Page 35 of The Truth About Myths
He shushed her with a finger on her lips. With a firm leash on herself, she restrained the urge to bite him. She glowered at him instead.
"Before you deny me, I have a revealing story for you. Once upon a time, a proud princess lived in a castle. She was indeed charming, and her patriotism inspired the masses…" He placed his hand above his heart, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
She feigned interest in her nails. "Your point is?"
"The princess professed to the winds her court delighted all, but when one of her ladies decided to live in a convent…"
She glared at his smiling eyes. "Lead the way, Sancho."
The Turkish silk kept the sunlight from entering the bathing machine. Still, it did nothing to avoid the heat. What an awful contraption. Whoever invented these cottages on wheels just so women could bathe in the sea must be a sadist. Isabel wrung her hands while Sophie unbuttoned her morning dress. Would she go ahead with this? Swim with Henrique in the ocean? Her heart had yet to settle into its normal rhythm, stuck in an allegro ever since she accompanied him to the beach. Curse Dolly for being so sloppy with her things. Curse Henrique for riling her up. Above all, curse her pride. When she was twelve, her head tutor had waited an entire afternoon in her mother's dispatch room to warn the queen of Isabel's excessive pride, calling it hubris. Granted, her mother had laughed, telling him Portugal could use more pride in its princesses. But Isabel had countless opportunities to reform, hadn't she? But no, instead of giving in to Henrique, she chose to drown.
Sophie cleared her throat, presenting the shapeless trousers of her bathing suit. Isabel eyed the black garment with distaste but helped her maid settle the dress and adjust the belt over her waist. This entire business of sea bathing struck her as incongruous and unnecessary. Dressing in the middle of the beach while Henrique waited outside, only a canvas sheet separating them? To make matters worse, the bathing machine stood suspended on railings, waiting to be lowered into the ocean, like a sacrifice to Poseidon. All to enjoy the dubious pleasure of splashing around in salt water.
Hung over the opposite wall, Rafaela's bathing suit flashed at her like the costume of an odalisque. The outrageous sleeveless garment had short trousers!
Sophie followed the direction of her gaze. "It is all the rage in Paris."
"Et tu, Sophie? I thought Republicans shunned such earthly pleasures." She hoped Rafaela would get sunburnt and have wrinkles before her time.
"Republicans are not Puritans, I assure you. We enjoy earthly pleasures very much. Indeed, we would love it if they were not only for the aristos... The duchess's bathing machine istrès chic. The ones used by the common folk are hay carts. They smell of seaweed and body odor."
Isabel laughed. "That sounds preposterous."
"Indeed, it is. Oh, dear. There are no towels here. I will retrieve them from the palace." She turned to leave but halted. "Will you be all right, Citizen Isabel?"
Isabel nodded once, twice. It was at the tip of her tongue to ask Sophie to stay, but she shut her mouth. "Yes... Yes, absolutely."
How hard could it be? Isabel would enjoy the water for a minute or two and then return, a small price to keep her pride intact and avoid Henrique's gloating for the rest of their stay. Many women didn't know how to swim and bathed regularly in the ocean. She eyed the ropes pending from pegs on the machine's wall. That's what they were for, were they not? When the lady couldn't swim, they tied her to those strings and dropped her... like an anchor. Isabel shuddered and looked away.
"When you are ready, just wave the flag. The dipper will lower the bathing machine. Citizen Henrique awaits outside."
"Thank you, Sophie."
The maid opened the canvas and left.
Chafing against the heavy flannel of the bathing costume, Isabel fanned herself. Was this supposed to be fun? Why did it feel like she awaited to enter a circus but was clueless about her performance? Wave the flag, indeed. They could wait there all day.
A loud clatter and a series of clicks came from outside. The bathing machine shuddered, rattling the Venetian mirror. Rafaela's indecent bathing suit quivered and jerked, the starlet of a bawdy show. The wheels groaned, and the whole wooden house shook. Clasping her hand over her mouth, Isabel opened the curtain.
They tumbled down the beach, the ocean looming closer and closer.
Her stomach dropped, and she held the hat peg for support.
With a last groan, the contraption stopped. The waves seemed louder. Isabel took a deep breath, but the stuffy air brought no relief.
"Are you sulking in there?" Henrique's voice boomed outside.
"I don't sulk."
"Why are you still inside? Oh, I know, you missed the heralds announcing your entrance."
A loud, blaring sound came from outside. Isabel realized he mimicked the sound of horns.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I announce Princess Isabel."
The man was impossible! And he made keeping her pique an impossibility. Against her will, laughter bubbled out of her chest. Isabel tiptoed to the canvas door and pulled the drapery. A gush of breeze greeted her. The ocean spread an inch below the bathing machine's front porch, submerging the steps she had used to climb inside. She lowered herself to a seated position, bending her knees to avoid wetting her toes.
Henrique moved his arms underwater, his hair slick, his shirt soaked, and then he inspected her, his eyes sparkling more than the sea. "By God, what a hideous garment."
