Song of the Sea Maid by Rebecca Mascull

saw you with his wig in hand that day and you looked him straight in the eye. I wish you well, Dawnay Price. I cannot guess where your clever head shall lead you. And I will be curious to follow your progress. But never come back here, never return to this place. It is not part of you, you are beyond it and too good for it. Never turn back, Dawnay. Off you go, now.’
    I protest, but she will hear none of it. This woman has been a rough kind of mother to me, but a mother nonetheless.

8
    Susan Applebee, my other mother, welcomes me to my new home. I am shown my room, my bed, my articles of toilet and, housed neatly in a wardrobe, some brand-new shifts and stockings, shoes with high curved heels and pointed toes, and dresses in a range of pastel colours she has picked for me. There is also a collection of fans. The wallpaper has been hand-painted in China and depicts blue birds amid flowers, leaves and berries. My dresser has serpentine drawers and placed on top are a china ewer and basin beside a soap dish decorated with light pink flowers. By the window is an escritoire with a drop front and mirror, and a dozen tiny drawers each with their own lock – I shall place my brother’s note in one of those. The four-poster bed stands high off the ground with what appears to be at least three layers of mattresses and next to the bed sits a set of bed steps, with a chamber pot hidden inside. In a second dresser the top drawer contains powder, rouge, patches and lip colour neatly stowed in their own cubby-holes. There are two wig stands encased in narrow compartments on either side of the dresser, ventilated by silk panels in the doors. The fire is alight and I stand before it shaking my head.
    Susan squints at me. ‘Are you not satisfied, miss?’ she asks with an ironic air.
    ‘It is perfection. But I am not. I do not require this finery. I was never vain of my face. Nor did I yearn to wear silk dresses.’
    ‘You cannot wear the asylum uniform any more. Now you must dress as a lady.’
    ‘But I have no need for it nor interest in it. I cannot wear these stays with such boning, as the quality do, or these ridiculous shoes. I will not be able to bend across the desk or reach up to shelves. And where will I place my fan when I am about to screw together equipment for our experiments? What good would this lace apron be when I spill preserving spirits down it?’
    ‘I know not. I only know Mr Woods will not have you shabby. He has a position to keep up. He likes his servants to go genteelly. And his ward likewise. He is a gentleman, after all.’
    ‘And I am a natural philosopher, Susan. And I have my work to do.’
    ‘You are a wilful stripling and will do as you’re bid under his roof. Now change your clothes.’
    A loud knocking comes on the door.
    ‘Susan? Is the child there?’
    ‘Stephen?’ she calls. ‘What are you thinking coming up here? This is not your part of the house.’ She opens the door.
    My tutor steps past her and beckons me hurriedly. ‘Porpoises!’
    ‘ What? ’ we both cry.
    ‘Porpoises, the sea mammals, spotted swimming up the River Thames. Come, Dawnay, quick! Throw on your cloak and hat. We may catch a glimpse of them if we run.’
    So I am saved from tight stays by my persecutor’s husband. We race through the streets and down to the river. Mr Applebee asks around and hears of the animals seen just downstream. We rush along and then see a crowd of people pointing by the riverside. We push through and find a post by the water’s edge. We spot the porpoises breaking the water, their curving fins cutting through the choppy brown waves. Around and about them, the watermen are whooping and bashing the water’s surface with their oars.
    ‘Fie!’ yells my tutor. ‘Desist!’
    ‘Stop it!’ I join him. ‘You will kill them!’
    We are met with a barrage of oaths. But the porpoises are oblivious. They are so nimble in their medium they twist away from the boats and leap from the water. The crowd