NEXT TO GODLINESS
(Chapter Two-and-a-Half of the Chronicles of Jane deLacey.)
After starting her first day in 1904 with a hearty
breakfast, Samantha and Julia took Jane on a tour of the house, showing off and
explaining all the wonderful things the Twentieth Century provided. On the second floor they came to the
bathroom.
“This is where we take our baths, Jane,” said Samantha. Jane’s adherence to Sixteenth Century standards of personal hygiene was noticeable, but unremarked. “We each bathe at least once a week, sometimes more in the summer.”
Jane was perplexed.
“You wet yourselves all o’er, all anon?
But ‘tis not physick! Do you not fear
contracting the ague or a quotidian fever?”
“Actually,” replied Julia, “nowadays it is understood that regular bathing is good for the health. As long as you’re going to live with us, we trust that you will do so as well.”
“But . . .” Jane
started to protest but Samantha cut her off.
“Through that door is the water closet; what you call the garderobe. I’ll show you how to flush it.”
The tour continued.
That evening, after a long day of sightseeing in the park
and town, and lunch and dinner lessons in how to eat with a fork, Jane and
Bailey were getting ready for bed.
“What did you think of your first full day in modern times, Jane?” asked Bailey.
“There was so much to be seen. Walking in the park gave delight, as did the
pastries at the bakery in the high street.
Julia says I will get accustomed to . . . what did she call it? The trains. I am full of doubt. That great black machine was the most frightful
thing that ever I saw!”
Bailey smiled. “Trains are noisy, but mostly safe. We’ll take one into New York City and show you all the big buildings and automobiles and things. Here, let me help you get your frock off.”
When Jane was partly undressed, Nellie came into the
room. “Jane,” she said, “we need to
talk.”
“About what?” asked Jane.
“Remember the bathtub in the bathroom down the hall? We would like you take a bath before you get into bed.”
“But,” Jane protested, “’Tis not physic . . . “
Nellie cut her off.
“I know, you’ve said that. But we
have standards of behavior and cleanliness in this household, and you need to
take a bath.”
Bailey added a phrase she’d been rehearsing all day. “Let me put this in a way you’ll understand. Thy cors, ‘tis passing noisome. An the wind be behind thee, thou mayest be
marked at half a league!”
“But ‘tis how folk do smell!” Jane insisted.
“How do we smell, Jane” asked Bailey.
“Scarcely but a whiff of roses.”
“And you will smell the same,” Nellie said, “Now will you
come along peacefully? I was asked to
take on this responsibility since I will not hesitate to carry you to the
bathroom and hold you in the tub while Bailey scrubs you down!”
Jane drew herself up.
“I am the daughter of a great lord!
I will not suffer this humiliation!”
“That’s right, Jane,” said Bailey, “You are a deLacey, and you will not dishonor your family name by refusing to meet your fate with dignity.”
Jane sighed. “I know you are right. If it must be that I live here, it would be dishonorable of me not to abide by your rules.”
She went out of the room with Nellie behind her as though
she was closely guarded on her way to execution.
In the bathroom, Jane stood sullenly while Nellie finished
undressing her. Nellie spoke gently,
“Let me help you get in the tub.”
The water was pleasantly warm, and Jane relaxed
immediately.
“Here’s soap and a flannel,” Nellie said, “Can you wash yourself or would you like me to help you?”
Between the two of them, Jane was cleaned from top to toe!
Nellie helped her out of the tub and helped her towel
herself dry as Bailey came in with a clean nightgown for her.
“We have another ‘Welcome to the Twentieth Century’ present
for you,” said Nellie, handing Jane a new toothbrush and tin of tooth powder,
“These are for cleaning your teeth.”
“Why would I do that?”
“How many adults do you know who still have all their teeth?”
“Ah!” Jane was beginning to catch on.
Jane straightened up with a puzzled look on her face. “What is this feeling I have? La! I
do not itch!”
