Page 118 of The Sisters of Sea View
As they passed, Mr. Cordey looked up from the nets he was mending. “Not goin’ in today, are ’ee maid’ns? Storm’s a brewin’.”
“We shan’t be long.” Emily waved and continued on.
“You really are determined to get this over with, I see,” Viola said in a low voice. “Pride goeth before a fall, remember.”
“Better than having you hold it over my head for the foreseeable future. And whydidyou cross town without a veil? The wind probably blew it back and you did not even realize. Now you are simply taking advantage of your chance to torment me.”
“I said you did not have to.”
“Right. And never hear the end of it?”
They stopped at the first bathing machine they came to.
The vehicles looked like four-wheeled enclosed carts with doors on either end. They were normally rolled into the sea and back out again by horse or, in a pinch, by a few strong men.
“Afternoon, ladies,” a sturdy older woman greeted them, tucking a flask into her apron pocket. She wore a dark dress, kerchief, and close-fitting bonnet cinched under her chin. “’Bout gave up on more customers today.”
“Is it too rough, do you think?” Viola asked.
“Naw. Not if ’ee don’t wander too far. You ladies want to be dipped or go in yerselves?”
Emily had heard that inexperienced swimmers often used the services of a “dipper,” a strong person of the same sex who guided the bather out of the cart, dunked them in the water, and yanked them out again. Emily shivered at the thought of anyone pushing her into the water.
“We will, um, go in on our own. Although perhaps you might help us back into this, uh, machine, when we are through?”
“’Course miss. Strong swimmers, are ’ee?”
Was that whiskey on the woman’s breath?
“I would not say that,” Emily allowed. “But we shall manage without being ... dipped.”
They paid their shilling and six pence, climbed the few steps, and entered through the rear door.
Inside, they found themselves in a small wooden chamber with two little windows high on the walls for light, and benches below.
They began to undress, helping each other with their fastenings.
Outside, the jingle of tack let them know the attendant was yoking a horse to the end nearest the sea, ready to draw the carriage forward. Later the horse would be moved back to the other end to draw them out while they redressed in perfect privacy.
Frequent bathers might own their own bathing costumes, and some were even attractive, but Emily had never had the need nor the desire. Instead, she and Viola gingerly donned the provided dun-colored bathing dresses left hanging on pegs.
The bathing machine lurched into motion, jostling them. Emily reached for a wall peg for support, while Viola sat down hard on the bench with a little squeal of surprise.
Once deep enough, the vehicle came to a halt. Even so, a gust of wind shook the small hut on wheels.
“Ready?” Viola asked, pulling on the matching gathered toque over her hair.
Emily wrinkled her nose as she adjusted her own cap. “How many others have worn these?”
“Don’t think about it. Perhaps the salt water keeps them clean.”
Emily tied a cord around the waist of the shapeless sack covering her body, neck to ankle. “We shall turn no heads in these horrid things.”
“Good.” Viola gestured toward the seaward door.
Emily bit the inside of her cheek and pushed it open.
The view framed in the wooden threshold was of sea, nothing but open sea.
