flat chest, and baggy clothes Elizabeth found she looked quite lanky. Stuffing a pair of socks into her breeches, she stood back to admire the bulge, and could not help but laugh. It was the first time she had laughed in a month.
Elizabeth amused herself for over an hour, trying on different clothes, packing socks into her pants, and talking like a man.
“Well hello there, Miss,” she flirted with the mirror.
Thinking about George, her father, and the men that had come into the store, Elizabeth noticed many similarities. She must talk in a low voice, with fewer words in each sentence, and keep her hands in her pockets whilst pulling less facial expressions. Single word responses would be most efficient. She must also stand with a straight back, and a high chin to show confidence, something which many women lacked.
Elizabeth’s hair was not masculine at all. She had so much of it that she would not be able to hide it inside of a hat all day. Some men did have long hair, but not down to their buttocks. The other option was cutting it short, but if she did that then she would have trouble transitioning back into a woman while she was not at the apothecary. She did not want to be a man all of the time.
A wig would be her best option, and she was sure there was a men’s wig-shop on Baggot Street. She would visit it early on the morrow.
Next was the problem of her face. Her eyebrows were thin and light, and her jaw was quite feminine. She thought about the way the Captain’s face felt. Rough, like sandpaper. His jaw and cheeks were slightly darker than the rest of his skin because of the stubble.
Elizabeth spent the whole day experimenting with her male identity. She tried several different methods to darken her eyebrows, and make them appear bushier. Finally, she settled upon using a wood-cased pencil to colour them several shades darker, giving her a more stern expression.
Elizabeth found it very amusing to chop up pieces of fabric so finely that they were almost powder and stick them to her face. She gave herself a ridiculous moustache and laughed for several minutes before removing it. Nothing she did looked realistic until she chopped of a small piece of her own hair, scrunched it up into a ball so it was frizzy and frayed, and stuck it to her jaw line with an adhesive made from wheat flower, sugar and water. It looked quite convincing –but even more so when she trimmed it with a pair of scissors until it resembled fine stubble.
Elizabeth had a strange feeling in her stomach, as though she had discovered something incredible. A strange sense of freedom was washing over her, as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror in all of her attire. Shirt, vest, breeches, socks, shoes, hat, darkened eyebrows, and facial hair. Her chest was bound, and her pants were stuffed with socks. She did indeed look like a boy.
Chapter Six
Passing as Elias
Elizabeth went to the closest wig shop first thing on Monday morning. She browsed for several minutes, pondering over what kind of hairstyle her alias should sport. A friendly older gentleman in a toupee bustled over to assist her.
“May I help you Miss?” he said in a quivering voice.
“Oh yes. My … my father , he requires a wig,” Elizabeth said glancing around.
“Getting a bit thin up there, is he?”
“Mmh,” Elizabeth said noncommittally, “I want … he wants something that is not too flashy. Simple.”
They went through numerous boxes of wigs until Elizabeth found the perfect one. It was dark brown, in a common style, but not too flashy. Elizabeth thought it might look quite good with a tricorn hat.
“I think this one would suit him the best,” she decided.
She paid a pound for the wig, and left the shop hurriedly in order to go home and try on her new outfit.
It took her an hour to transform herself into a man. The facial hair was the trickiest part, for it required careful attention in looking realistic. She had decided against
Elizabeth amused herself for over an hour, trying on different clothes, packing socks into her pants, and talking like a man.
“Well hello there, Miss,” she flirted with the mirror.
Thinking about George, her father, and the men that had come into the store, Elizabeth noticed many similarities. She must talk in a low voice, with fewer words in each sentence, and keep her hands in her pockets whilst pulling less facial expressions. Single word responses would be most efficient. She must also stand with a straight back, and a high chin to show confidence, something which many women lacked.
Elizabeth’s hair was not masculine at all. She had so much of it that she would not be able to hide it inside of a hat all day. Some men did have long hair, but not down to their buttocks. The other option was cutting it short, but if she did that then she would have trouble transitioning back into a woman while she was not at the apothecary. She did not want to be a man all of the time.
A wig would be her best option, and she was sure there was a men’s wig-shop on Baggot Street. She would visit it early on the morrow.
Next was the problem of her face. Her eyebrows were thin and light, and her jaw was quite feminine. She thought about the way the Captain’s face felt. Rough, like sandpaper. His jaw and cheeks were slightly darker than the rest of his skin because of the stubble.
Elizabeth spent the whole day experimenting with her male identity. She tried several different methods to darken her eyebrows, and make them appear bushier. Finally, she settled upon using a wood-cased pencil to colour them several shades darker, giving her a more stern expression.
Elizabeth found it very amusing to chop up pieces of fabric so finely that they were almost powder and stick them to her face. She gave herself a ridiculous moustache and laughed for several minutes before removing it. Nothing she did looked realistic until she chopped of a small piece of her own hair, scrunched it up into a ball so it was frizzy and frayed, and stuck it to her jaw line with an adhesive made from wheat flower, sugar and water. It looked quite convincing –but even more so when she trimmed it with a pair of scissors until it resembled fine stubble.
Elizabeth had a strange feeling in her stomach, as though she had discovered something incredible. A strange sense of freedom was washing over her, as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror in all of her attire. Shirt, vest, breeches, socks, shoes, hat, darkened eyebrows, and facial hair. Her chest was bound, and her pants were stuffed with socks. She did indeed look like a boy.
Chapter Six
Passing as Elias
Elizabeth went to the closest wig shop first thing on Monday morning. She browsed for several minutes, pondering over what kind of hairstyle her alias should sport. A friendly older gentleman in a toupee bustled over to assist her.
“May I help you Miss?” he said in a quivering voice.
“Oh yes. My … my father , he requires a wig,” Elizabeth said glancing around.
“Getting a bit thin up there, is he?”
“Mmh,” Elizabeth said noncommittally, “I want … he wants something that is not too flashy. Simple.”
They went through numerous boxes of wigs until Elizabeth found the perfect one. It was dark brown, in a common style, but not too flashy. Elizabeth thought it might look quite good with a tricorn hat.
“I think this one would suit him the best,” she decided.
She paid a pound for the wig, and left the shop hurriedly in order to go home and try on her new outfit.
It took her an hour to transform herself into a man. The facial hair was the trickiest part, for it required careful attention in looking realistic. She had decided against
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