In Shakespeare’s time, an outfit of clothing could cost a fortune. Literally.

Women in Elizabeth’s court wore removable sleeves, which were often highly ornamented and which could be sewn onto different bodices. They also sometimes wore a strip of jewel-encrusted embroidery along the hem of their gown, or down the front where the overskirt parted, which was removable but had to be sewn onto each skirt she wore. They were called “borders.”

In Liza Picard’s Elizabeth’s London: Everyday Life in Elizabethan London,* she recounts a story about a lady  entering a theater. Her servant boy was walking in front of her up the theater stairs toward the gallery, lighting the way with a torch. Two thieves were waiting for her, having seen her jewel-encrusted “borders.” One of them blew out the page’s torch, so he had to leave her alone and get his torch re-lit. While she stood there on the dark stairway, one thief lunged at her and groped her in a most inappropriate way. He was expecting her to try to ward him off so that she’d let go of her borders and allow his accomplice to rip them away and make off with them. But she was more concerned with her jewels than “her modesty,” and she held fast to her borders. The thwarted thieves ran away empty-handed.

Aside from being a funny story, what’s remarkable is the detail about having to have your way lit for you—and how dark something like a theater staircase could be. I blogged about link boys here, if you want to know a little more about them.

* pages 145-6