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THE DRESSMAKER By Lisa Lovelace I had utterly the most horrid crisis in my boudoir on Wednesday morning. Phineas and I had responded s'il vous pla?t to a Thursday night soiree at the Gardners' on Chestnut Street, on the coveted south slope of Beacon Hill. It was the grandest house to which we had yet been invited - and the gorgeous new gown that I planned to wear lay in ruins. It was two-layered floor-length tulle over light gold taffeta, embroidered with purple and plum flowers. The bodice was tight, buttoned down the back, and was decorated with hand-sewn flower applications in tulle and lace. The skirt was decorated with more of the flower applications and had a double flounce at the hem. The sleeves were of tulle, decorated with small silk ribbons and flirty knots. So pretty! I had never worn it in public, and looked forward to being seen and noticed in it. The problem was that I was without a lady's maid at the moment, and had been for the ten days since the traitorous Brigid left my employ to marry a common merchant out in Watertown. A sad day, when a girl would rather marry a shopkeeper than serve me! In desperation I tried to use Moira, our chambermaid, to tend to my clothes and hair and person. She tried hard, God knows, but to be frank, she was a clumsy Irish girl, and when I tried on the gown to make sure I wouldn't need my corset taken in any further, she trod on the hem. A ripping sound, and now the flounce of my skirt was torn loose for a good foot and a half. Brigid was a fine needlewoman and could have mended the damage in a day, but none of my other servants had her skill, and if the dress could not be repaired, I would have to wear a gown I'd already worn three times this season. It was intolerable. I needed to make a better showing than that on Chestnut Street! I descended the stairs to the servants' floor and found my housekeeper in her pantry. "Mrs. Dooley, I need a seamstress at least as good as Brigid was, and I need her today. Do you know of anyone?" Mrs. Dooley considered. "Never me, ma'am, I'm all thumbs with a needle, but do you remember Elizabeth Thimble?" I did not. "She was your mother's dressmaker, ma'am. Her eyes are no longer fit for the work, but she has a natural daughter, Lisa, who they say is brilliant with the needle." "Oh. Her. She got herself in trouble and had to be dismissed, didn't she? Hmph. How old is this Lisa?" Mrs. Dooley hesitated. "She would be around fourteen now." "I'd prefer someone more experienced - and more respectable - but I haven't the time. Could I see a sample of her work?" "You can see herself if you wish, ma'am. She lives with her mother in Somerville." "What! You want me to call on someone out there? There's so much construction going on that I'd be covered with dust." "Oh, no, ma'am. She can come here." "How quickly? This is a disaster! I need this gown mended by tomorrow afternoon." "Yes, ma'am. You might send Charles with the carriage to bring the girl here. I could go with him to explain the need to Mrs. Thimble. A short note from you would make it all correct, especially if I can give her mother a half dollar as a sign of good faith." "Good faith? How much do you expect me to pay the child?" "To fix your gown? A dollar would be reasonable. Half in advance, half upon completion." I decided not to quibble over cents. "Do so, Mrs. Dooley. Go with Charles, examine the girl's work, and bring her back only if you think she has the skill to restore my gown." "Yes, ma'am, right away." I climbed back up to the genteel part of the house, where I tried to think what I would do if this girl Lisa couldn't be found, or wasn't up to the job. Stupid Moira! Well, I couldn't expect too much of her. The moment I found a real lady's maid, Moira would return to making up rooms and cleaning fireplaces. Mrs. Dooley and Charles returned after luncheon. Mrs. Dooley brought me the girl Lisa an hour after that. I assumed she needed the time to make the child presentable. Lisa was actually quite pretty, with long brown hair in tidy plaits. I inspected her more closely, and suffered a moment of doubt whether she ought to enter service at all. She was dressed too well for a girl of such humble station. She was wearing an afternoon skirt and blouse of cotton batiste heavily trimmed with the pleats and ruffles and embroidery that were very much in fashion. She looked more like a female apprentice in a dressmaker's salon than a love-child of the squalid suburbs. Mrs. Dooley curtsied to me. The girl followed her lead. "Mrs. Philander, may I present Miss Lisa Thimble, the young needlewoman I mentioned." "Come forward, Lisa, so I can see your dress," I said. It was beautifully done. It was the kind of dress you might see on a girl higher on the slopes of Beacon Hill than we lived. If I had a daughter, I would want her to dress in such work, though in fabrics and lace that Lisa presumably could not afford. "Thank you, ma'am," Lisa said. "I made it." Her accent was Bostonian, not Hibernian. "Did you use a sewing machine?" I asked. She shook her head. "We haven't one, ma'am. I sewed it by hand." "Truly? Come here, child, and let me take a closer look." "Look as close as you like, ma'am." In a moment she stripped down to her corset cover and petticoat, and handed me her skirt and blouse to inspect. These pieces were not the work of a child. They appeared to have been created by a skilled modiste, perfectly scaled to Lisa's childish figure. The work was impeccable. Tiny, barely visible, perfectly even stitches. French seams. Invisible hems. Clever use of pleats, ruffles, scallops and shirring to decorate the skirt and blouse without using costly trims. I was deeply impressed by the girl's work. I had no doubt she could mend my Chestnut Street gown. "Very nice work," I told her, and handed her skirt and blouse back to her. She put them on again with no show of modesty. I wondered if she lived in domestic circumstances in which modesty was a luxury, not a necessity. A small, older house with several people living in each room... I did not like thinking of people living in such conditions, but I knew it was a reality among the poorer classes. "I am going to show you a dress, Lisa, and I want you to tell me if you can mend it. Follow me." I led her upstairs from the drawing room to my boudoir and showed her my gown. She took it to the window to see it in better light. "Oh yes, ma'am, I can mend this. When do you need it?" "I wish to wear it tomorrow night." Lisa considered. "I can have it for you by tomorrow morning, ma'am, if you will allow me the use of a room tonight." "A bedroom?" "Any room with good light, ma'am," she said. "I won't be sleeping." We didn't have the new electrical lamps. I was afraid the electricity would leak out of the wall and catch fire. "We have gaslight in the parlor. Will that do?" "Oh, yes, ma'am, can you take me there, please? And I'll need thread of that color." "Of course." I got Lisa set up in the parlor. I would rather have put her down on the servants' floor, but it was poorly lit after dark, and she evidently planned to work through the night. I wonder if this was how she always worked. I knew dressmakers worked long hours. "Excuse me, ma'am, but have you an iron I can use to press your gown afterwards?" she asked. "It's silk - you won't scorch it, will you?" She smiled. "Never fear, ma'am." "We have an old-fashioned iron on the kitchen stove." "I'll press your gown after the stove is relit in the morning. Your pleats will be good as new." Something about the child's manner gave me confidence in her. Who was she? The daughter of a woman in Somerville named Thimble. An illegitimate nobody, father unknown. Before dinner was served, I had the kitchen make up a plate for her and had Moira take it to her. Moira was not pleased to serve the younger girl, but admitted that Lisa was properly thankful and polite. I dropped by the parlor to check Lisa's progress before going to bed. She was busily plying her needle, but paused to show me the work she had already done. I caught my breath. I could not tell where the gown had been mended. "Lovely work! Do you need anything?" I asked her. "No, ma'am," she said. "Thank you for the dinner. Good night, ma'am." I awoke too early the next morning when Moira entered and threw back the curtains. I muzzily looked at the clock. Eight? Good heavens. Why on earth was she waking me at this uncivilized hour? "The young person who came to see you yesterday has asked for you, ma'am," Moira said. "So early? What does she want?" "I believe she is done mending your gown, ma'am." "Already? Well, she must have stayed up all night, so I suppose I'd better see her." I threw a dressing gown over my nightgown. Surely I could appear before the girl en d?shabill?. I made my way to the parlor. Lisa curtsied to me. "I've mended your gown, ma'am." The garment in question lay neatly on the table. It had been perfectly pressed. I worked my way around its hem and could not find where the damage had occurred. "I'll show you, ma'am," the young woman said, and pointed out the barely discernible traces of her work. "Well done, Lisa," I said, and made a decision. I could not allow this treasure to remain buried in Somerville and be married off to some dreary tradesman. "Would you be willing to come to work for me as my dressmaker?" She asked me what my terms were. Room, board and three dollars a week, I told her. It was generous - an adult wage for a child. I would also supply fabric for her to make her own clothes. "You mean I would live here? Oh, yes, ma'am, please," she said, and curtsied deeply. "Am I to be paid for mending your gown?" "Of course! Is a dollar enough?" "More than enough, ma'am. It only cost me one night. Thank you so much for hiring me! May I tell my mama?" "Tell her what?" "That you've offered me a position here, ma'am, and that I can move out and she won't need to pay for my food any more. She'll be well pleased." "Why, yes, Lisa. Of course you'll be fed while you're here, and we'll find you a place to sleep. You'll need your clothes and other things, too." "Yes, ma'am, though I haven't much." "Very well. I'll have the coachman take you home so you can tell your mother and fetch your things. I'll write her a letter to explain. Mrs. Dooley already paid her half a dollar. Here's the rest." I fetched my purse and handed her a coin. She clutched it tightly and made me a perfect curtsy. "Thank you, ma'am! Mama will be very happy." ~ ~ ~ I had just hired a servant without consulting Phineas, my husband of sixteen years, and felt guilty about it. We could well afford it now, but he was the head of the house, controlled our spending, and would expect me not to engage servants without his permission. I had transgressed and might need to apologize. Phineas was better than most men. He was a good provider, gave me a generous allowance for my dresses and other personal needs, did not drink too heavily and did not gamble. He did have a roving eye, to which I turned a blind one. I ordered a fine dinner for that night, and after he finished it, I served him port, and it was only after that, when he joined me in the drawing room, that I raised the subject. "Dear, if you'll permit me, I'd like to hire a dressmaker." "What for? You need more clothes? Good lord, Arabella!" Of course he understood nothing, being a man. "Yes, dear, I do. It's your fault, really. You're wealthy and prominent enough now that we're starting to receive invitations from a better class of people. Tomorrow night's affair at the Gardners, for example - not the main branch of the family, but they do live on Chestnut Street. A step up, so to speak." "And this soiree at the Gardners' means you must hire a dressmaker?" "My problem, dear," I tried to explain in terms he would understand, "is that most of my wardrobe is two or three seasons old, from a time when I could not afford to dress as well as I need to now. It's a sign of your success, darling! I need to update or even replace a number of my gowns and day dresses. I've found a young woman of remarkable ability who will work for three dollars a week. May I employ her? I'll put her in one of the empty maid's rooms." "Is she Irish?" he said. "No, she speaks like a normal person." "Well, that's something. A hundred and fifty dollars a year to have someone to make your dresses? I wonder if that's less than I spent on various dressmakers last year." "Oh, yes, dear, it will be a considerable economy," I lied. "Otherwise I would not consider it." He huffed and puffed for a while, but came around in the end, not wishing to appear too inquisitive about a matter involving women's clothing, and I got my Lisa. Naturally, I had concerns about bringing a pretty young woman into our home. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Philander did not keep a mistress, but like many men of substance, he occasionally attended certain clubs and private dwellings where he presumably engaged in activities that no decent wife should know anything about, though of course any decent wife did. As far as I knew, he preferred to consort with adult females of his own class dressed in the crinoline dresses popular in his childhood, not fourteen-year-old girls of the working class. Lisa, though, had an ethereal prettiness that would tempt many men. It was something I would have to keep a close eye on. I put Lisa in Brigid's old room in the servants' quarters. She reported to Mrs. Dooley, who soon came to dote on her. My housekeeper said the child was polite and well-behaved, did not put on airs and caused no problems. In fact, she said, Lisa was willing to help with chores that properly were beneath her station as her mistress' dressmaker. To ensure that Lisa worked on my needs instead of Mrs. Dooley's, I gave Lisa her first assignment: to go through my wardrobe and make any repairs or updates that she thought were needed. I also asked her to set aside any pieces that she thought were too worn or out of style to be worth keeping, and to make a list of new pieces that she thought I should add to fill gaps in my wardrobe. She spent a lot of time climbing the stairs between my closets and the parlor, carrying gowns, skirts, blouses and other garments to be worked on and then returning them to the closet. I finally told her to work in my boudoir instead, to spare her the constant climbing up and down stairs. ~ ~ ~ Knowing that I looked my very best, I felt fully confident attending the Gardners' party on Chestnut Street in the gown that Lisa had rescued from disaster. I'd used the child as an informal lady's maid that evening, preferring her delicate touch to Moira's clumsy pawings, and was thoroughly happy with the results. She had a deft touch with a curling iron, and caught up my hair in a burst of tendrils that made me look younger. I arrived at the perfect time, had room to show off my gown as I entered, and was delighted by the ladies' reaction. The high point of the evening was when old Mrs. Cabot deigned to say a few words to me and complimented me on my gown within hearing of a number of people. I thanked her graciously and promenaded around the room, pretending to chat with acquaintances, but really just showing off my dress. The next day, I told Lisa that thanks to her last-minute rescue, my new dress had been a success. She was pleased to hear it and thanked me for the opportunity to sew for her. She was wearing the same dress she wore yesterday. I'd peeked in her closet yesterday and saw only one other dress. It was sewn nicely, but not as well as the one she wore now. It seemed quite short and more childish in style, and I wondered if it was a dress she'd outgrown but could still fit into - for lack of a better frock, something to wear when her regular dress needed to be laundered, perhaps? She needed more than one dress fit for a young lady of her age. "The next thing I want you to sew, Lisa, is a dress for yourself, so that you can have more variety in your wardrobe," I told her. "I can't afford it, ma'am," she said. "You don't have to. I'll pay for it. You design and sew it. Any fabric you like, though I suggest you make yourself a sturdy day dress, perhaps in polished cotton, rather than something fancy. You may buy some lace to trim it, if you wish." "Really, ma'am? Thank you! Thank you so much! Though I would like to sew something pretty for you first, so that you see I can make dresses, not just mend them. Another evening gown, perhaps, the one you'll wear after you get tired of the gold tulle and taffeta that I mended. Or a new tea dress - you only have two, and they must be quite three seasons old." I was so tempted - but I stood firm, and felt virtuous for doing so. "No, Lisa, I want you to have another dress for everyday before you sew anything for me. Mrs. Dooley will take you shopping for the fabric, pattern and notions you need, and Charles can drive the two of you if necessary." The child's thanks, accompanied by a curtsy, were effusive. She was so grateful for little things that I had to conclude she had lived a life of material and emotional deprivation. No father, perhaps not much love from her mother, not quite enough food on the table, not enough money for a new dress. It was probably not an uncommon fate for a natural child. At least Lisa had not been abandoned altogether to join the orphans who roamed the back alleys of Boston or any other large city. It took Lisa a week to make her new dress. It turned out beautifully, a pale blue cotton frock with a ruffled round yoke, balloon sleeves caught up into long buttoned cuffs, a pleated satin belt at the waist, and a gored calf-length skirt with two ruffles at the hem. I had great fun helping her by marking her hem, as if I were her assistant. She wore the dress for two weeks straight before I could convince her to launder it. Even Mr. Philander noticed it, remarking over breakfast one day that my dressmaker or maid or whatever she was (as he put it) looked smarter these days, and he was glad of it, as it reflected well on his household and myself. Only after she finished her new dress did I allow her to make something for me. The idea of a new tea dress was tempting, but she was right: I needed the new evening gown that would precede my once- worn gold tulle and taffeta in pride of place in my wardrobe. I was spending a good part of my time with Lisa as she worked on my new gown, which was to be a sleek, slimming flow of black velvet from my shoulders to the floor, with silver decorations at the neckline, sleeves and hem. I watched her move around me, pinning here and tucking there, and began to develop faint doubts that Lisa was who she appeared to be. As the days passed, my doubts slowly grew into suspicions. She was graceful, pretty, and oh, so feminine. Feminine, yes, but... was she female? Her body did not move quite like a girl's. Her limbs attached to her body at angles that were not quite right. She never seemed fully comfortable keeping her knees together. She achieved a slender waist and the faint appearance of a bosom only by wearing a corset that otherwise was hardly necessary on her slender figure. Of course she was not fully grown to womanhood, but at fourteen, she should have had more to show than she did. I began to entertain the idea that Lisa was a boy who had been trained to perfectly impersonate a girl. The only thing that gave her away were the subtle hints of her physical form. In movement, gesture, deportment and dress, she was perfectly girlish. I doubted other people would detect it. I noticed it only because she was living in my house, and I saw her often as we made decisions about my wardrobe. Anyone who saw her only in passing would think she was a girl. I had never seen her nude. I did not know for certain what lay under her petticoats, and of course did not want to force her to show me. But I watched her closely and, as time passed, I became convinced that she was a boy expertly wearing - and making and mending - clothing of the opposite sex. I finally decided just to ask her. One evening in the boudoir, as she worked on one of my chemises, I put down the Globe's account of the dreadful earthquake in San Francisco. My husband was out for the evening, and we were alone. "Lisa, may I ask you a personal question?" She looked up. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "Have you ever wondered whether you might not be a girl?" She was surprised. "What do you mean, ma'am?" "Were you ever a boy?" She drew in on herself in a way that was feminine enough to make me regret my question. "No, ma'am! I'm a girl, I've always been a girl. I'm wearing a dress, aren't I?" "You're sure?" "Yes! Why do you ask, ma'am?" "I asked because your body seems a little different from other girls." Lisa looked uneasy. "Please, ma'am! How do you mean, different? I've always been a girl. My mother still has some of my old dresses, with short skirts. If I was a boy, I would have been breeched years ago." "What if your mother decided to raise a boy as a girl and never breeched him? Did you ever have a boy's name?" "No, never! I've always been a girl, ma'am. Why are you asking? I wish I could prove it!" "You can," I said. How to put this delicately? Impossible. I would just have to say it. So embarrassing! "I'd need to see you under your clothes." "You mean, naked? Mama told me never to let anyone make me take my clothes off." "Your mama is right. You can keep your clothes on. Just raise your skirts. Do you wear drawers?" She blushed. "Not today, ma'am. Usually I wear combinations, but my old ones are worn out and I haven't made myself new ones yet." I took a deep breath. "I'll have Mrs. Dooley take you shopping for whatever you need to have proper underthings. Now, will you please do this for me? You needn't take off any of your clothes. Just lift your skirt, petticoat and chemise up to your waist. I will look at you and count to five, and then you can drop your skirts and we'll be done. I won't touch you. I just need to look. Is that all right?" "Yes, ma'am." Lisa neatly gathered her skirts and raised them. What I saw shocked me. I remembered to count to five. She dropped her skirts. "Am I a girl, ma'am?" "You're not a boy." It was true. She would never father a child. She would never grow a beard or body hair, would never develop manly shoulders and muscles. "Oh, good!" she said. She happily clasped her hands - almost but not quite the way girls did. "Thank you, Lisa," I said. "You may return to your work." ~ ~ ~ I sat down, deeply disturbed. I needed to think. Lisa was thoroughly feminine in appearance and behavior, but she was not a girl. Under her skirts she had an undersized penis, but no scrotum or testicles. At the base of her penis was a small, perfectly healed scar. I would need to examine her more closely to be sure, but it looked as if Lisa was a boy who had been gelded at a tender age by someone who knew what they were doing. She would never be a man. Who could have done this to her? I hadn't met her mother. I knew nothing of her father. It would be monstrous to think any parent could do such a thing to their own child. But of course I knew nothing of their lives. What should I do now? I should find out what her mother knew, if she was willing to talk. Perhaps there were other people with knowledge of Lisa's history. I would ask Mrs. Dooley, too. Meanwhile, in light of her condition, I thought it safest and best for Lisa to remain in her dresses. If she was telling the truth, she'd worn them all of her life. She was used to female clothing, it was all she owned and, as I was pleased to know, she had intimate knowledge of its design and construction. Not only that, but she was quite pretty as a girl - some might say beautiful. It would be a terrible mistake to make Lisa present herself as a male in public, even if she'd once been one. She would not know how to behave like a boy. She would be unfamiliar with the codes and customs of male behavior. She would be unable to fight or defend herself. She would never have broad shoulders or big muscles or a hairy body. I could see no male future for her, not even as a tailor. She could not carry herself in a manly way. Somewhat to my surprise, the thought of a boy forced to dress as a girl stirred my passions. In polite houses, many boys, of course, still wore dresses and petticoats until they were breeched at the age of four or five and began dressing as boys. Dresses were certainly more practical than trousers for young children who needed regular changing. Lisa, it seemed, had never been breeched. Instead, she remained in frocks and petticoats that grew longer as she grew older. Her skirts now reached halfway down her calves, and in a few years would be the ankle length worn by grown women. How much easier for her to remain in her accustomed skirts than to force her into trousers! I asked Mrs. Dooley what she knew of Mrs. Thimble's history. She told me only what I already knew: that she became in the family way while working for my mother, had to be let go, and bore and raised the child on her own. The father was unknown. I told Lisa I wished to meet her mother again. She could not reasonably object, although she obviously wished she could come along. For this interview, however, I did not want her. Charles drove me to Mrs. Thimble's modest home in Somerville. I alighted from the carriage and surveyed my destination. It was a simple wood-frame house of the sort that abounded in the neighborhood, somewhat nicer than I'd feared. Mrs. Thimble herself opened the door. I introduced myself and handed her my card. She invited me in and served me something resembling tea. "How can I help you, ma'am?" she asked, after I had sipped her brew and nibbled at a tolerable homemade cookie. "I'm here to ask about Lisa," I said. She looked uneasy. "What about her? I hope she's giving satisfaction, ma'am." "Oh, yes, she's doing splendidly," I said. "The thing is, I don't think she's always been... Lisa." Mrs. Thimble froze. "I think she was born a boy, Mrs. Thimble, and at some point, someone turned her into... well, not a girl, but not a man. Do you know what I'm talking about?" "I'm sure I couldn't say, ma'am," she said cautiously. "Do you have any idea who did this to her?" I did not expect what happened next. "I can't say," she said. "I swore an oath." "Swore to whom?" I said. Mrs. Thimble seemed distressed. "Can't say, ma'am." I was not inclined to show her mercy. "Can't, or won't?" She looked scared now. "It was fifteen years ago, ma'am. I don't remember." "Don't you? What happened fifteen years ago?" She looked wretched. "Please don't ask, ma'am." "Very well, Mrs. Thimble," I said. "May I tell you what I think happened? Kindly tell me if I'm wrong." "Oh, please no, ma'am." She began to snivel. "Fourteen years ago, someone gave birth to the child who is now Lisa. I assume it was you?" She didn't answer. I didn't wait for her. "Was the child's father your husband?" She didn't respond. Finally, a tiny shake of her head. "Wasn't married." "Who was the father?" She raised piteous eyes to me. "I can't say, ma'am. It was a long time ago." "Surely you would remember who he was. Why won't you say his name?" She wouldn't answer. "Is money the problem?" I said. "I will pay you to tell me who her father was." "The problem isn't money, ma'am," she said. "The problem is, I'm afraid of him." "Afraid in what way?" "That he'll hurt me. Or Lisa." "Lisa is safe with us, Mrs. Thimble." She looked up at me. "Is she?" "Yes. We keep the doors locked, and Mr. Philander protects us." "Does he?" "What on earth do you mean?" She took a deep breath. "I... I'll break my oath and go to hell if I must, ma'am. This is something you must know if she is living in your house." I had an awful premonition. "Let me be the judge of that, if you please," I said. She looked me in the eye for the first time. "Lisa's father is Mr. Philander, ma'am." ~ ~ ~ God help me, could it be true? My own husband? It wasn't impossible. I knew that, like many a married man, he had strayed more than once from the straight and narrow. I couldn't divorce him - a wife can't divorce her husband for adultery alone, and I did not want to live with the social stigma of being a divorced woman. As long as he kept it discreet, I always looked the other way, as a sensible wife is expected to do. Now it seemed I had looked the other way once too often. I grew angry at him, and at this woman. "You fornicated with my husband, Mrs. Thimble?" "No, ma'am! It wasn't fornication. It was rape." I stopped to think. Would the hot-spirited Phineas of fifteen years ago have forcibly taken a woman against her will? I reluctantly decided that yes, it was possible. Unlikely, as normally he would have had no difficulty finding a woman to do it willingly, for money or otherwise. But possible. "That's a serious accusation, Mrs. Thimble. You had better tell me the whole story." "There isn't much to tell, ma'am. You know I was your late mother's dressmaker. I was at the house one day for a fitting when he caught me in a back hallway and pulled me into a vacant bedroom. He accused me of flirting with him, which a lie, and he said I had to pay the price. He pushed me onto the bed, pulled up my skirts and took my virginity, if you know what I mean, ma'am." "I'm afraid I do. Did you try to defend yourself?" "I hit him and scratched him and tried to push him off, ma'am, but I didn't scream because I didn't think anyone was close enough to hear me, and I was afraid that if I screamed, he'd hit me. He was the master, and I was just a servant." "And then you found yourself in the family way?" "Yes, ma'am." "Excuse me for having to ask, but did you lie with any other man at that time?" "No, ma'am! I did not. Nor have I since." "For fifteen years?" "I never married, ma'am, and I do not approve of - of doing that outside of marriage." "Did you ever speak to my - to Mr. Philander?" "He told he would pay me two thousand dollars, ma'am, if I would leave his house quietly and raise the child as my own." "Two thousand dollars!" It was a huge sum for a woman like her. "Five or six years' pay for a skilled needlewoman. I made it last eight years. I don't complain, ma'am. Most girls who get into trouble get little or nothing." "And if you didn't leave quietly?" "He said he would dismiss me without a reference for immoral behavior, ma'am, and I would get nothing. No one could prove the child was his." This made me angry. Dismissal without a reference would make it all but impossible for a servant to find another respectable situation. It might be one thing for him to consort with lightskirts of the demi- monde, but it was quite another to ruin not only a working woman's reputation, but also her prospects of employment. It was like taking food out of the mouths of her children - in this case, Lisa. "You bore the child," I said. She nodded. "Was it male or female?" She started to blubber. I had to push her. "Male or female?" "A boy," she said with a sob. "And you had him gelded, like a horse?" "Not me, ma'am! I never! Mr. Philander had it done." "Who did it?" "A doctor he hired. I don't know his name. He gave the baby a dose of opium, then made the cut. He stitched it up very neatly, and it healed quickly and cleanly." "Good heavens! Do you know why Mr. Philander did this?" "Yes, ma'am," she said. "He didn't want the boy to grow up and start a bastard branch of the family." "No danger of that now," I said. "But why did you raise him as a girl?" "Mr. Philander insisted, ma'am. He said the child was already halfway a girl and might as well live as one. Said it would make her origins more obscure, and... well, to be honest, I'd always wanted a daughter." I felt ill. I was married to a monster. "Are you really afraid he might harm Lisa?" "He went to a lot of trouble to hide her, ma'am, and he won't be happy to learn that you've discovered who she is. I don't know what he might do, but I'm afraid of him for my sake as well as Lisa's. You won't tell him, will you?" "Of course I shall tell him, Mrs. Thimble. I shall have a great deal to tell him." "Oh, please don't! He'll hurt me, ma'am. Or he'll hurt Lisa, or both of us." "He shall not hurt either of you. I promise." I would put the fear of God into him. I knew how. "I hope you're right, ma'am. Please take good care of Lisa. Don't let him hurt her!" "I won't let him hurt her. Did Lisa ever have a boy's name?" "Yes, ma'am. For a month, I called him Leopold." She broke down and wept bitterly. ~ ~ ~ I did not comfort her. My husband had committed a grave offense, but her agreement to raise the child as a girl made her complicit in the deception, which she continued for almost fifteen years. I married Phineas sixteen years ago. So at the time of his encounter with Miss Thimble, as she would have been then, he and I had been married less than a year. How humiliating to know that he betrayed me so quickly! When I returned home, I did not tell Lisa what I had learned. I decided to talk to her father first, and spoke to him in our bedroom after we retired. "Phineas, do you know a Mrs. Thimble?" I asked. He frowned. "Don't recall the name." "You might have known her as Miss Thimble." "Who is this Miss or Mrs. Thimble?" "Fifteen years ago, she was my mother's dressmaker." He didn't reply. "She got herself in trouble, had to leave us and ended up in Somerville." "Oh," he said. "I dimly recall a dressmaker who got herself in trouble, as you say." "Do you know who got her in trouble, Phineas?" "How should I possibly know who a servant slept with fifteen years ago?" "Because she does." He got a bit huffy. "See here, Arabella, what's the point all this?" "I think you know perfectly well what the point is, Phineas." "Oh, all right, all right! I might have committed an indiscretion fifteen years ago. Why bring it up now?" "Do you know what happened to the child?" "My mother had to let this Miss Whoever go, of course. No idea what happened to her or the child." "I do. It was a boy, and a few weeks after it was born, a doctor removed... part of its anatomy." "Oh my God, she told you that?" "Told me what? What do you think she told me, Phineas? Your memory seems to be improving." "All right, all right! The baby was illegitimate. I didn't want it to grow up to father a bastard line of the family. Little half-breed nephews and nieces. I wanted to protect the family honor." "By turning a boy into a... freak? By raising him as a girl in petticoats? By changing his name from Leopold to Lisa?" "How do you know all this? What's she to you?" he said. "Lisa thinks she's always been a girl. Lisa has no recollection of ever being called Leopold. Lisa doesn't know who her father is." "How do you know what the child thinks?" he said. "I asked her." "What? You don't mean the new dressmaker? She's too young! She can't be old enough." "Lisa is fourteen. She was born five months after Miss Thimble left our house in disgrace. She is petite. You would never think she was a boy... a former boy." "How did you find her?" "Mrs. Dooley knew her mother." There was a silence. "All right. Now what?" Phineas asked. "First," I said, "You will never cause harm in any way to the mother or the child in any way. If you do, I'll do to you what was done to Lisa, but with a butter knife." "I'm not accustomed to hearing such language from my wife!" he said. "Second," I said, "she is never to know you're her father. You have no authority over her. You will treat her as you would treat my lady's maid. Which I hope means strictly hands off. Brigid left rather suddenly. I assume you had nothing to do with that?" He made no reply. "Third, you will treat Lisa as a young lady. She believes she's a girl. She is completely womanly in her dress and behavior, and I see no reason for us to confront her with the anatomical truth, at least not now. It would be cruel. You will treat her as chivalrously as you would any female of her age and class, and never even hint that she was once a boy." Another silence. "I can do these things," he said. "You should know that I paid the mother a generous sum for the child's support." "Yes, and I know the amount," I replied. "I will not blame you. Lisa turned out well." "Must you bring her into our house?" he said. "Can't she stay with her mother?" "Her mother doesn't want her. I seem to be the only person who does." ~ ~ ~ The next morning, I finished dressing in the boudoir, where Lisa was working on one of my nightdresses that had a bit of the hem hanging loose. I asked her to button up my blouse in back, and she did so quickly and neatly. "Excuse me, ma'am," she said, and fixed a curl that had come loose. A thought flashed through my head: Lisa as my lady's maid. Why not? She was so much more graceful and dainty and less disaster- prone than Moira. She was already my dressmaker and was ladylike enough to perform the other duties of the position. She had already shown that she worked well with Mrs. Dooley and did not mind helping around the house when I had nothing for her to do. Moira could return to her role as chambermaid with my thanks, and perhaps would absorb some of Lisa's attitude and aptitude. As my lady's maid, Lisa would also be a perpetual rebuke to Phineas, who had fallen greatly in my estimation. I no longer respected my husband on moral grounds and did not mind the idea of rubbing his nose in his failings. Perhaps I should make him move into a separate bedchamber, so that I could live a little more apart from him. "Ma'am?" Lisa said, demure in her new dress and needlewoman's smock. "Yes?" "Did you speak to my mother yesterday?" "I did." "May I ask what she told you?" It was the moment of decision. Do I hold to my painful decision to tell her nothing? Or do I blurt out the truth and find out how grievously it wounds her? She had already suffered so much. "She knows who your father is, but hasn't seen him in years. He was a gentleman who took advantage of her and fathered an illegitimate child that he refused to acknowledge." "My father was a gentleman?" "He was not entirely bad. He paid your mother a generous amount of money to support the two of you until she could return to her trade as a needlewoman." "Oh," she said. "Well... that's more than most faithless gentlemen do for girls they've ruined, isn't it?" "I'm afraid so," I said. "What's his name?" she asked. "She wouldn't tell me. She'd sworn never to tell. He moved away. She doesn't know where he is." She digested this. "So, I'm a girl after all?" "Yes, Lisa," I said. "You're a girl and not a boy. You'll never grow a beard, you'll never have a boy's muscles, and... you'll never talk like this." I dropped my voice for the last five words. Lisa laughed. "Then I will stay in dresses." "I insist," I said. "You look so pretty in them! Even if your... bosom develops very slowly. It happens to some girls." She laughed, a sparkling sound. "Not to worry, ma'am. I can make the titties I have now look like a double handful." "Lisa!" I said, shocked. "Such language!" "Sorry, ma'am, I'll try to be more genteel. Would you like me to enhance your bosom, ma'am?" "Maybe a little...?" I said. It would not hurt to have males, not just females, notice my gowns. "I will if you let me stay, ma'am." "Forever," I said. ~ ~ ~ Three months later, Phineas died. The doctors said he had accidentally taken too much of the popular cough suppressant Heroin, and his heart stopped beating. I hadn't known Heroin was dangerous - Bayer said it was less addictive than morphine, which was also popular - but evidently it was possible to overdose. I wondered if he'd known and did it on purpose. Maybe because of what I did to him on purpose. I hoped not, but... Having brought Lisa into the house almost by accident, I now kept her there deliberately, to punish Phineas for his sins. I could tell her presence weighed on him night and day. He suffered from guilt for what he had done, and he feared that either of us might reveal his relationship to Lisa and destroy him socially. He knew I'd lost all respect for him. I had no desire to play the role of a wronged woman airing her dirty linen in public, so I had no reason to reveal his secret, nor had Mrs. Thimble. Still, he knew what we knew, and the knowledge ate away at him. He started going out most nights, drinking heavily. He was taking increasing doses of the Heroin tonic. He started losing weight, slowly at first, then rapidly. I don't know if he was ill or what, but he deteriorated steadily until his death. He refused to see a doctor. I gave him a respectable funeral. I found I could not grieve for him. He had betrayed me, sired an illegitimate son, had him castrated, and had him raised as a girl. He had betrayed me, betrayed the child and betrayed the child's mother. Lisa attended the funeral as part of the household staff, not knowing that the ceremony was for her father. At the reading of Phineas' will, I learned that he had provided well for me. His will left me everything, the nearest male relative being a second cousin in the New Mexico Territory whom he'd never met. His business partner later bought out my 51% share of their venture at a generous price, leaving me with ample means to enjoy life. I was able to keep the house open and staffed. Over time I replaced my male butler, footman and gardener with women, and kept an all-female household. I made Lisa my lady's maid as well as dressmaker. She was one of the finest needlewomen in the city, and as a result, my social standing rose, not least because hostesses looked forward to seeing Lisa's latest creations. I raised her pay, knowing that much of it was going to support her mother. I know other ladies offered her even more than I paid her, but she repaid me with unswerving loyalty. I don't think she ever realized she was, or at least had been, biologically male. When I saw it, her remaining manly part was quite small, tiny compared to my husband's, the only other one I've ever seen. Lisa said it felt good when she rubbed it, and it's possible I may have led her to believe it was her clitoris. Oh yes, I know what that is, even if many ladies don't. She once asked me why she had no slit like other girls did, and I questioned her severely before finding out she and Moira had been lifting their skirts and comparing their parts. I told her most girls had slits but some didn't, and girls with slits had to get married and have babies, like Moira would someday, while girls with no slits were lucky and didn't have to marry or have babies. They could go into the fields of work open to women, from domestic service to typewriting, or could live with a female friend and sew or keep house for her, as she was doing now. There was no need for her to get married and leave me. I think she believed me. I hope she did. It's true that many women know little about their female parts. I hated myself for lying to her, but I thought it was better than forcing her to confront a horrible truth. Lisa served as my lady's maid for four more years. When she turned eighteen, I told her I no longer wanted her to be my maid. I wanted her to become my permanent companion, in what some people call a Boston marriage between two ladies. She agreed, and we have been living together in mental and physical harmony ever since, despite the difference in our ages. She is still my dressmaker. The End