The Education of Bet (6 page)

"Exactly. That's what I mean about purpose. But there are other times when you need to adopt a more casual approach, as though you're out for a stroll without a care in the world."

This he demonstrated as well.

"What are you doing with your hands in your pockets?" I asked.

"I'm jangling my change, counting it sometimes. It's what men do when they stroll."

"If you haven't a care in the world," I said with a snort, "I don't see why you'd be worrying about how much money you have."

"Laugh all you want to, but while you're laughing, practice, practice, practice."

I obeyed. At least he was finally getting into the spirit of the thing.

"And no swishing!" he shouted after me as I paraded up and down the lawn, seeking to adopt a more masculine stride.

When he felt I'd done enough swishless walking for one day, he called for a maid.

"Lemonade?" I asked, hoping that was what he was going to request. It was hot out.

"No," he said to me. "Cutting shears, please," he said to the maid.

"
Cutting shears?
" I wanted to know what he was up to.

After the maid had brought the requested item and safely departed, Will reached out and, with one quick motion, snipped off a lock of my hair.

"Hey! What did you do that for?" I demanded, my hand instinctively reaching to protect the rest of my hair.

"I'm going to need this," Will said, "in order to have the wig maker fashion you a wig to use after you cut the rest of your hair off." Will smiled. "After all, there will still be times when you'll need to look like a girl, won't there?"

***

Allowing my hair to be cut was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do.

Funny, I usually thought of being a girl as something that had mostly just gotten in my way all my life. And yet, watching my hair grow progressively shorter as lock after lock fell to the bathroom floor, I felt as though I were losing a part of myself that I hadn't previously recognized as precious.

Somehow, it made me feel slightly better that, although I had to lose my hair, Will was the one doing the cutting.

"Tell me about school," I said to Will, hoping to take my mind off what was happening as tears of loss sprang to my eyes. "What's it like?"

"Probably a lot more boring than you imagine," Will said, concentrating on his task.
Snip, snip.
"A bunch of high-spirited boys."
Snip, snip.
"A handful of stern masters."
Snip, snip.
"Lousy food."

"Do you think I'm smart enough?"

The shears ceased their snipping and Will's eyes met mine in the mirror. He did not comment on how rare it was for me to show such insecurity, and for this I was grateful. He did not comment on the tears in my eyes, and I was grateful for this too.

"You're smarter than any boy I've ever known, Bet," he said, looking wholly serious for once.

"Right, then." I closed my eyes briefly to stop the tears. When I opened them again and spoke, my voice was stern. "Keep cutting."

Snip, snip. Snip, snip, snip.

Before I knew it, it was done. My long hair was all gone.

Will bent down so that his head was beside mine in the mirror.

"We used to look so much alike," I said, "that we could have been taken for brother and sister."

"But now," Will said, "we look like brother and brother."

Then Will produced the wig he'd had made for me and dropped it on my head at a skewed angle. "Good thing you've got this."

I straightened the wig so it sat properly on my head.

"And now"—I smiled at myself—"I'm a girl again."

"Must be nice to be able to go back and forth like that," Will said.

***

"Are you going to let me in or aren't you?" Will shouted through the locked door of my bedroom.

"Hold on! Hold on!" I shouted back. "Almost ready!"

A moment later, I let him in. "Voilà!" I said, taking a step backward.

I studied his amazed expression as he regarded me in my black suit, the black suit that used to be his black suit.

He blushed as he gestured vaguely at the part of my body where my breasts used to be. "How did you make ...
those
disappear?"

"I need to maintain some mysteries, don't I?" I answered saucily.

It would have been awkward talking to Will about what I'd done to my breasts. In truth, I'd used fabric to bind them. It was uncomfortable, but no more so than the corset I'd had to wear.

"And ...
that.
" Will blushed more furiously still as he gestured at the bulge I'd created in the front of my trousers. "It shouldn't look so big ...
that.
"

"Oh!" It was my turn to blush. "Sorry!" Then I commanded him to leave the room again so I could remove one of the two pairs of stockings I'd shoved down my trousers. I should have known that just one pair would do.

"Is that better?" I asked, letting him in again.

"Much," he said, looking relieved. "But that tie..."

"Tie?" My hand went to my throat. "What's the matter with my tie? It's the one you gave me."

"But it's all wrong." Will approached me. "May I?"

"Please."

Will undid the tie I'd so carefully knotted. "The thing you need to remember at all times," Will said, as he folded one end over the other, "is that a balance must always be struck. Tie it too loosely, and the masters will have your head, but tie it too tightly, as you had it, and you'll be a laughingstock."

He led me to the mirror. "Do you see what I mean?"

Will was right. His way made a huge difference, all the difference in the world: it was the perfect balance between studious and rakish. At last, I looked as though I might belong ...
somewhere.

"Can you show me how to tie it like you just did?" I asked him.

He stood behind me so I could watch what he was doing in the mirror. He seemed so patient now, and he remained so as I practiced.

"Have I got it?" I asked, this time using my boy voice when I spoke.

"Yes," he said. "You're perfect now, Will Gardener."

***

Later on that night, we were out in the back garden, enjoying the August moon.

"In all your planning, Bet," Will said into the lazy silence, "you've left out one important item."

"I have?"

"Yes. If I go off to the military, and you take my place at school so that Uncle continues believing I am at school, what sort of excuse will you give for your own absence from here?"

"The
Better Man
Academy? Are you
joking,
Uncle?"

The old man appeared to be puzzled by this query.

"
Joking?
" he echoed. "Have you ever known me to
joke
about anything in my life?"

Will was forced to concede that he had not.

"At any rate," the old man continued, "it is not the
Better Man
Academy. It is the Betterman Academy."

"It still sounds to me like a joke," Will said, "a name that someone has made up." Will altered his voice to sound as though he were reading an advertisement for hair tonic from one of the newspapers: "'Send your boy to us here at the Betterman Academy, and we will send you back a
Better Man!
'"

"Perhaps Betterman is the name of the gentleman who founded the academy?" I interjected—helpfully, I thought.

"Whatever it is named for, it still sounds nutty to me," Will muttered.

I wondered at his aggression toward the mere name of the school. After all, he wasn't the one who was going to be attending there. I was.

"Well," the old man said, "then you should have thought about that before you got yourself sent down from every reputable school within a reasonable radius of home."

"Is that why you chose it, then?" Will wondered. "For its proximity to home?"

"Hardly." The old man snorted. "It is still two days' journey from here. I
chose
it"—and here he paused, and then commenced to thunder—"
because it was the only place I could find that would take you!
"

***

August 7, 18—

Dear Miss Smith,

I write to you on behalf of my mother, Mrs. Henry Larwood. Having reviewed your application along with the many we have received, it is our decision that you would make the most fit companion for her as my husband and I commence our yearlong tour of the Orient. It is a great comfort for me to think that Mother will be tended to by such a caring girl. Mr. Gardener's letter of reference impressed us all greatly, and I must confess, Mother is particularly charmed that not only can you read to her daily, but you can do so using voices!

The compensation for your duties will be generous. You will have every other Sunday off. We realize that a single day will not be sufficient time for you to journey back to Grangefield Hall, and so, as you requested, you will be permitted a week's leave at the Christmas holidays and another week later in the spring. We will need you here no later than the first week of September. Should these terms meet with your approval, please reply with all speed to the above address.

"Is this woman mad?" the old man said after I'd read the letter to him, my hands shaking nervously all the while. In truth, I could have read the letter without looking at the page, since I'd written every word myself. "She talks about a letter of reference from Mr. Gardener. Well,
I
certainly never wrote to her!"

"No, sir," Will answered, using rare formality in addressing his great-uncle. Then he cleared his throat, his own nerves taking over. "The Mr. Gardener in the letter would be me."

"
You?
But I don't understand..."

"I wrote it," Will said. "Bet needed a letter of reference and I provided her with one."

"Yes, but I still don't understand any of this. Why—?"

Will opened his mouth to explain, but I stopped him. This had all been my idea, after all. Any grief that might come of it was my responsibility.

"I am sixteen years old now, sir," I said boldly. "Isn't it high time I made my way in the world?"

I would never have guessed, not in a million years, that the old man would look so crestfallen at the idea of my leave-taking.

"But I thought you were happy here, Elizabeth," he said. "Haven't we been good to you?"

"Of course!" I said brightly, hoping to erase any damage I'd caused. I tried on a happy laugh. "But I could not stay here forever, could I?" I sobered. "After all, I am not family. At some point, I will need to earn my own living. Is it not best that I start now, when I have an opportunity with someone who wants to employ me?"

"If it is about money ... yes, I see where perhaps we have taken advantage of you all these years, not paying you. Perhaps we could—"

"It is not about money, sir," I said gently. "And I could never take yours. You have already given me so much."

"It is just simply time for Bet to become independent," Will interjected.

"
You
helped her in this," the old man accused Will.

"Yes," Will said, straightening his back, "and I would do it again. People need, Uncle, to follow where their hearts and minds lead them." Will softened. "And as Mrs. Larwood's daughter's letter indicates, Bet will be home for the holidays. So it is not as though you will never see her again."

"And I will write to you, sir," I added. "I will write every week to tell you how I am getting on."

"But who will read those letters to me, Elizabeth, if you are busy somewhere else, reading to some
one
else?"

That hurt.

"I'm sure one of the servants would be happy to do so," Will said, stepping in to save me. "I'm sure they all would rather read letters to you than, oh, I don't know, polish the silver
one more time.
"

The old man smiled weakly at this attempt at humor.

"And isn't it fortunate," Will pressed on, encouraged by that weak smile, "why, look at the address on the letter!" Will blushed. "Well, no, of course you can't actually see it. But it is not far from the Betterman Academy, and they want Bet there very close to the day that I am due at school. Why, she and I can share a carriage out! I can see to it that she is safely settled!"

"Yes," the old man said dryly, "I suppose that is a most fortunate coincidence."

***

When Will was much smaller, he sometimes used to kneel at his great-uncle's feet, when he was in trouble or when he wanted something from him or when he was simply in need of some affection. I used to laugh at Will for this, saying that he looked no better than a well-trained puppy. In truth, I was jealous; jealous that he still had a relative in the world who would lay hands on his head with such obvious love.

Will's words of a few hours ago echoed in my ears as I entered the drawing room now, late in the evening before the morning of our departure. "Sure, I think you look fine in your suit," he'd said. "But remember: I am predisposed to think you look fine because you have dragged me along in your ...
insanity.
But I do think that before you try your ...
costume
out on the greater world, you should test it here at home first. After all, if you cannot fool one old man—and a blind one at that!—then how do you imagine you'll ever fool anyone else?" Here Will had heaved a heavy sigh. "Besides, Bet, I cannot bring myself to say goodbye to him, not under these circumstances. Who knows if I shall ever see him again? You be me for tonight."