Page 1 of Wed By Proxy

I

The Winter Palace, Aphrany

“Oh dear,” fretted Mathilde as she took a step back and regarded her young friend, who stood swathed in one of her long white shifts. “Is this really going to work?”

“Course it is!” said Willard, rubbing his snub nose. “We’re much of the same height.”

“Ye-es,” agreed Mathilde doubtfully. But she didn’t really think people would notice his height anyway, when he lay down in her bed.

“Too late to get cold feet now,” scolded Robin, her other friend. “Now sit on this stool, while I chop off your hair. Piers is standing watch down the end of the corridor. He said if your nurse returns, he’ll hoot three times like an owl.”

Mathilde obediently dropped down onto the chair, as she was bid. She held her head very still as Robin wielded the shears about her head.

“Don’t take her ear off, Rob,” cautioned Willard. He was laying his own suit out for Mathilde to don. She glanced at the bright particolored hose and short tunic and felt her heart quail. But Robin was right, it was far too late for cold feet. She had committed herself to this daring plan weeks ago. She watched in strange detachment, as a pile of her long mouse-colored hair grew at her feet. A draft on her neck made her shiver. “Is it done?” she asked nervously.

“Just tidying it up a bit,” said Robin with a frown as he capered about her, snipping with the blades.

“You need to tidy it.” Willard snorted. “Looks like she visits the same barber as my uncle!” From his derisive tone, Mathilde could tell that was not a compliment.

Robin ignored him, frowning in concentration. He took a step back and tipped his head to one side. “Not too bad,” he said at last, looking back over his shoulder at Willard.

“If you squint,” agreed Willard.

“Now get those clothes on,” urged Robin. “And I’ll start tacking your hair to this.” He snatched up the lace cap she wore to bed and started at it industriously with a needle and thread. Willard knelt on the floor and started gathering up her fallen locks.

Mathilde caught up Willard’s clothes. A roll of wrapped linen started to unfurl and she made a hurried grab for it. “What’s this?” she asked holding it up in confusion.

Robin colored slightly. “It’s for binding,” he said and gestured to his own flat chest.

“Oh!” Mathilde glanced down involuntarily at the slight swell of her small bosom. She didn’t think she’d have to worry too much about that aspect of the charade, but she was grateful to her young friends who clearly thought of everything. “Thank you.”

She disappeared behind a painted screen to change. The boys at thirteen she thought were too young to care about nakedness, but she was fully four and twenty, so modesty had to be preserved. Studiously avoiding the glass, for she did not wish to be put off by her shorn head, she hurriedly pulled on the white linen braies, followed by the woolen hose, blue leg first and then yellow leg. When it came to fastening the two together at the top, she struggled a moment, her fingers fumbling over the unfamiliar process. When it felt secure, she turned to unravel the strip of linen and wrap it around her chest area. In truth, she wasn’t really sure she’d tied it tight enough.

Turning this way and that, she wondered if in fact, it hadn’t added bulk rather than not. Sure enough, her reflection was a slap in the face. She scarcely recognized herself, and blinked in silent stupefaction at the strange looking creature in the mirrored glass. The sight of her legs alone was enough to rob her of breath! Did she really have the nerve to go abroad with them on display like that? As for her hair… she gulped. It hung down no longer than her jaw. And she had worn it down to her waist since she was five years old.

“My lady?” called Rob from the other side of the screen. Doubtless he had heard her fall silent.

“N-nearly done,” she stammered, and sprang into action, the spell broken. Too late to worry now. She had made her bed, and an imposter was going to lie in it. She wriggled into the undershirt, followed by a bright green tunic and a leather belt. Pulling the laces at her throat tight, she made a knot in them. “I’m coming now,” she said, as she took a deep breath and emerged from behind the screen.

“Lord blind me!” ejaculated Willard in surprise. Both boys were knelt now, up close to the candle-light while they sewed her hair to the edges of her night-cap. They both stared.

When they did not speak, Mathilde nervously fingered the blunt ends of her locks. “Will I pass muster, do you think?”

“Not if you play with your hair like that,” said Robin, clearing his throat. “You’re a boy, remember.”

Mathilde dropped her hand hastily.

Willard jumped up and approached her as Rob carried on sewing. “You got to change your mannerisms too, milady. S’no good, just your clothes and hair.”

“I see,” said Mathilde nodding. She squared her shoulders. “Like this?”

“Better,” he conceded. “But you got to have assurance. Like, you got to be reminding yourself in your head whenever you walk into a room. Don’t creep in like a mouse. You got to think ‘I’m every bit as good as the likes of you. And one day I’ll be better. I know it, and so do you.’”

Mathilde’s eyes widened. “I see,” she said listening intently to his advice. She rather thought that such a mantra would help with her confidence. “I think,” she said suddenly. “That I should have a knife at my belt.”

Willard grinned, pleased she was taking to her role. “Aye, you should,” he agreed. “But, my father gave me mine so…”

“I did not mean to take yours,” she said quickly, when he looked reluctant. “I can take the one from my dressing table...”