With half a smile, Kendra listened as they traded barbs. Others within earshot joined in, their banter so easygoing that Kendra suspected they’d known each other before this particular job. It was nice . . . and, just for a moment, envy speared through her. They were a team, she realized.
She understood what it was like to be part of a team, although never with this lighthearted sense of fun. The stakes had always been too high. Catching serial killers, pedophiles, or terrorists was simply not conducive to a carefree atmosphere. The humor she was familiar with tended to be of the gallows variety, cynical and sarcastic.
A din of at least a dozen voices reached them as they entered the castle, growing louder as they moved down the wide corridor and through arched doorways. Here was the source of the noise: an enormous room with high ceilings and a fireplace that was big enough to roast a full-size boar. That should’ve been the focal point, but today it was a mere afterthought in the whirling dervish of activity. Every surface, including the long pine table, was taken up by boxes and piles of clothing.
It was a little like being backstage at a Broadway production, Kendra supposed. Organized chaos. Personnel from Stark Productions had divvied up the space into designated sections: Lady’s Maid, Valet, Housemaid, Footman, Scullery Maid, and something called a tweeny.
As Sally bounced over to the line for Scullery Maids, Kendra joined the one for Lady’s Maids, handing the woman the slip of paper she’d been given. Once again she was subjected to a measuring stare.
“The hair ain’t right.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The woman shrugged. “Size eight, right?”
Kendra did the size conversion in her head, and nodded. The woman shoved a bundle of clothes at her.
“Shoe?”
“Seven—ah, I mean, four-and-a-half.”
The woman pulled out a pair of ugly black half boots from a box. “You can change in the room down the hall. Third door on the right.”
At least a dozen women, in varying states of undress, were already in the room, which had been converted into a women’s locker room. Scanning the high, white walls, Kendra wondered at its original purpose.
“Isn’t this exciting?” said Sally as she came up behind Kendra. She put her bundled clothes down on the bench and began stripping. “When I played a tavern wench, I could at least wear my own knickers,” she remarked conversationally, lifting a shapely leg to tug on black wool tights, followed by a sturdy garter. “These drawers don’t even have a crotch. Might as well go starkers.”
Kendra surveyed the undergarments she’d been given. “They weren’t kidding about authenticity, were they?”
Sally giggled and pointed at the simple, shapeless white linen garment that bore a passing resemblance to a thin nightgown. “That’s a shift. And that,” she moved her finger to the rectangular scrap of fabric with a single string attached, “is called a short stay. It’s worn over the shift. Sort of like a bra.”
“Hmm. What’s this?” Kendra picked up a long piece of fabric that resembled a belt for a robe, but it had two pouches sewn onto it.
“Pockets. You tie the belt around your waist. Under your gown. There’s slits in the skirt so you can reach into the pocket . . . See?” Sally demonstrated. It looked like a feminine version of a workman’s tool belt. “Did you know that back in the day, pockets were considered sexy? Any woman showing off her pockets would’ve been considered a slut.”
“I guess I’ll keep my pockets to myself.”
Kendra stowed her purse beneath the bench, and stripped off her shirt. Sally was lacing up her half boots, but stilled. “Holy God. What happened?”
“What? Oh.” Kendra realized that the other woman was staring at the puckered scars on her leg, arm, and torso. Self-conscious, she hurriedly slipped into the old-fashioned garments. “Nothing. I was in an accident.” She concentrated on figuring out how to tie the stay. Then she dragged on the muslin dress the color of an eggplant.
“Turn around so I can button you,” Sally ordered, and after Kendra obediently presented her back, she nimbly did up the buttons. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. They look like . . . well, never mind. There!” She forced a jovial note in her voice. “You look a lovely lady’s maid, Cassie. I, on the other hand, am a lowly scullery maid.” She tied on her apron.
“You’d rather be a lady’s maid?”
“I’d rather be a Lady!” Sally laughed. “I wonder how many of the toffs will be sneaking into someone else’s bedroom for a little slap and tickle tonight?”
“You’re such a romantic,” Kendra said dryly.
“This is a Regency house party, Cassie. That’s what they did! Have you got your room assignment yet?”
“Room assignment?” Kendra tugged on her stockings and garters before picking up the half boots.