"My dear, is that all you own?"
Aurella looked up from her porridge and blinked. "What?"
"Your dress," Lady Harras nodded at the simple riding habit. "Don't you own any other styles?"
"I have a few things," Aurella shrugged. "I've worn uniforms for most of my life."
"Indeed." Lady Harras took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Would you care to accompany my daughter and I on a little shopping trip? It's always worth a walk through the market this time of year even if you don't buy anything. The stalls are simply bulging with wears."
"Alright," Aurella agreed. Shopping was not something in which she'd had much experience outside of visits to quartermaster's. It might be fun to peruse wares that didn't come from the military.
While the produce and meat markets were largely outside, the haberdashers, perfumers, and other decidedly feminine shops into which Aurella had never ventured were all located indoors. Although a draft of warmer air had pushed the snow away for the moment, it was still cold and rather windy as they wandered along the cobbled streets. It was damp, but not muddy, so there was no need for patens or heavy boots. As it was, the three women wore sturdy shoes as they walked. A carriage would have been more fashionable, but it was a fine day and walking was warmer than sitting in a thin wooden box.
It still felt a bit strange to go about in skirts. After almost thirty years in trousers, it had come as a mild shock to realize she'd missed it. Clothing, she felt, ought not to be divided by gender, but by purpose. Skirts, by and large, were not practical for riding horses or sword practise. However, trousers on a lady did look a little strange at a ball, unless she was in uniform. Skirts were cooler in the heat of summer, and she liked the swish and rustle of her petticoats as she walked. The odd looks were lessening, but there was still many a perplexed expression cast in her direction. People, it seemed, just didn't expect the tough-as-nails Training Mistress to go about dressed like a woman.
To be fair, the last time she'd worn a skirt, she'd been little more than a child. Wearing the nicest dress she owned, she'd enlisted as one of the first women to be part of the Zexen army. She had wanted to make a good impression, to be certain she'd have something decent to wear to church, only to discover all the boys had shown up in rather tatty clothes that in many cases were a size or so too small.
"Didn't you know?" one had told her, surprise written on his freckled face. "They burn your old clothes and cut your hair. That's the first part of being a knight."
Horrified, Aurella had asked if her dress might be preserved or put away for occasions when a uniform was not necessary, but no one had listened. Her best garment had been tossed onto the bonfire along with the hand-me-down rags of wealthy men's sons. She was not even allowed to keep her chemise or stays. A boy's shirt- miles too big for her skinny frame- had been shoved over her head. The leggings made her feel naked and exposed, and the waistcoat did little more than obscure her budding breasts, but she stood firmly at attention as a man with scissors hacked off her thick brown braid. She didn't mind that so much. Hair would grow back, but it had been a struggle not to cry for her lost dress.
"Here we are!" Miss Harras' voice rang out over the bare cobble streets, snapping her back to the present.
Veering away from the main street toward a little gabled archway, she led the older women into a small, tunnel-like space. On either hand, store fronts faced the narrow walkway. It was not a tunnel, Aurella realized, looking up, but one of many narrow paths between buildings constructed so close to one another that they gave the illusion of enclosed space. The wide glass windows of the haberdasher's, the furrier's, the jeweler's, and a dozen other store fronts with a decidedly feminine slant lessened the darkness and the sensation of navigating a maze. Noblewomen in fine caps and wide skirts wandered past, their dark-clad maids and footmen with arms full of parcels trailing behind them. It occurred to her belatedly that neither of the Harras women had brought a servant. Perhaps they did not intend to buy anything?
Miss Harras, muff tucked close to her middle, stood admiring a set of tortoise shell combs on display in the frosted shop window.
"Mother, look at these!"
Madam Harras did look, and nodded approvingly. "Very handsome, and not a bad price I should imagine. Shell is not nearly so costly as silver. Your hair isn't so heavy that it would require much more."
"Oh I have a lovely set already," Miss Harras demured, blushing. "I only thought these were pretty."
"They are at that. Let's go on to the haberdasher's. We can make a more thorough examination after that."
The haberdahser's was near the middle of the narrow lane, and easily the largest of all the stores. Thick bolts of fabric lined the walls floor to ceiling, great spools of ribbon stood speared on long wooden shafts like roasts over an open fire. Huge boquets of lace sat wound round and round the flat wooden spools, giving the impression of an army of tiny petticoats. Strings of luminous beads and bowls of glittering sequins sparkled from the corners. Already several women were crowded inside- the press made more awkward by crinolines and panniers- being assisted by half a dozen rather too-handsome young men.
This was a far cry from the quartermaster's. Brass Castle might have an impressive array of weapons, and a never-ending supply of uniforms, but Aurella had never seen so many expensive things in one place at one time. Silk, satins, and damasks were pulled out and offered to the ladies to finger. Only the finest Chisha muslin would do for the chemises, caps, and handkerchiefs of Zexen's elite. Although ridiculously expensive, it was perhaps the least of the many drygoods offered at the store.
Unthinking, she drifted over to one of the walls of fabric, just admiring the array of colors, textures and prints. They'd been arranged on the shelves according to type and color; a shelf of silk near the ceiling, satin below it, then velvet, damask, taffeta, and many others, all of them dark at one end and light at the other.
"Good day, Milady."
It took Aurella a moment to realize the young man was talking to her. He was young, slender, and a little too primped for her taste. She sincerely doubted he dressed like this on his off hours, then again, perhaps he did. There was more than one dandy wandering the halls of Brass Castle, but this boy was leaning closer to "fop". At least he wasn't wearing makeup, though his hair could have done will less pomade.
"Would you like to examine anything more closely?" he asked her, putting up one hand to reach for a roll of claret-colored damask. Although she would have loved to finger such exotic fabric, she dared not. Unlike the other fine ladies pawing over the merchandise, her hands were not white or soft. Heavy callouses and short nails made for good combat practise, but not for sewing or needlework.
"No thank you," she told him, folding her gloved hands tightly behind her back. "I'm only window shopping."
"Why?" asked a second voice at her shoulder. Madam Harras had come up behind her. "Why shouldn't you buy a few yards?"
Aurella shook her head and smiled ruefully. "Whatever would I do with it?"
Madam Harras shook her head in something like exasperation. "Whatever you please. Scrub floors in it if you like." The smile she offered was small, but teasing, almost playful. It felt a bit strange to see it on a civilian woman's face. Strange, but welcome.
"You cannot tell me you can't afford it," she went on. "I'm sure your husband would appreciate your fine taste. Young man," she turned and addressed the young clerk. "Fetch that down."
With a nod, he reached and pulled the bolt of cloth from the shelf, skillfully cradling it in one arm and holding out a short length for them to examine with the other. Without removing her soft leather gloves, Aurella reached and slid her fingers over the smooth fabric. It whisked pleasantly at her touch.
"It becomes you very well," the clerk remarked, holding the length near her face. "Not just anyone can wear red."
Oh yes. She'd forgotten. Red was a controversial color for women. Stripes were all right, as was print, but solid red of any shade could not be safely worn by anyone but girls under ten and married women over forty. Well, she fit in that last category didn't she?
"Oh that looks lovely!" Miss Harras had come to join the conversation. "Are you getting a length?"
"Oh no," the response was automatic, though Aurella remembered to modulate her tone from disdain to amusement. "No, frummery will do me no good on duty or off. I can't ride in something like this, I'd destroy it."
"A dressing gown then," Madam Harras suggested. "You're hardly likely to damage the fabric lounging on the divan."
Aurella blinked. "The what?"
"It's a type of sofa," Miss Harras supplied.
"Oh. Well, I'm not much for lounging."
"Balderdash," Madam Harras insisted. "If you don't buy it, I'll get it myself and make a gift of it."
"No, please," Aurella deferred. "Don't do that."
"Then pick something. If not this, then something else." Her tone was so commanding that Aurella had to fight the urge to salute.
"Alright, alright," she assented, struggling not to laugh. "Only I haven't much money with me."
"Charge it," Madam Harras replied loftily. "They can deliver it to the house this afternoon. You can pay for it then."
That explained the lack of servants.
"Very well," Aurella agreed, feeling somewhat outmaneuvered. It was true she could afford the fabric, but the money was Leo's and not hers. While she was certain he would buy up half the store if she so much as hinted at it, she still felt guilty spending his money on something so foolish as her own misbegotten vanity. Her sister had been the beauty of the family, and while reasonably satisfied with her own looks, Aurella had never thought of herself as pretty. Dressing a scarecrow in silk did not make it any less a scarecrow. Still, if the fabric was to be made into a dressing gown, only Leo was likely to see it, and his approval was all that mattered.
"How much, madam?"
Aurella shook off her reverie to notice the clerk had spread the fabric across the cutting table, a large pair of scissors poised in one hand.
"Er…" she replied blankly. Mercifully, Madam Harras stepped in.
"How tall are you?" she asked.
"Five-nine without boots."
"And around?"
Of course. Her measurements. Since only the clerk appeared to be paying them any mind, she rattled off the appropriate numbers. The young man doodled for a moment on a scrap of paper, evidently calculating the necessary yardage before measuring out the fabric. It seemed an alarming amount to Aurella, but Madam Harras did not hesitate to argue an extra few feet out of the by now rather harassed clerk.
Leaving the cut fabric at the shop to be delivered later, they moved on to the next shop. Aurella hung back a bit, looking and not touching all the beautiful and costly wares. As a girl she had occasionally pressed her nose against a shop window. At one time she would have dreamed about owning a silk petticoat, a string of pearls, or a silver comb. Then hard times had come and her only thoughts had been of survival, of keeping her family safe if not together. After that she had had to stop thinking like a woman and begin thinking like a soldier.
Being a female in the army had been… She couldn't find a word for it. Perhaps because all these years, she hadn't been living as a woman. She had never given much thought to her own gender, had simply lived inside her body as anyone else did. However, it was her body that had been offensive. It had not occurred to her that anything but short-cropped hair would be acceptable. How was she to know that the close-fitting trousers would hug her hips and legs in such a way that everyone stared at her whether they meant to or not? What she was supposed to do about breasts that bounced and jiggled with every motion with no stays to restrain or support them, she was sure she didn't know. What truly annoyed her was that when she and the others tried to bury their female traits, to act like soldiers, they were ridiculed for it. Contrariwise, should they dare to indulge in any feminine behavior, they weren't considered tough enough to serve as part of the Zexen army.
They had found ways to manage, she and the other women. The first year had been the hardest. After they had survived the first round of training, of hazing and harassment, other women had been allowed in. There was at least safety in numbers with a growing band of low-born women to look after and support one another. They had done it almost automatically. There were no queen bees, no would-be princesses. Realising there was no one else to turn to, every one of them had banded together like sisters. The St. Loa nuns, she was sure, were not as close as she was to her own sisters-in-arms. Fencing vests stolen from the practise yard became jumps. Ruined bedsheets were fashioned into simple chemises. It was small, but it was something. A way to reclaim a tiny bit of their identity as women. Not until the first noble daughters entered the corps, however, did the ban on long hair finally come to an end. Danielle had grown her thick, blue-black tresses down to her waist and wore them in a pair of wide, girlish plaits just for spite.
Aurella had never been able to cut her hair so short as Henrietta and some of the others, but she'd never had the patience to grow it out again, either. Combs and hairpins were of no use to her, and she stood back as Miss Harras fussed over the tortoise shell combs once more before they headed home. In the end, Madam Harras had bullied her into buying a jar of scented cream for her hands, a pair of fur-lined gloves, and a handsome wolf pelt. What she was going to do with the fur piece, she wasn't entirely sure. Miss Harras had suggested trimming a jacket, or perhaps the as yet unmade dressing gown, with a muff made of the leftover pieces. It was more money than she'd ever spent in one place and she felt a trifle awkward about it.
The boys, it seemed, had beaten them home, if the great coats hanging in the foyer were any indication. In their room, Leo was looking curiously at the wrapped parcels sitting on their bed.
"Been shopping?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, feeling strangely nervous. "I hope that's alright."
Leo laughed. "My dear, you don't need to ask me! If you want something, get it. I trust you in all things, including how best to spend your money."
"It isn't mine," she insisted, "it's yours."
"Has the army ceased to pay you?" he asked feigning surprise.
Aurella rolled her eyes. "No, of course not."
"Then you must spend your wages however you see fit."
"Well," she returned with a smile, "we'll see if you still think me so wise with my money when you see what I've bought."
His smile spread to a grin. "Nothing would please me more."