decide that even though one is supposed to be a boy, one will turn around and masquerade as a girl to dance at a ball. But once one has made that second decision, it is quite another thing to figure out how one will actually pull it off.

What was I going to wear?

When James asked me to go into town with him that Sunday, I declined, saying I had some studying to do. When he offered to stay behind with me to help me study—perhaps I needed him to quiz me?—I hurried him out of the room, saying that what I was really in dire need of was a buttery scone from Parsons' Tea Room, and could he please bring one back for me? Preferably not too soon, because I really did need to study in silence. Then I locked the door behind him.

Alone now, I used the key to unlock my wardrobe and then removed my trunk. My wig was still there, as was the dress Will had so presciently urged me to pack when I'd first set out for school. I'd worn both when I'd appeared as Bet at Grangefield Hall that second week of Christmas holiday. But looking at that dress now—the efficient skirt, the unspectacular shade of pale blue—I knew it was nothing I could wear to a ball. And even if I could get an excused leave from school to travel home, it wasn't as though I'd find anything more suitable in my wardrobe there. Everyone at school knew Will Gardener came from a wealthy family. It wouldn't do for his twin sister to appear wearing something dowdy.