Sold for Sixpence

“That doesn't matter here.” she said, glancing at her associates. “We regularly shun our femininity.” she told me. “Not because we're ashamed of our feminal qualities.” she explained. I wasn't even sure what feminal qualities were. “On the contrary young Thomas...” she continued. “...nothing feels more wonderful than satin and silk against your skin and being swathed in petticoats and perfume after a good while in gentlemen's attire.” she claimed. I gulped. “An urchin like you I expect has never been frocked on a Sunday...” she said. “...will find the experience all the more enthralling. Go with William and learn to be a lady.”

“But... I don't want to be a lady... I'm a boy.”

“You'll always be a boy young Thomas... but you will learn to be a lady.” she stated. I cast my eyes over the other stern looking women and their mannish garments. Their gaze appeared to pin me to the spot on which I stood but none of them spoke. I wondered whether the young bespectacled woman was their leader or their messenger. I glanced at William. His brunette locks shone as they hung in tight ringlets over his shoulders. I detected a dusting of face powder and as he nervously glanced at me. He wears a glossy lip colouring too. I averted my eyes, briefly hung my head before looking up at the bespectacled young woman. “If you don't you'll have to repay me the sixpence I gave Rosie.” she said. “Do you have sixpence?”

I shook my head and dropped my eyes. She told me to go with William and told me not to worry. But I was worried. I reluctantly followed William. The tails of his big satin bow swung in unison with his skirt and petticoats. He led me along a corridor in which his heeled boots struck the floor with a noisy clack. Although he's about my height, his head appeared high and still as he walked. He turned to me halfway down the corridor. “I wasn't really an urchin.” he said. “My father owed a gambling debt to them and I was the settlement.” he told me.

“Who are they?” I asked. “Why do they dress like men?”

“The Progressive Society of Ladies and Matriarchs.” William told me. “They dress as men to demonstrate their superiority over men.” he said. “They dress as women too.” he added, before asking why I'm an urchin.

“My father used to beat me so I ran away.” I replied. “Been on the streets ever since.” I added. I recall fleeing my family home as if it were yesterday but have felt so close to death on so many a winter night that I can't recall if I've been an urchin for two or three winters.

“Well at least you're in a better place now.” William said. “My father's house was bigger than this one. We had servants and butlers, stables and horses.” he reminisced. “Now I'm just a servant when I'm not their wallflower.”

“Wallflower?” I enquired.

He glanced at me and raised his thin fingers to his ringleted hair, than glanced down at his fine feminine garments and took hold of his skirt, lifting it a little. “They dress me up and paint my face and put me on display... like an ornament.” he said in a pessimistic tone.

“Oh.” I gulped. “What's up there?” I asked as he stopped at an open door that led to a narrow staircase.

“It's the back staircase.” he told me. “It leads up to the second floor and attic, and down to the kitchen and scullery.” he said, before telling me that I'm being taken to the housekeeper. “She's very strict but do as she says and you'll be OK.” he advised. “I put up such a fight when I realised what they were were doing to me that I couldn't sit down for a week.”

“When was that?” I asked.

William's slender fingers reached to his long spiralling ringlets. “This was as short as yours when I was sent here.” told me. I have no idea how long it takes for hair to grow that long but it tumbles over his shoulders and part way down his back.

“Mine's not short.” I claimed. It's not been cut for months and hangs limply on my shoulders.

“Rosie wouldn't have chosen you if it was.” William told me as we reached the second floor. He put his finger to his lip and told me to be silent, before whispering. “We're not supposed to speak unless spoken to.”

I followed him part way down a mahogany panelled corridor and through an open door. William drew to a halt and I nervously loitered behind him. A stern looking woman wearing typical housekeeping attire sat reading a book. She appeared to deliberately take her time in acknowledging our presence and the moment she looked up, William dropped a curtsey. She addressed him. “Rosie found another urchin for Miss Violet, Ma'am.” William said as he gestured toward me.

“How wonderful!” the housekeeper said. “You may go back to your pedestal William.” she said as she beckoned me over with an outstretched hand and a friendly smile.

“Thank you Ma'am.” William replied as he curtseyed. He glanced at me as he turned. I watched as he left, closing the large door behind him.

“He's a beautiful specimen isn't he.” the housekeeper said. I turned to find her directly in front of me. I gasped and stepped back. “Do you think you'll be as pretty as our William?” she asked. “Do you think you'd be prettier?” she added. “It's hard to tell when they're so tatty and bedraggled and...” she leaned in closer. “..smelly.” she sniffed. “When was the last time you bathed?”

I hung my head and shrugged my shoulders. I didn't want to admit that it was some months ago so I said nothing. She told me that polite young ladies don't shrug their shoulders. “I'm not a young lady.” I mournfully whined.

“Of course you're not, boy... yet you shall learn to act as if you were.” she replied. “I know it sounds preposterous but once you're corseted and frocked you'll swiftly adjust.” she claimed. The very thought of wearing a corset sent shivers down my spine. I looked up at her with pleaful eyes. “Don't worry boy.” she told me. “If a girl can bear a corset I'm certain you can too.” she said. “It'll squeeze the boy out of you.” she stated. “Come. Let's get you out of those rags and into a bath... then you can have something to eat.”

The promise of food was a driving force, as was the opportunity to bathe. I haven't done that properly since summer drew to a close. The housekeeper led me down the back staircase, through the kitchen to the scullery where she told me to strip. A maid trotted back and forth filling bucket upon bucket of hot water as I half undressed myself and was half undressed by the housekeeper. “Thin little thing aren't you?” she said as she looked me up and down, before bustling me through the door from which the maid came and went.

My jaw dropped at the sight of a tin bathtub in the corner of the yard into which the maid threw her buckets of steaming water. Ice filled the gaps between the cobbles and a peppering of snow fluttered through the air, although none of it settled to form a frosty white blanket. The frigid air bit into my naked body as I was briskly led by the arm toward the steaming bathtub. The housekeeper held me upright with one hand as she ladled the water over me with the other. The biting cold took hold the very moment its warmth ran off my skin. Time and again until she plunged a bristly brush into the bath and briskly scrubbed me from head to toe. I winced and whined the whole time but she paid no heed. It was a brief and somewhat brutal experience. The sooner I was back indoors the better, I thought. I was led back across the yard through the frigid breeze, my bare feet tiptoed across the bitterly cold cobbles. I was given a towel in the scullery which I quickly wrapped around my back and shoulders and spent a moment shivering inside it. “It's a towel not a blanket boy!” the housekeeper barked. “Dry yourself!”

Her tone put the fear of god in me and I quickly began to dry myself. “Have you incinerated his clothes Molly?” the housekeeper asked the maid, whom I'm certain is a real girl.

“Yes Ma'am.” Molly replied. “Here's his undergarments.” she said, handing over a small bundle of clothing that consisted of a pair of white lace trimmed drawers and a feminine chemise. Once clad in these two items I was taken back up to the housekeeper's room where I enjoyed a few moments standing in the warmth of her roaring coal fire. I've only seen such fine garments in shop windows, I thought as I considered my attire. I know I’m a boy and they're girl's garments but they don't half feel nice... although I expect much of that feeling is due to them (and me) being clean for once.

The housekeeper pottered as I basked in the heat, warming my front for a few moments then my back. She laid out petticoats and other items and set a silver bowl over a paraffin heater, into which she dropped a number of metal cotton reels. “Come.” she said as she dipped a comb into a soapy looking solution. The temperature quickly dropped as I stepped away from the fire. She sat me on a stool and I shivered. She ran the comb through my hair and the sweet smelling solution filled my nostrils. I asked what it was. “Boy's must only speak when spoken to.” she sternly replied. “But since you ask...” she added in a more palatable tone. “...it's a sugar solution to help your ringlets hold.”

“Ringlets?” I gulped as she dragged the comb through every section of my hair.

“And ribbons.” she said. “Even you won't believe you're really a boy when you see yourself.”

“But I don't want to be a girl.” I sulked.

“You won't be.” she told me. A smile briefly swept her face. “But if you know what's good for you you'll try your best.” she added as she donned a pair of thick twill gloves.

The silver bowl began to bubble. She stirred the steel cotton reels as if it were a soup before lifting one out of the water with a silver slotted spoon. “This will feel rather warm but it won't burn.” she said before taking a length of my hair and swiftly rolling the cotton reel up it and fixing it with a short length of cloth. The reel rested against my scalp and was indeed very warm. I feared it might at least cause me to blister a little. She repeated the process countless times until my head felt covered in the small steel cylinders; each tied with a raggedy bow. They quickly cooled but felt heavy, albeit not uncomfortably so.

She began to dab my cheeks, forehead, nose and chin with a pale milky solution before rubbing it in evenly. Then, using only her little finger, she applied a rosy pink pigment to my lips before stepping back and smiling. I gulped and smiled back, then my tummy gurgled. “Been a while since you've eaten?” she asked. I nodded. “The polite way to reply is to say yes ma'am.” she told me.

“Yes Ma'am.” I timidly said.

“Well the sooner you're dressed the sooner you can eat.” she said. “And when you've got this on you won't need so much.” she added as she removed a brutal looking corset from a clothes horse. “Stand.” she instructed.

I stood and sheepishly stepped toward her where she swung the garment about my midriff and fastened its busk. I recalled my elder sister being put in her first corset at the age of eleven and she hated it with a passion... but then she claimed she got used to it and it made her feel like a woman rather than just a girl, although our mother oft reminded her that she was just a girl. The housekeeper turned me around and began to draw on its laces. At first it didn't feel so bad as it hugged me from hip to chest. She adjusted it a little, twisting it to make sure the busk remained central and lifting it to ensure the narrow waist was in the correct position... then she began tugging on the laces with a little too much enthusiasm. “It's too tight!” I claimed as its grip tightened about me.

“Nonsense!” she claimed. “It's a corset... there's no such thing as too tight.” The metal rollers rattled about my ears as she tugged on the laces all the more.

“But I can't breathe!” I whined.

“I you can't breathe then you wouldn't be whining boy.” she said. “Put your arms up.” she told me. I raised them as if halfheartedly miming a trident. She grabbed my wrists and raised them much higher. “Does that feel better?” she asked.

The constriction did ease with my arms held high. “A little.” I meekly replied. Then she tugged the laces even tighter. “Oww!” I whined.

“You'll get used to it boy.” she claimed as she tied off the laces then pushed my wrists from their lofty position. “There. Turn around.” she said. I gulped as I faced her. My breaths were short and rapid. She instructed me to breathe slowly. “...from the top of your chest, not your belly.”

“I think I’m going to feint.” I said as I tried to breathe normally.

“Feint and you'll miss supper.” she said as she picked up a pair of off white stockings. “Sit down.”

I sat bolt upright. I didn't have much choice. She took hold of my ankle and gently lifted my foot before putting the gathered stocking over my toes and pulling it up to my knee. Once both stockings were on, I stood and she attached four suspender straps to the lower hem of my corset (two front and two on the back), then she attached them to the tops of my stockings which held them in place a few inches above my knees.

Female undergarments have always perplexed me; the way the corset grips their waist so tightly and how the suspender straps interfere with their ornate lace trimmed drawers. There's so much going on and that's before they've donned their petticoats, camisole and outerwear! Actually wearing such undergarments was no less perplexing and the corset feels as uncomfortable as it looks... but I can't remember the last time I wore clean clothes and I’ve never in my life worn anything that looks or even smells as clean as these, and in that respect alone they feel really rather special.

The housekeeper helps me into a white petticoat with fine lace trim, then a light cotton vest, followed by another petticoat. “I must say you're more compliant than most.” she said as she tied it about my waist. “You wouldn't believe the fuss some of them put up.”

“I'm just hungry.” I sulked.

“I don't want you wolfing down your food like some half starved street urchin.” she said. “You'll learn table manners, etiquette, politeness, decorum...” she listed as she loosened a boot. “...humility, modesty, diffidence and reserve.” she said as she shoved it over my stockinged foot and pulled the laces taught. I didn't know what most of those things meant, but it didn't matter. It doesn't really matter that they're dressing me in girl's clothes either, despite my corset being far too tight for comfort. Whatever this place is, I'm in a better place today than I was yesterday.

With the boots on my feet, I stand to my new height which is only a couple of inches higher than I'm accustomed to... but it felt like a significant couple of inches. The housekeeper led me a few steps to the centre of her room before letting go of my hands and stepping back. “It's hard to believe that only an hour ago you were nothing but a scruffy street urchin.” she said. I looked down at myself but couldn't see my feet for the bulbous petticoats that hung from my constricted waist. My corset is concealed beneath an off-white cotton chemise, but it's certainly not a case of out-of-sight, out-of-mind. My breaths are still short and sharp and the pressure it exerts is as constant as it is discomforting. The housekeeper opened a large ornate wardrobe inside which was a resplendent display of colourful dresses. She asked if I could recall what colour William wore. “Erm... green I think.” I replied.

“Young ladies don't say 'erm'.” she told me as she began to rummage through the menagerie of frocks. She told me how a young lady should reply to such a question, before giving me a second chance.

“Green, Ma'am.” I gulped.

“In that case we'll put you in red.” she said as she removed an elegant crimson gown with plenty of lacy embellishments, all as white as snow.

“It's beautiful.” I gasped as she removed it from its hanger.

“I'm pleased you think so Thomas...” the housekeeper smiled. “...but please don't forget to say Ma'am when you address someone.” she said.

“Sorry Ma'am.” I meekly muttered. It took her ages to unfasten all the buttons on the crimson frock. I carefully stepped into it and she lifted it onto my shoulders. It felt heavy as she began to fasten its buttons, which again took ages for her to reach those at the nape of my neck. Wearing such an elegant garment felt really special but being a boy, it felt totally wrong as well. My pale thin arms emerged from its short lace trimmed princess sleeves. My weedy hands gently clasped one another. My waist appeared unusually narrow where the full knee-length skirt billowed out. My white lace trimmed petticoats are just visible beneath it.

Once I'd been buttoned into my dress, the housekeeper began taking the metal rollers out of my hair. This also seemed to take ages as she worked from the back of my neck, slowly up the back and sides and eventually removing the rollers from my crown. It certainly felt different but until I see a mirror, I have no idea how it looks. The housekeeper opened a drawer and removed two long lengths of broad satin ribbon; one white and one red to match my dress. “I think the red one.” she said, before arranging my ringlets and tying it in place. “Miss Violet is going to be most pleased when she sees you Thomas.” she said as she admired me. “Now.. let's see your curtsey.” she said.

Being a boy I’d never really curtseyed before, but I knew exactly what one looked like. “No no no... you're not a princess.” she said as I performed an elegant, low curtsey. She demonstrated how someone of my lowly position should curtsey and I followed suit. “That's much better.” she smiled.

Before leading me down to the drawing room where Miss Violet and her acquaintances awaited my return, the housekeeper put me in front of her large mirror. My jaw dropped when I saw a pretty girl clad in crimson standing in the mirror. Her face is pale and even, like porcelain or ivory. Her lips a rosy pink and short bouncy ringlets and a broad red bow tops her head. It took me a moment to admit to myself that the girl in the mirror was me... and in my defence the only thing that looked like mine were my eyes and my eyebrows. Everything else about me had changed.

I gulped as the housekeeper held out her hand. I placed mine in hers and she led me out, giving me tips on how a lady should walk as I clumped my way along the corridor. “Respect your heels and they'll respect you.” she said as we began to descend the narrow back staircase. My voluminous skirt brushed the walls on both sides as I followed her down. I was led along the same corridor that William had brought me down and there in an alcove, he stood on a stone pedestal about fifteen inches high. He didn't speak as we passed but he did briefly glance at me. Meanwhile, my eyes were fixed on him and his long ringlets and elegant green dress. It's almost as if he's on display... but I guess that what he meant when he said he was a 'wallflower'.

The housekeeper didn't enter the drawing room. She instructed me to enter alone and when Miss Violet acknowledges my presence, I'm to curtsey and remain silent. I did as instructed and nervously glanced at all the women in their masculine garments. Miss Violet turned her eyes upon me and smiled. I came to a standstill and curtseyed. “Wonderful.” she said. “Turn around, let's have a good look at you.” she said.

I began to turn, slowly. I could feel numerous pairs of eyes glaring at me as I rotated through three-hundred and sixty degrees. “You're almost perfect Thomas.” Miss Violet told me, before hollering “William!” The befrocked boy entered and curtseyed. “Tell the maid to fetch a safety razor, some soap and a bowl or warm water.” she instructed.

“Yes Ma'am.” William replied before curtseying and leaving.

In his absence, the other women commented on my attire. I was likened to a red rose, a red heart butterfly, a red cardinal. “Shall we put him on display?” one of the masculine women suggested.

“That goes without saying, Geraldine.” Miss Violet replied. The women parted to reveal a tall ornate birdcage in the corner of the drawing room. When I say 'tall' I mean tall for this is high enough to fit an adult male inside. One of the women opens its door and Miss Violet, having placed her hands on my lace clad shoulders, gently prompted me toward it, “Fear not boy... it's not a prison.” she told me. Its slender metal bars reach from the floor to its ornate apex. A series of hooped bars encompass the frame every twelve inches and whilst a strong adult might be able to breach the enclosure, it will certainly keep a weed like me contained.

Inside the cage is a plank like seat attached to a brace of chains from which it hangs like a swing, only the confines of the cage doesn't offer the room to actually swing. I reluctantly yet obediently step inside and turn to face Miss Violet. “Sit.” she says in a warm friendly tone. I sit and wrap my fingers around the chains. My feet dangle an inch or two above the floor. I can feel myself swaying just a little. Miss Violet dips a hand into her pocket and removes two lengths of ribbon. These are about an inch broad, a yard long and coloured pale pink. She gently takes hold of one of my hands and wraps a ribbon around my wrist a few times before returning my hand to the chain, wrapping my fingers around it and tying my wrist to to the chain with an elegant bow. She does the same with my other hand and I begin to feel nervous as I'm gently yet securely bound to my perch. Even with the birdcage's door wide open, I'd struggle to get out of it.

Miss Violet arranges my frock and it's many frills. She spends a moment fiddling with my ringlets and the big red bow in my hair before stepping back to admire me. “Ah, there you are Molly.” she said as the maid entered with a silver tray bearing a silver bowl, a small bar of soap and a small silver safety razor. She sets it on an occasional table before stepping back and dropping a curtsey. Miss Violet dips the soap into the bowl and spends a moment forming a viscous lather in the palm of her hand. I begin to worry as she steps toward me and wonder why she's applying the lather to my eyebrows. As she rinses and warms the razor in the water, I realise exactly what she's about to do and there's little I can do about it. I can only gulp as she sweeps the tiny razor over my left brow, then rinses and repeats the action on my right brow. She dries her hands on a cloth, then wipes my brow and smiles. “You may go Molly.” she says, dropping the cloth and razor on the tray.

“Thank you Ma'am.” Molly replied as she curtseys, then removed the tray.

“You do look funny with no eyebrows.” Miss Violet said in a chirpy tone that worried me. She produced a small brush and a tiny tin inside which was a black substance that resembled boot polish. “That's much better.” she said after after drawing a finely arched narrow line where my eyebrows used to be. “I don't think any one would think you were a boy now.” she said. “Not unless they check beneath your petticoats first.” she added.

I lowered my eyes and gulped. Then raised them again. “You said I could eat something once I was dressed... Ma'am.” I timidly reminded her.

“Oh we've not forgotten about that.” she said. “But you must remember not to speak out of turn.” she reminded me as she slowly swung the cage's door shut. “It's your first day with us so I'll spare you a spanking... but be warned, you speak out of turn at any time from tomorrow and you won't find your perch so comfortable.” she informed me.

I gulped and hung my head. My father used to force me to cut and trim my own switch before beating me with it and that's why I left my family for a desolate life as an urchin. If avoiding that means holding my tongue than hold my tongue I will. I sat in silence for maybe twenty minutes. The women quietly chattered in groups of threes and fives, most sipped expensive drinks from elegant glasses, some chuffed on cigars. It still seems odd that they're all dressed as men but since William and myself are both dressed as girls, I suppose there's some sort of logic going on in this place. Occasionally one or two would approach and observe me. One reached through the bars and gently stroked my cheek. “Timid little thing isn't he.” she said to her associate.

“As timid as he's pretty.” the other replied. I said nothing for fear of being beaten. They soon sauntered off and mingled with the groups, but I overheard one suggest offering some morsels to their little bird.

A tray of canapés was placed on the small occasional table that stood beside my cage. I didn't know what half of the small morsels of food were, although I did recognise the nuts and berries that filled two of the small silver bowls. One by one the women fed me a small morsel that tasted most exquisite. I was reminded to eat 'like a lady' with my mouth closed, and to chew slowly like a lady would. Apparently, ladies don't lick their lips and neither should I. “Lipstick belongs on the lips, not the tongue.” Miss Violet instructed me, before popping another vol-au-vent in my mouth. The food was delivered to me in a maudlin, lacklustre fashion. I ate in an hour what I might normally trough down in a minute or less, but it was gratefully received and very much needed.

Eventually, William was called and told to remove the canapé tray. I felt ashamed as he approached. I felt like a traitor to every boy and man in the entire Empire, having willingly allowed myself to be laced into a corset and clothed in the most elegant feminine garments I've ever seen. I'm displayed like an exotic bird, gently swaying on my perch... all for the promise of some food. I didn't speak as he removed the tray, but I did wonder just how long he's been here for. This was followed by a more immediate thought... How long am I going to be here? Not in this place but in this cage! I can't free myself too easily, although it might be possible. I could pull on the bow that bind my wrists with my teeth, but the women would notice me long before I could unlatch the door... and I’m certain I'd be punished if I tried. Miss Violet approached and asked how I was. “Okay.” I meekly replied. “A bit tired.” I added as I rolled my shoulders which were feeling rather stiff, having been held in the same position for at least an hour or maybe two. “Ma'am.” I added, recalling her previous threat.

“I know it's not much fun being on display but you're certainly brightening the place up.” she said before arranging my frills and a faffing with my ringlets. “You're very lucky to have such lovely hair.” she said. “I knew you had potential the moment Rosie brought you to me.” she smiled. “I trust you won't disappoint me.” she added as she straightened the crimson satin bow on top of my head.

“How long do I have to sit here for?” I asked. “Ma'am.”

“Remember what I told you about speaking out of turn?” she asked. I hung my head. “You sit until you're told otherwise. Just as William stands on his pedestal until he's called for.” she informed me. “You're to be seen and not heard. Stay silent and still if you know what's good for you.”

“Yes Ma'am.” I meekly peeped before hanging my head and taking in my unfamiliar garments.

Her hand reached through the bars. “Such a pretty face needs to be seen Thomas.” she said as she gently lifted my chin. My eyes met hers once more. “If you can't hold your head up I'll put you in a posture collar.” she told me.

I didn't know what a posture collar was but her tone suggested it would be something I'd rather avoid. Miss Violet turned and sauntered off to mingle with her associates. A short while later, a well-to-do gentleman entered the drawing room. He must have been very important since everyone gave him their attention. “Ladies.” he said as two gruff looking men followed behind.

“Sir Winston! We're so glad you could make it.” One of the more mature masculine women replied. “Was he any trouble boys?” she asked, directing the question to the two henchmen who loitered by the door.

“He was boarding a train to Edinburgh.” one of them replied.

“Edinburgh?” the woman said to Sir Winston. “I quite clearly recall instructing you to meet us here at 3pm on the dot.”

“Oh er... ah.” the gentleman stammered. “I er... had urgent business in Scotland... to secure the funds we require.” he claimed.

As important as the gentleman may be... he's clearly the underdog in this place. I felt invisible in my cage as his excuses were rebuked. All eyes were on him and his nervously flickered this way and that as if seeking an exit or ally. Sir Winston is told that his failure to keep up the repayments means they have no option but to increase the interest from fifteen to twenty percent. The gentlemen loudly protests but is told that if he wants to extended the deadline, they have no choice but to increase the interest on his debt. “We're financiers Sir Winston... not a charity!” the woman bluntly states. Sir Winston pleads with them and claims he cannot raise that kind of money in such a short space of time... meanwhile, Miss Violet fetches William from his pedestal and parks him beside the older woman, facing the well-to-do gentleman. “A man called Bartholomew Johnstone owed us a similar debt some time ago. He failed to repay us but did eventually settle up, albeit in kind rather than in cash. He gave us his only son and we made sure he'd never have another. Young William is a gelding and his father's family linage stops here. You also have a son, don't you Sir Winston.”

“I have two sons.” Sir Winston retorted. “...and if you lay a finger on either of them I'll...”

“You'll what?” the older woman interrupted. “Flee to Scotland?” she sarcastically snarled. The cowardly gent hung his head. “You have a debt and you have a deadline. Failure to meet either will result in your eldest son being emasculated and your youngest being handed over to us.” she informed him, before stating his sons' names and informing him of their current approximate whereabouts; “George is boarding at Eton college, Edward is at home under the watchful eye of one of our nannies.” she told him.

Sir Winston went pale. “But...”

“Silence!” she barked before turning to William and in a much calmer tone, she instructed him to go back to his pedestal. The cowering gent watched as William curtseyed and returned to his pedestal in the corridor, the tails of his board satin sash floated behind him. “I cannot stress enough the importance of repaying your debt Sir William. You also have four daughters and we can put each and every one of them in the whorehouse should we feel inclined to do so.” she informed him.

When Sir William entered the drawing room, his head was held high and his demeanour held authority. Now he's visibly withered in the presence of a woman much stronger than he could ever be. His voice is shaky as he pleads for more time. She beckons her henchmen forward. “What are you doing?!” he fearfully wails as they grab him by the arms. I felt invisible as I watched the scene from behind my bars.

“We're letting you go Sir Winston.” she told him. “But not before you've been emasculated.” she added. “Take him to the stables.” she instructed the henchmen. “You have ten days Sir William!” she reminded him as he was led kicking and screaming out of the drawing room.

Once he'd gone, the women began to gabble amongst themselves. “Do you think he'll pay?” they quizzed. The general consensus was that no one was sure but many doubted that even a man of his standing cannot possibly assemble such a large amount of money in such a short space of time. “I only hope he realises the gravity of the situation... for his family's sake.” one commented. Others agreed in grunts and nods.

I spend hours on my perch, flexing my aching neck and shoulders as much as I can. The position in which I’m bound isn't uncomfortable but as the time passes, the more discomforting my pose becomes. I'm berated for fidgeting and told to remain silent and still. I try my best but it's not easy. I flex my limbs a little when I think no one is looking.

More people arrive, elegant women and masculine ones too. They're served drinks and canapés, they gossip and laugh. It's not so much a party but is definitely a social event. I'm often approached and observed, fawned over, even. “Have you seen the other one in the corridor?” one woman says to her companion. “His hair is divine!” she adds. “I would have sworn he was a girl!”

“This one was a street urchin yesterday.” Miss Violet informed the trio of observers.

“How vile!” one of them retorted. “Waste of a good dress if you ask me!”

“On the contrary my learned friend... teaching a boy from the streets to be demur and ladylike is a befitting fate for one who'd have otherwise become a thief.” Miss Violet replied. “Would you like a canapé young Thomas?” she asked.

I gulped and nodded. She removed a slice of apple, garnished with cream and berries from a sliver tray and delivered it through the bars. I opened my mouth and she popped it in. I chewed it slowly and carefully, making sure my mouth remained shut and my chomping was silent. I swallowed before timidly smiling through pursed lips by way of thanks.

She smiled and turned to her acquaintances. “Now friends, let's talk finance shall we.” she said, before leading them away. I twisted my wrists and looked at the ribbons that held them fast. I consider biting at one of the ribbons to untie the bow and release myself. The cage in which I’m displayed only has a latch. There's no lock that I can see. I imagine sneaking out but know full well that I wouldn't get very far, but that doesn't stop me from imagining my escape. I wonder if I could run fast enough in heeled boots and all my petticoats as I visualise doing just that.

I sat for at least another hour before the guests began to make their slow and staggered exit. It took at least half an hour for them all to finally leave and once they had, Miss Violet opened my cage and untied my wrists. “Thomas you've been a delight...” she said as she took my hands in hers. I hopped off the little seat and stepped out of the man-sized birdcage. “...and everyone said that you look absolutely divine.” she told me. “Now I'm sure you're exhausted and you need plenty of rest before you're chores tomorrow morning.” she said as the sound of footsteps grew ever louder from the corridor. I overheard the housekeeper addressing William and a moment later, he entered looking as elegant as the first time I saw him. Every step was short and dainty as he wafted into the room. He curtseyed for Miss Violet before bidding her a good night. “Thank you William.” Miss Violet replied before turning to me. I didn't know what to do so did exactly as William had. “Thank you Thomas.” she said. William curtseyed once more and so did I. He left and I followed.

We trotted in the wake of the housekeeper down the long corridor and up the back stairs to her large decorous room where she helped us out of our elegant dresses and petticoats. William was released from his corset and he sighed with gracious relief. The housekeeper untied my corset laces but only loosened them a little before tying them off. She read me like a book when she looked into my eyes. “Most girls are put in their first corset when they're ten years old.” she told me. “You're twelve which means you've got lots of catching up to do.” she added, claiming that I'll sleep easy since it's been loosened. “Let's clean your face.” she said, picking up a cloth with which she'd remove my powder, lipstick and painted eyebrows. William removed his own make-up and looked more boyish than ever, despite his long ringleted hair and feminine underwear.

We're taken up to an attic room in which there's two metal framed beds on either side and very little else. My jaw dropped at the very thought of not only sleeping in an actual bed, but in a bed all of my own! A white nightgown laid neatly on each bed and as I stepped closer, I spotted plenty of ornate lace frills and satin bows which defined it as a girl's garment. I pulled it over my head under the watchful eye of the housekeeper. William did the same before pulling on a pair of woolly bed socks. I spotted my bed socks and followed suit, before glancing at William. I gulped and looked at my own bed frame and like his, there's a length of chain attached to the leg and a single cuff which William dutifully clasped around his ankle. I turned my eyes to the housekeeper. “Miss Violet paid sixpence for you.” she reminded me. “We don't want you wondering off in the night do we?” she said.

I hesitantly wrapped the cuff around my ankle and it locked itself shut with a single solid metallic click. The housekeeper drew my attention to a chamber pot beneath my bed, then she handed me a hairbrush and told me to brush my hair one hundred times. “But that'll take me all night!” I exclaimed.

“Nonsense! Now do as you're told.”

I gulped and glanced at William and did as he did. My ringlets are very short and hang high above my shoulders, but Williams hung halfway to his elbows and now he's brushing them out, his hair goes all the way to his waist! The housekeeper watches over us as we brush our hair and I expect she also kept count because she eventually said “That's enough boys.” We both ceased brushing our hair and William began to loosely plait his. The housekeeper tied mine with white ribbons into two low bunches behind my ears. “These will stop it from getting tangled whilst you sleep.” she told me.

“Thank you... Ma'am.” I gulped as I looked into her eyes.

“Now get some sleep.” she told me. “You'll be up at five to begin your chores and if you even try to remove your corset, your first chore shall be cutting yourself a switch of willow from the garden.” she warned as I climbed under my sheets and blankets. They smelt clean. It's a scent I haven't sensed since I was a little boy, I thought as I deeply inhaled the fresh linen. “You'll keep an eye on him won't you William.” she stated.

“Yes Ma'am.” William obediently replied.

The housekeeper left and closed the door, plunging the room into darkness. I became accustomed to the light after a few moments. The light of a half moon shone though the small drapeless window. “Did they beat you?” William eventually whispered.

“No.” I quietly replied.

“Good.” he said. “Nothing good ever comes from disobeying them.” he told me.

I believed him. “Who was that man?”

“Sir Winston?” he replied. “A fool.” he claimed. “He thought he could borrow their money and not pay them back and now his family's going to pay the price for his stupidity.” William told me. I recalled Sir Winston being led away and tried to remember a big word that one of the women used, something they were going to do to him. “Emasculate?” William suggested. I nodded. “It means they're going to cut his gonads off.” he told me. “Just like they did my father's... and mine.”

I gulped. “Will they cut mine off?” I feared.

“Maybe.” he replied. “They told me it's so I'll always be a boy and never a man.” he humbly said. I recalled Miss Violet telling me that I'd always be a boy too. I hope that's not what she meant! William glumly moaned about having to spend everyday having to dress and act like a girl.

“I've never worn such fine clothes.” I told him. “And I don't think I've ever worn clothes that looked and smelt so clean.” I said. “I never imagined how wonderful it might feel to wear petticoats.” I confessed as I inhaled my bedding once more. “I've never slept in a bed so clean either, and never one all of my own!” I told him, before telling him that this is my first proper bed since I ran away from home.

“When did you run away?”

“Two or three winters since... I can't really remember.” I replied. “We slept five to a bed at home.” I told him, before listing my siblings; Emma, Mary, Jane and Sarah. I described my final night at home. I tried to stop him from hitting my sister and he made her cut me a switch for him to beat me with. After the switch inevitably broke, he locked me in the pigsty and by morning I was long gone.

“And you've been on the streets ever since?” he asked. I nodded. “No wonder you like it here.” he sighed.

“I didn't like sitting in a cage all evening... with all those weird women staring at me and feeding me like a parrot.”

“You'll get used to them.” he said. “...and you did well to stay silent.” he added. One boy, he told me, had to be beaten into his corset, beaten into his dress, beaten into the birdcage and tied tightly to the seat yet still refused to silence himself. “For two evenings he yelled and swore at the guests and even when gagged he still made a noise. On the third day they'd cut out his tongue and that silenced him.”

“Oh my!” I gasped. “What happened to him?”

“I don't know... it was before I came.” William said. His eyes dropped and a wave of sadness swept his face. “I hate my father for what he did.”

“I hate mine too.” I empathised as I snuggled my head into my pillow. “And I don't think I'll get a wink of sleep in this corset!” I grumbled as I settled down and nestled myself into the blankets. I tried to work with my corset but it seemed hell bent on working against me. But much to my surprise come morning, I must have quickly dropped off to sleep for I don't recall laying awake for long, and didn't wake in the night either.

I wondered where I was for a moment. It's always like that when sleeping in a strange room. I turned on my side and tried to curl up but couldn't. The realisation that I'm laced into a corset brings the events of yesterday flooding back to me. When Rosie grabbed my collar as I reached for that barmcake I feared she'd shop me to the stall holder. When she dragged me away I feared she might be looking for a constable to arrest me. And after being led by the scruff of my neck along several streets and down numerous alleyways when she brought me to the tradesman’s entrance of Ravenscourt House, I feared it could be the mansion of a magistrate. I never expected to be sold for sixpence to a bunch of women garbed in manly attire, nor did I imagine I'd be put in feminine garments and displayed as an exotic bird might be; bound to a perch in a cage.

I turned onto my back and felt the cool steel chain under my heel, then the cuff around my ankle. I glanced to the bed in which William slept and the length of chain the emerged from his bedding and terminated around the leg of his bed. He seemed to be sound asleep and I felt I’d best not disturb him. I stretched out my arms and flexed my shoulders. The lacy cuffs of my nightgown slid to my elbows. I pulled them back to my wrists and admired just how exquisite they were. My mind felt torn between knowing I'm a captive and knowing that I'm in a better place now than I was before.

It was still dark outside and I lay in a silent wakeful slumber for some time before the housekeeper came through the door. William woke suddenly. He almost immediately sat himself upright and planted his feet on the old wooden floorboards. I followed suit but with far less haste. The housekeeper tended to my corset, pulling on the laces, drawing in my waist and pushing half the air from my lungs. I didn't feel very loose when I woke but now I realise just how loose it was!

She revealed a key and unshackled us from the cuff that made sure we didn't stray too far from our beds, before leading us down the back staircase, not to her room but all the way down to the kitchen and scullery where we're given servile garments to wear; an ill fitting faded black frock with a tatty off white apron and a moppy white cap into which all our hair is tucked. A pair of stockings that had seen better days and an old pair of heeled boots clad our feet. We're given a bucket, a scrubbing brush and a ragged old cloth before being put to our first chore.

We scrub the large kitchen and small pantry floors. I'm encouraged to work hard and fast and told that if I'm not perspiring, I'm not working hard enough. The internal warmth we'll generate will keep us warm all day long, William told me. After scrubbing the kitchen and pantry floors we moved on to the scullery and I did indeed build up a sweat, but having no eyebrows it dribbled from my forehead directly into my eyes, but I soon got into the habit of frequently mopping my brow to stop the sweat from getting that far. I glanced at William who's eyebrows are thin, finely arched and very feminine. “Did they shave your eyebrows too when you first came here?” I asked as we scrubbed the scullery floor.

“No.” he replied. “Miss Violet plucks them regularly though.” He assured me that mine would probably grow back but figured they'd be kept thin and fine like his. “You do look funny without any though.” he added.

“I should have asked the housekeeper to paint some on.” I mused.

“Then you'd have been spanked for speaking out of turn.” he said, before advising me that if I want something, I should wait to be offered it.

“What if I need to toilet?”

“You can ask for that.” William replied. “Just drop a curtsey and wait to be addressed.”

At that moment, Molly the scullery maid entered through the back door. She hung up her winter cloak and looked down on us. “I was hoping you wouldn't be under my feet now you've got Thomas!” Molly said to William as she donned a crisp white apron. “It should only take you half the time now there's two of you!”

William didn't reply but he did up the pace. I followed suit, frequently glancing up at Molly as she pulled a white maid's cap over her head and tucked her hair into it. She smirked at me and I knew it was my lack of eyebrows that amused her. I kept my head down after that whilst Molly pottered about briskly and loudly tutted every time she stepped around us. We soon finished and upended the buckets into the sluice. William dropped a curtsey to Molly and I did the same, then we left.

Our next chore is upstairs, sweeping the long corridor and drawing room. This would have been a lot easier if we had a broom each. With only a dustpan and hand-brush each and a dust bucket between us, it seemed to take forever to sweep the long corridor and each time someone strolled down the corridor, we had to stop and stand to the side, with our eyes lowered, dropping a curtsey as they passed, only to be ignored, then resuming the chore once they'd gone. Some I recognised from the previous day and a few still wore masculine attire whilst others, Miss Violet included, wore elegant feminine frocks. “She looks beautiful.” I quietly said once she was out of sight.

William didn't reply. We picked up our aprons, dropped to our knees and resumed sweeping the long corridor with our short handled brushes. It was back breaking work, I claimed. “It would be without a corset.” William glumly replied.

“Is that why we wear them?”

“We wear them because girls wear them... I don't really know why girls wear them... but I do know I’d rather sweep and scrub the floors with one than without.” William told me.

“Will we be doing this every morning?” I asked. William nodded. I cast my eyes up and down the corridor, weighing up how much we'd done and how much was left to do. I figured we were about one third of the way through, but it's hard to tell because the corridor is so very long. “Did you really live in a house as big as this?” I asked.

“Yes.” he replied. “Hawksforth Hall.” he said. “I used to drive our servants wild running along a corridor as long as this as fast as I could whilst the housemaid was having her afternoon nap. The servants were always at their wits' end with me but they couldn't really do much because I was the young squire.” he recalled. “Now I'm so low I even have to curtsey to the scullery maid.” he moaned.

“All because your father couldn't repay a loan?” I knowingly asked.

“Didn't rather than couldn't.” William replied. “He could have settled by handing over the deeds to Hawksforth Hall but that would have brought shame on the family name... instead he gave them me.” William explained

“That's horrid.” I told him. “Did he know what they'd do to you?”

“I don't know.” William frowned. “But I do know that his lavish lifestyle, his mansion and servants meant more to him than me.” he sighed.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Three years this spring.” he told me. “But it's not so bad I guess... better than the workhouse, so I’ve been told.”

“Begging on the streets is better than the workhouse.” I replied. “The urchins do anything to avoid being sent there.”

“Have you been in one?” he asked. I hadn't but their reputation is well known and well earned.

Our conversation ceased when one of the women entered the corridor. We stood and stepped to the side, curtseyed as they passed, casting not a glance in our direction before dropping to our knees once more. Eventually we reached the end and the large wooden door that leads to the drawing room. It looks bigger than it did yesterday and it wasn't a small room then. But I guess yesterday, I wasn't wielding a small hand brush with which to sweep its floor. It didn't take as long as the corridor took but it still seemed to take a good while to work from one side to the other. The housekeeper came to check on us when we'd almost finished. “I trust you're making sure his work isn't sloppy William.” she said as she cast her eyes over the hardwood floor.

“Yes Ma'am.” William replied.

“I hope so.” the housekeeper said. “If Miss Violet isn't happy with his work it'll be you who'll be wearing out his switch.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

The housekeeper left us to finish off. “What did she mean... you'll be wearing out my switch?” I asked as we swept.

“If Miss Violet isn't happy with your work, she'll send you to cut a switch and give you five or ten lashes.” he told me. “Maybe more.” he added. “Then she'll turn the switch on me and use it until it breaks.”

“Even when you've done nothing wrong?!” I said.

He frowned and nodded. “It's not so bad when I'm displayed on my pedestal.” he said. “It was worse when I had to sit in the birdcage.”

I cast my eyes to the oversized metal birdcage and recalled all the hours I’d spent inside it wearing a crimson dress with bright white lace and big red bow on my ringleted head. It wasn't pleasant but it could be much much worse should I be punished with a switch. The housekeeper returned and observed us as we finished sweeping the floor with our inefficient hand brushes and dustpans. She approved of our efforts yet didn't praise us in any way. She gave William the task of polishing the sideboard, tables and cabinets, and I had to polish the ornate brass birdcage. “But I can't reach the top.” I said without thinking. “Ma'am.” I added. I bit my lip in fear that my question was spoken out of turn and I'd be sent to cut a switch.

“You may stand on the swing Thomas.” the housekeeper told me.

“Thank you Ma'am.” I gulped.

I recall helping my mother to polish the cutlery every Easter and Christmas and polishing the big brass cage remembered me of that. I miss my mother. She was nice. But not so nice she'd stop my father from beating us whenever he got angry. It's just his way, she'd tell us. Bar by bar I polished the cage until it gleamed. I actually enjoyed standing on the swing so I could reach the apex where all the bars culminated. They seemed gleam like the evening star as I stepped down from the swing. I wiped my cloth down the chains that it hung from and stepped back. “You boys have certainly been busy.” Miss Violet's familiar voice said. We both turned. William curtseyed. I did as he did. She inspected the floor and the furniture, then stepped over to me and cast her eyes over the man-sized birdcage. She asked if I'd finished. “I haven't polished the latch yet, Ma'am.” I timidly replied.

“Well carry on Thomas. I want the place looking perfect for this evening.” she said. Her eyes drifted from the cage down to mine. She smiled. I nervously smiled back. “I think you should wear yellow this evening... you'll be our canary.” she said.

I didn't like the idea of that much. “Thank you Ma'am.” I meekly replied.

Once our chores in the drawing room are done, we were given other tasks by both the cook and scullery maid; fetching water and removing peelings, rinsing pots and wiping tops until noon when our empty stomachs were finally filled with a gruel like broth and crusts of semi stale bread. Then we're stripped of our servile garments and I’m finally released from my corset before being quickly yet brutally scrubbed from head to toe in the outdoor tub on a bitter February day.

I spent no more than ten minutes out of my corset before being quickly laced back into it in the scullery whilst William was being given his brutal bath. I waited in only my undergarments until William returned. He donned a clean chemise and a pair of drawers before having his corset wrapped around his midriff. The housekeeper began drawing it in. “Actually why don't you have a try Thomas.” she suggested. “It'll be one less task for me if you laced one another into your corsets.” she added.

At first I was timid but the housekeeper encouraged me to pull on the laces as hard as I could. William assured me he was OK, adding that after three years, he's fully corset trained. The housekeeper gives him one last tug before showing me how to tie off the laces properly. She instructs Molly to fetch the paraffin stove and a bowl of hot water, before escorting William and I up to her room.

The housekeeper lays out a gingham dress for William and a puce dress for me. I inform her of Miss Violet's suggestion that I wore yellow today. “You shall wear yellow this evening Thomas.” she informed me. “But today you'll wear this.” she added. “Now sit down, let me do your make-up.” I sit and shut my eyes as she applies powder to my face and paint to my lips before drawing me a pair of eyebrows. Molly arrives with everything the housekeeper needs to put our hair in ringlets, but unlike yesterday when my entire head was ringleted, today she only put the hot metal cotton reels around my fringe and above my ears. The rest she pinned up and I wondered why... but I held my tongue for fear of speaking out of turn. William's hair was also put in hot rollers which cooled and set our ringlets whilst we dressed.

Our thick stockings were held up with long elegant suspender straps that hung from our corsets. A woollen vest and two petticoats followed. Then our boots were pulled over our stockinged feet before the housekeeper helped us into our dresses. Mine first, then Williams. As yesterday, our skirts land about our knees and leave an inch or two of our petticoats exposed. A twelve year old girl would wear their skirt longer than this, I thought as I looked down at myself. This particular length would be worn by a girl no older than eight or nine years of age.

The housekeeper sits me down and removes the rollers from my hair before arranging my ringlets so they hang evenly on either side of my face, then she revealed an old fashioned lace trimmed bonnet that perfectly matches my puce frock with its satin bows in burgundy. She places it on my head and my peripheral vision is replaced with vignette of white lace. She spends a moment arranging it and my ringlets before tying its broad satin ribbons in a big floppy bow beneath my chin. “Go and see how pretty you look whilst I tend to William.” the housekeeper told me.

I stepped toward the big mirror and faced my reflection. All I see is a prissy little rich girl; the sort who'd pull faces at boys like me when I was an urchin. I focus on my face and am reminded of a porcelain doll; my skin is pale and evenly toned with glossy painted lips. My eyebrows look strange but they're not my eyebrows; just two thin lines that the housekeeper drew on. I do hope they'll grow back.

The housekeeper spent far longer removing William's rollers and tending to his ringlets that she had mine. I had to turn my head fully to see the progress. Wearing a bonnet is very strange, I thought as my gaze returned to the mirror. It frames my face with satin and lace and somewhat blinkers my peripheral vision. My ornate puce frock looks expensive and far too elegant for a boy like me. Any one of my sisters would be over the moon if they had a dress like this, I mused. I wondered what they'd think if she could see me now, before turning my head to see the housekeeper placing a bonnet over William's head. His is gingham with ribbons and lace to match his dress but other than that, it's much the same as mine.

We're taken down to Miss Violet who gleefully approved of our dresses, however Miss Violet didn't like the eyebrows the housekeeper had drawn so she wiped them off and drew me some that she approved of. Miss Violet wears a beautiful floor-length gown with long sleeves and a high collar. An elegant hat rests on her head and thick shawl is draped about her shoulders. “Right boys... it's a lovely day today so you're going to get plenty of fresh air.” she said. “We're going for a stroll.” she informed us as she handed us each a thick winter shawl that matched our frocks. I was a little hesitant to step outside dressed as I am but I figured anyone who doesn't know who I really am will see a pretty little rich girl.

Much to my surprise an open landau carriage awaited us. Such carriages are reserved for only the most affluent and privileged people, but being an open carriage, it's hardly suited to a fresh February day. The footman stood to attention and opened the shallow carriage door as we descended the broad stone steps. William and I sat facing forwards whilst Miss Violet and an associate faced us. They arranged our skirts and adjusted our bonnets before giving the horseman the signal to proceed. I looked up the house; three stories high and some eight windows wide and a huge imposing door with the building's name of Ravenscourt House is engraved in large gilded letters on the lintel. Beside the door is a shiny brass plaque that proudly announces that this building is the residence of the Progressive Society of Ladies & Matriarchs. I face forward as the carriage picked up speed.

The wheels chattered noisily as they rolled over the cobblestones. The hooves of two horses clatter with arrhythmical regularity. The moisture from my lungs condensed in the chilly February air and every breath produced a misty plume. My face felt cold, as did my hands, but I was thankful for my layers of petticoats, heavy frock, shawl and warm winter bonnet. It felt so special being driven around in the open carriage. The poor people would watch us pass with empty eyes. I could sense their contempt, their envy and their hopelessness. I felt all of those things when the rich and privileged looked down on my sort from their lofty social position throughout my years scraping an existence on London's unforgiving streets. I never imagined for one moment that I'd enjoy such a privilege. We're driven to Kensington Gardens where the footman assists us as we alight. Miss Violet had us walk ahead whilst she and her associate followed a few paces behind. Leafless trees lined the broad promenade along which many people sauntered and William and I held hands the whole time! We didn't have much choice since before we left Miss Violet had bound them together with a length of ribbon and William assured me that only Miss Violet can untie her knots. “Believe me, I've tried.” he said.

Every few moments, I felt inclined to check that Miss Violet and her associate were still behind us, but my bonnet meant I couldn't quickly glance over my shoulder. Instead I had to twist my shoulders and hips to check. “We're still here Thomas.” she'd say each time I checked.

I noticed a constable briskly walking toward a young couple who happily strolled arm in arm. He wears a crooked top hat, she carries a tatty parasol. The constable stops them, speaks and points to whence they came. “What's going on there I wonder?” I said to William.

“He'll be telling them to leave... only those dressed smart and clean are allowed in these gardens.” he informed me.

“That means I really am privileged now.” I said as the couple frowned, turned and headed back toward Bayswater, followed by the stern looking constable.

“We're not privileged Thomas, we're prisoners!” William quietly reminded me. He almost whispered the last two words and probably for good reason. I don't imagine Miss Violet would be happy with such a statement. I certainly don't feel like I’m a prisoner, although my hand is firmly attached to William's just in case I decide to run off. And even if I did, I doubt I'd get very far thanks to my heeled shoes and petticoats slowing me down, plus I'd be out of breath in an instant thanks to my crushing corset. I consider the man sized birdcage in which I'll be displayed and the cuffed chains that tether us to our beds. I know William's right but we're from very different places. He would have one day been lord of the manor whereas I lived hand to mouth, day to day with no foreseeable future.

The broad walk, as it's name suggests is a broad tree lined promenade with the occasional narrow walkway joining it on either side. Miss Violet directs us down one on the left that leads us through the trees. This area, although paved is less formal than the broad walk. The tall leafless trees look like they've been there far longer than the palace or its gardens in so much they're not planted in perfectly straight rows. It's like walking through a well tended wood. It's hard to believe we're still in the centre of a sprawling city. I look this way and that at the huge trees with their gnarly trunks and imposing limbs. Everything is bounded by a halo of delicate lace that rings my bonnet. We sit for a short while where six paths meet and enjoy the view of Kensington Palace itself. I thought Ravenscourt House was big but it's a fraction of the size of this magnificent structure. Eventually we strolled back to the north end of the broad walk and the open carriage that awaits us. Miss Violet fusses over our frocks and bonnets, making sure we look absolutely divine before giving the horseman permission to proceed.

We're driving through the city streets to Regent Street where we alight once more and stroll along the bustling pavement. We entered the sort of shops that I wouldn't have even been allowed to stand outside of before yesterday. What both surprised and annoyed me when we were in the exclusive boutiques was that everyone knew we were boys. “What a delightful pair of boys.” the proprietor of the first one said. “It's a pity all boys don't wear dresses... I'd double my sales if they did.” another claimed on clapping her eyes on us. Another exclaimed “What on earth has happened to his eyebrows?!” to which Miss violet replied. “They were bushy and boyish so I shaved them off and drew some nice ones on.” before telling the proprietor that she's brought me for a corset fitting.

I already have a corset, I thought as Miss violet smiled upon me. She must have read my expression because she told me that I need a corset all of my own rather than someone's old one. My hand was unbound from William's and I was taken to a small back room where the lengthy process of removing my many garments began. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a broad perspective on the world until my bonnet was removed. I imagine a horse might feel the same when their bridle and blinkers are taken off. Wearing only my boots and stockings, drawers and chemise, I held onto a horizontal bar above my head whilst my chest, waist and hips were measured, as well as the distances from hip to waist and waist to chest on my back, front and side... then the corsetiere slung my old corset around my midriff and quickly drew the laces in. I gasped as the air was suddenly forced from my lungs. “Calm down boy... a four inch reduction is standard.” the corsetiere bluntly stated. “...and that's barely three.” she added after wrapping a tape measure around my waist to check. “Where did you find this one?” the corsetiere asked Miss Violet as she tugged my corset tighter and tighter. “Another son of some foolhardy debtor?”

“Not this one.” Miss Violet smiled. “He's an urchin... well... he was until yesterday.” she added. “Pretty little thing don't you think.”

“Beautiful.” the corsetiere agreed as she finally ceased tugging and tied off my laces. I let go of the bar and lowered my arms before looking down at myself. My waist is noticeably slimmer than it was when the housekeeper laced me up, so much so I was afraid to exhale for fear of being unable to inhale again. I was advised to hold my spine straight, head high and breathe not too deeply from the top of my chest. “Perfect your posture and your lungs will do the rest.” I was told before being put back in my vests and petticoats, heavy puce frock and finally my bonnet. Miss Violet ordered two corsets for me; one in canvas for my servile duties and another in silk for my elegant gowns and both should have suspender straps attached. The corsetiere noted down the order and told Miss Violet they'd be ready in two days.

“Wonderful.” Miss Violet replied. “We'll return then.” she said. “Come along Thomas.” She put out her hand and I placed mine into it. She gripped it tightly as she led me back to the store and it's displays of feminine undergarments.

William waited with her associate and Miss Violet put my hand in his, before tying them together with a length of satin ribbon. We curtseyed in unison to the proprietor before being led out the door. She smiled but said nothing to us. However she did turn to Miss violet and said, “You have a wonderful way with boys.”

“I'm just following the Society's code.” Miss Violet replied. “Come along boys.” she chirped.

A short yet ornate bow decorated our bound wrists as we strolled hand in hand back along Regent Street to where the carriage awaited us. I gulped as my eyes met with an urchin sat huddled in a doorway. Knotted hair flanked her filthy face. She looked hungry and helpless in her tattered apron and torn stockings. Her envious eyes longed for a frock like mine, I thought as I averted mine. I felt guilty in my expensive gown and despite the fact I'm essentially a captive of Miss Violet and her matriarchal associates, I'm in a much better place than that impoverished girl and all the other street urchins.

Predictably Miss Violet fusses with a our frocks, ringlets and bonnets before the open carriage begins to move. Two elegant ladies and two privileged young 'girls' occupy this most expensive and exclusive mode of transport. Heads turn as we trot along London’s streets and I suddenly realise that William and I are as much on display now as we were when I sat in my cage and he stood on his pedestal. “Did you enjoy your day out boys?” Miss Violet asked once we returned to Ravenscourt House.

“Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am.” we replied whilst dropping a curtsey. Miss Violet removed our winter shawls and hung them. The housekeeper appeared and took Miss Violet's thick cape and that if her associate. She took William and I up to her room where we donned our evening frocks. Mine is a canary yellow party dress with a broad satin sash tied in a huge bow at the small of my back. Its collar is broad and trimmed with lace. It's sleeves short and puffed. She tends my hair and arranges my ringlets about a big yellow ribbon tied in my hair and I wait facing my reflection whilst she tends to William. I feel like an inverted flower in my bright yellow tiered frock. I put my hands to my narrow waist. I could scarcely cope with how tight my corset feels, however seeing my reflection and hourglass waist, I can see why it feels so tight. My arms look pale and thin, as does my painted face thanks to the short ringlets that frame it. My slender painted eyebrows look fake but they're better than nothing. My glossy pink lips stand out and glisten. My skinny stockinged legs emerge from my flouncy knee-length frock and petticoats and disappear into a pair black heeled ankle boots.

I cast my eyes toward William who's being buttoned into an elegant pink gown with layers of lace and big white bow at his bustle. Like mine, his frock is knee length; a style more suited to a girl several years our junior. The housekeeper painted his lips in the same glossy pink she painted mine, before sending us down to the drawing room.

William's long ringleted hair is adorned with a pink bow who's tails flutter as we descend the back stairs and walk the long corridor. Miss Violet awaits in the drawing room. Gone is the elegant feminine gown she wore throughout the day. Back is the masculine suit and waistcoat she wore when Rosie brought me here and sold me for sixpence.

After complimenting our attire, Miss Violet puts me on display in the birdcage and tells William to bind my wrists to the chains from which my perch-like seat hangs. He does it without question but I see the reluctance in his eyes. Miss Violet checks the knots and sends him to his pedestal. He curtseyed and left. “Are you happy here Thomas?” Miss Violet asked.

“Yes Ma'am.” I replied.

“Why?” she asked. “Doesn't the corset crush you? The dress humiliate you? You can't be happy in such a small cage, surely?”

“It's safe.” I said.

“It is that.” She smiled and reached in through the bars and stroked my chin. “Sit pretty my little bird.” she said before sauntering to the well stocked drinks cabinet.

It wasn't long before the rest of the Progressive Society of Ladies and Matriarchs entered the cavernous drawing room in sporadic groups of twos and threes. All wore masculine garments as they sipped their drinks, drew on their cigars and discussed stocks, shares, debts and debtors. There was no dramas such as that I'd witnessed with Sir Winston the previous evening, but just like the night before, many elegant ladies arrived to socialise. Most observed and admired me at some point or another. They complimented my appearance as if I was an inanimate ornament, only addressing one another and never me directly. The only time I felt acknowledged as a living thing was when one would offer me a morsel of food. Another grape is placed in my mouth and I slowly chewed it before swallowing. This is followed by a slice of apple, then a nut or canapé. Then they'd saunter off and maybe two or ten minutes later, another would come and observe the boy in the birdcage and some might give me a morsel to eat.

“What do you do with them when they've er... grown?” one of the gusts asked one of the women as they peered into my cage. “He won't be petite forever.” she added.

“Most we sell but some we keep, such as William in the corridor.” the woman replied. “Miss Violet's in two minds about this one ... at the moment he's timid and compliant but how he'll be once gelded... well... we'll just have to wait and see.”

I gulped on hearing this, but after what William told me in bed last night, I knew then it was probably inevitable. If I'm to live as a young lady in this place then maybe being gelded might help me to feel like one too. William seems OK but I'm sure it must hurt a lot. I'm eager to know 'when' but for fear of being punished for speaking out of turn, I dare not ask. “Don't stare boy!” the woman snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts. I meekly and politely apologised. “And don't speak!” she added. “You're to be seen and not heard!”

I gulped and lowered my eyes but not so much my head. “Is he misbehaving?” Miss Violet asked as she stepped over. The woman informed her that I was staring at the guests. Miss Violet reminded me that I must show my face yet avert my eyes and whilst I may glance, it's not my place to engage my gaze. “Your place is not to look but to be looked at, Thomas.” she said before sauntering back to her circle of friends and acquaintances.

That's easy for her to say, I thought as I flexed my shoulders and tried to arch my back. I glanced around the walls and ceiling and despite my apparent imprisonment in this place... I can imagine calling it home. I don't know any girl who'd turn down the opportunity of working as a servant in a house like this... especially a position that meant wearing the most elegant dresses once the chores are done. I don't get paid but I do get fed and I've got a bed and roof over my head. Being displayed like a caged bird isn't ideal and I expect one day I'll suffer the switch on my backside. Such punishments are a part of life for youngsters, especially those of low social status. But here, in this huge house, in my shiny cage and vibrant yellow frock... I feel like the pauper who became a princess. It's not the rags to riches tale that boys like me always dream of... but it's better than nothing.