The rocking carriage made its way through the city, into parts I’d never seen before. I was terribly curious about it all, but as the evening deepened, I could see less and less by the glow of the gas lamps used to illuminate the streets. The carriage finally came to a halt, and I heard a muffled conversation. Moments later, the door opened, and a girl my age stood framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair shining even in the twilight. She shot me a calculating look and then, like me, climbed in without benefit of a stool. Only she managed it better. She shut the door, and the carriage continued on its jerky ride.
We sat there, sizing each other up in silence as we moved down the cobblestone streets. Light from outside lamps came and went, creating a flickering show of shadows inside. When that intermittent illumination came, I could see that her dress was even plainer than mine, threadbare in some places. At last, she spoke, her voice tinged slightly with a working-class accent: “How’d you get your hair like that? All those curls lying just so?”
It wasn’t a question I’d expected. It also seemed blunt until I realized she thought we were of equal social rank. “It’s naturally wavy,” I said.
She nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I can tell, but the way those curls are all arranged so perfectly . . . I’ve tried that myself, like the highborn ladies do? I think I’d need half a dozen hands to do it.”
I nearly said I had had half a dozen hands helping me and then bit off the words. I’d thought I was so clever changing into Ada’s dress, but had gone off on this adventure with the same elaborately styled hair I’d had from this morning—which my maids had helped curl and pin in the latest fashion, cascading all around my shoulders. I gave my companion a tight smile back.
“Someone helped me,” I said. I thought about Ada’s backstory and tried to make it my own. “Since it’s a, uh, special occasion. I worked as a lady’s maid, you see, so I have friends who are really good at this kind of thing.”
“A lady’s maid? Well, that’s bloody lucky. I wouldn’t want to leave that post. Explains why you talk so well—you’ll have a leg up on the rest of us.” She sounded impressed . . . and also a little envious.
“It’s not a competition,” I said quickly.
There was another fleeting flash of light from outside, showing me a wry expression on her face. “The hell it isn’t. How we do and how well we learn affects who they offer us to as wives. I’m going to be a banker’s wife. Or a statesman’s. Not some farmer’s.” She paused to reconsider. “Unless he’s some dirty rich plantation owner, where I can order around the servants and the household. But an ordinary farmwife? Sweeping floors and making cheese? No, thanks. Not that any old farmer could afford one of us. My mother heard from one of her friends that the Glittering Court got a marriage price of four hundred gold dollars for one of their girls. Can you even imagine that sort of money?”
Vaguely, I recalled Cedric talking about suitors making “offers.” The contract had further elaborated how the Glittering Court’s agents made a commission off each girl’s marriage price. Cedric might have spoken in lofty tones about his new nobility providing a service to the New World, but it was obvious this was a huge money-making venture for the Thorn family.
The other girl was regarding me strangely, waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry—you’ll have to forgive me if I sound scattered. This was all kind of last-minute,” I explained. “The family I worked for was dismissing most of their staff, and so when Ced—Master Cedric was looking for girls, someone referred me to him.”
“Oh, you’re one of his, huh? I heard about that too,” my companion said. “He hasn’t ever recruited before, you see. His father’s one of the best procurers, and Master Cedric made a big deal about how he could be just as good, so his father let him pick a couple of girls. Caused a big family stir.”
“You sure do know a lot,” I said. She’d apparently received a more extensive pitch than Ada and me.
“I was delivering laundry to their house,” she explained. “My mother washes clothes, and I helped her. But no more.” She held up her hands and studied them, but I couldn’t get a good look. “I’m not meant to be a laundress. I’m never washing anyone’s damned clothes again.”
Her ambition radiated off her. I wasn’t sure if that sort of initiative would be useful to me or not, but when in doubt, I’d found friendliness was usually the best course of action.
“I’m Adelaide,” I told her warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss . . . ?”