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There was a hesitant tap at my office door. “Come in,” I said, a little surprised. The embassy staff never knock so timidly, and I could not imagine who else it could possibly be.
The door opened to admit my elder son, Gilbert. He looked cringing and crestfallen. I was fairly sure he had been crying. I stood up hurriedly and went over to meet him.
“Gilbert,” I said, “what on earth is wrong? Are you ill?”
“No,” he replied, in a very small voice. “I've been expelled.”
I was really startled. Gilbert was the last child I could possibly imagine getting himself expelled from school; he had always disliked violence to such an extent that he would not even take part in the play fighting which is usual among small boys. “Whatever for?” I asked.
He looked away. “Wearing a dress.”
“I can't see why they expelled you for that,” I said. “It's not as if it hurts anyone. Was there nothing else?”
“It wasn't the first time, and they'd told me not to do it,” Gilbert admitted.
I gave him a hug. “I think we need to talk,” I said. “There are obviously some things you've been afraid to tell people, and it might make things easier all round if you could manage to say them to me. What do you think?”
He blinked. “You're not angry?”
“Of course not. I just want to understand what's going on here. At the moment, I really don't, so how can I be angry?”
“Well, a lot of grown-ups get angry when they don't understand things,” he pointed out. “Because they don't like admitting they don't understand.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Yes, I'm afraid I can't argue with that statement. However, I'm quite happy to admit that I don't understand, so perhaps you could explain to me so that I do? I'll let the staff know I'm not to be disturbed for an hour.”
Gilbert responded to this invitation by bursting into tears. I held him until he was able to speak again. “Oh, dear,” I said gently. “I'm getting the distinct impression you've had to put up with far too much unkindness for far too long.”
He nodded, mutely.
“I wish you'd been able to tell me sooner that there was something wrong,” I said. “I wouldn't have put you through all that if I'd known.”
“So do I,” Gilbert replied. “But it's taken me a jolly long time to realise what was going on myself. I think I've always known there was something wrong, but it's really only since I've been at school that I've been able to think clearly about what it was. It's different at home. You and Mother just accept everyone for who they are.”
“I should hope we do,” I said. I rang the bell, and Mr Dunwoody came in. “Mr Dunwoody, I have a crisis here. Would you please see that I'm not disturbed for the next hour? Oh... except that if you could arrange for a glass of milk and some cake for Gilbert, that would be helpful.”
Mr Dunwoody left, and I ushered Gilbert to one of the comfortable chairs facing my desk. “Now,” I said. “Practical matters first. What about your luggage?”
“It's upstairs,” he replied. “But Mother's not in, so it's on the landing. I hope she's not too shocked when she finds it.”
“I believe she is having a permanent wave, so she will be out for a while,” I replied. “Don't worry about that.”
He relaxed a little. “Could I... would it be an awful lot of trouble if I had a private tutor?” he asked.
“That may depend on what you're about to tell me,” I replied. “But, certainly, it's something I'm prepared to consider. Have you been bullied a lot at school?”
His face fell at once. “Oh, crumbs. All the time. It never stops.”
“That,” I said firmly, “is absolutely unacceptable. While I do understand that a school has to make allowance for normal horseplay, it is not doing its job if it stands back and allows pupils to harm one another.” I sat down. “Now. Tell me a little more about this dress.”
“Er,” he said. “Well... you're not going to find this easy to believe, but...”
I waited.
“I'm a girl,” he said.
I blinked. “You're a girl?”
“Yes. I'm a girl. It's the only thing that explains everything. I've got to be a girl, even though I've got a boy body. It took me ages to work it out, but a girl is what I am.”
That completely took me aback. I had been quite prepared to discover that my son was attracted to other boys, but hearing that my son was actually my daughter was another thing altogether. I considered for a few moments, weighing my words. At a moment like this, it was crucially important that I said the right thing.
“Tell me more,” I said, finally.
He let out a deep breath. “Could you... could you... would you mind calling me Emily?”
“It will take some getting used to,” I replied, “but if that's what you want to be called, then that is what I shall do my best to call you.”
He, or as I should really say, she, smiled with relief. “Well,” she said. “I've always known I wasn't like most boys, but then everyone is different, after all. So it didn't occur to me that I mightn't be a boy at all until I went to school, and I was like a fish out of water. Of course, I wasn't the only one; there were other people who were out of place for different reasons.”
“There always are,” I replied. “Boarding schools don't work for everyone. I was fortunate in that they did for me, but there were always those who needed extra kindness because the environment didn't suit them.”
“Well, I thought I was just like that at first,” said Emily. “I wasn't unpopular, to begin with. I was just conscious of not fitting properly. Most of it was about the scrapping. I mean, everyone scrapped all the time, and I really wasn't interested. I can defend myself, and I did, several times; but fighting's not a sport to me. I'm not a Jäger. And I'd always want to know, well, why? Why are you doing this? They all looked at me as if I was mad.”
“I can imagine,” I said, sympathetically.
“Of course, I assumed at first that I simply took after you a lot,” said Emily. “You don't fight unless you've got a very good reason. You don't really like violence. When I explained that to them, they were a little better with me, because you're a big hero. But then I started having trouble with Cobb major, and he's a real bully. He's the sort that, once he starts on you, there's no shaking him off. I don't think he was even aware of my existence for a few terms, but once he was...” Emily shuddered.
“I take it he was older than you?” I asked.
“Yes. He was in the top form. Big, too. Very tall and heavy for his age, and he boxes.”
“Then shame on him,” I said. “If he wants to fight, he should pick on someone his own size.”
“It got to the stage where I wasn't safe when we were allowed into town, because Cobb major would find me,” said Emily. “So I had an idea. I knew you were good at disguise because you'd been a spy, so I thought I'd try that too. I borrowed a wig from the theatrical properties box, and I bought a dress. I knew Cobb wouldn't pick on a girl.”
“Ahh,” I said. “Things are starting to fit together now.”
“Yes. When I put on that dress and wig, I suddenly felt so much more like myself. It's hard to explain it unless it's happened to you. I went out, I walked round the town for ages, and I had a lovely time... just being a girl. I felt I was free, at last.”
“So you just... felt right?” I asked.
She nodded vigorously. “Yes! You've got it! I thought, this makes so much sense, why did I not realise before? And when I had to get back into the boy clothes, it felt all wrong. That was when it really hit me. After that, of course, every time I went into town I wore the dress and the wig, and it was all fine until Mr Pugh caught me. I got caned for it, and the story went round the whole school. That was when everyone stopped talking to me and started kicking me.”
“And this,” I replied, “is when I send the school a wire to inform them that I am removing your brother. I'm not paying good money to a school which neglects its duty as badly as that. There will be plenty of other preparatory schools which will be very happy to take Charles.”
“Charles is all right, though,” said Emily. “He doesn't get any trouble. But then, he doesn't mind so much about hitting people.”
“Nobody should feel obliged to hit people in order to survive school,” I replied, firmly.
“It's the way schools work, though,” said Emily, sadly. “Don't you ever read school stories?”
I sighed. “I think your original idea was right. A private tutor will have to be the way forward, at least for now. I'm just furious that it should have to be, and not, I hasten to add, with you.”
Emily fidgeted. “Well... if you're going to send the school a wire, could you please ask them if I can have the dress back? They confiscated it.”
“They should have returned it to you the moment they expelled you,” I said. “Of course I will. Now then, Emily, this is not your fault, but I suppose you do realise we now have a problem with the succession?”
“I know,” she said. “But it ought to be simple enough. Charles is now the eldest son. He should inherit the title.”
I sighed. “It's not simple, Emily. I don't think there has ever been a case like this before in the history of the British Peerage. If your gender change is officially approved – and, to be quite honest, I'm not sure what business it ought to be of the authorities – then, yes, you're right. Charles will inherit. But if the authorities refuse to recognise it, then you're going to become the second Earl of Heversham even if you're really a Countess. That would make matters very problematic for your two elder sisters. It's ridiculous and old-fashioned that British peerages descend only in the male line; even the monarchy doesn't do that. If we had sensible laws, Agatha – I beg her pardon, I should say Agata now – would be the heir apparent. But she isn't.”
“But then,” Emily pointed out, “she doesn't need an earldom. She's a princess now.”
“Yes; because she happened to marry a prince. That was not a given. And Alice's husband is a commoner, so it might be very convenient for everyone if Agata were the heir and could pass her inheritance on to Alice as the next in line because she had no need of it. But, no. Nothing so reasonable. The rules say it must be the eldest male.”
Emily frowned. “Wouldn't the Queen be sympathetic? After all, she's a woman.”
“She may very well. But I don't know,” I admitted. “We can't bank on anything.”
“Would the Baron be able to help?” asked Emily. “I mean... to make me look more like who I am?”
“That has crossed my mind,” I replied, “but biological alterations aren't really Gil's speciality. We would probably need to talk to Agatha for that, or possibly Tarvek. Though... no, perhaps not Tarvek. I'm not sure I trust Tarvek not to go overboard and try to make you look like the next Helen of Troy, which is fine if that is what you actually want, but I suspect you may have had enough of attracting a lot of attention for quite a while.”
“You're right there,” said Emily, with feeling. “No, I just want to look like a normal girl. Maybe if I looked a bit like Alice, that would be nice.”
“I'll wire Agatha and see if she'd be prepared to help,” I promised. “And, if she is, we can take it from there.”
“I'm just so glad you believe me,” said Emily. “It's such a weight off my mind. I didn't realise how much I'd been worrying about that.”
“Well, it was certainly a great surprise,” I replied, “but you ought to know who you are. Put it this way: if you weren't a girl, why would you want to risk all the trouble that was likely to come from being one in an all-male environment?”
“I wish the masters had seen it like that,” said Emily, with feeling.
“So do I, and I shall ensure that they are aware of the fact. Far too many problems in schools stem from adults failing to believe children. As if all children were habitual liars. I'll grant you, some are; but then, so are some adults.”
Emily suddenly looked worried. “This... this business with the succession,” she said. “What if it takes an Act of Parliament to decide? I don't want the whole world knowing.”
“I think the decision probably belongs to Her Undying Majesty, who, after all, honoured me with the title in the first place,” I replied. “I shall ensure that she understands that we, as a family, wish it to be kept confidential.”
“Thanks. You really are a brick.”
“I do my best,” I replied. “If Albia won't acknowledge the change, then we're going to have to think about doing things another way. If necessary, we may have to arrange for the supposed disappearance of Gilbert, Lord Wooster, followed closely by the legal adoption of Lady Emily Wooster. That would be drastic, but it would solve the problem.”
“I'd be all right with that, if it's what we have to do,” said Emily. “After all, Gilbert never really existed. You only called me Gilbert because you weren't to know. And it's not as if I knew either until I was put into a situation where I couldn't not know.”
I nodded. “Good. And, in the meantime, I think we should be able to pop into town very quickly before your mother comes back.”
“Why?” asked Emily.
“Well,” I replied, “obviously, you're going to need some new dresses.”