of late.”
Dame Claire could give amen to that readily enough. It was only two years since the end of three wet years of bad harvests when what had grown had rotted. St. Frideswide’s own fields had not produced enough for the nunnery’s needs, and high costs had made buying what little was imported almost ruinous. The same would have been true for every household, even those rich as the Lovells, because money could not buy what was not there.
But that was past. People were well-fleshed again and this year looked to be another goodly one.
Lady Lovell was saying, “I hope you’ll pardon me if I put off our talking over our village matter until afternoon. I’m to ride out this morning to see how it is with the fallow plowing and commend my dairywomen on how well they’re doing. Cook is complaining over what he’s to do with all the milk. Make more custards, I tell him. So if you grow sick of having custards while you’re here, it’s the dairymaids’ fault.”
More horses were being brought from the stable, lighter boned than those on which the hunters had ridden out: palfreys for an easy ride around the manor and its fields rather than hard galloping in the woods and over rough ground; and instead of plain harness, their leathers were bright with greens and reds and strong blues, some hung with little bells. Four of Lady Lovell’s ladies, Master Holt, and two squires strolled across the yard toward them. Lady Lovell stayed where she was and her horse was brought to her while Dame Claire said for both herself and Frevisse that they were quite willing to wait until her ladyship’s convenience in the village matter.
“But this afternoon for certain,” Lady Lovell said. She mounted and added cheerfully, “Luce, I leave our guests to your care.”
Luce, Dame Claire, and Frevisse curtsied their acknowledgment, but she had already drawn her horse around. Bells chimed on its harness as it stepped away, light-footed, leading the small, brightly dressed and caparisoned group away through the gateway.
The women left behind drifted back into the house, Dame Claire and Frevisse following Luce. The others were talking of the duties they were to see to while their lady was gone—Frevisse gathered that Lady Lovell left them to no idleness—and though some scattered away through the house about their business, Luce followed three others back into the hall and across it to Lady Lovell’s parlor, with Frevisse and Dame Claire perforce with her. They were no more bent on idleness than the rest; in the parlor they all took sewing from a chest along one wall. While the others moved away to sit where the light was best, beside the windows, Luce asked Frevisse and Dame Claire, “Would you care to join us? We’re sewing things for my dower chest. My lady said we could work at them this morning, please you.”
Sewing and Frevisse had never done well together, but Dame Claire said readily they would be most happy to join in so there was no help for it. She made the best of it by offering to do hems and was set to turning under and stitching the hem of a white linen smock while Dame Claire gladly took to setting in a gown’s sleeve and Luce worked on a bodice.
Dame Claire commented on the good quality of the cloth. Luce explained it was a gift from Lady Lovell. “She’s very good to any of us when we come to marriage.”
“Remember how after everything else she’d done, she gave Constance a set of strings for her lute when Constance was crying, so sure there would be none to be had where she was going to live in the Welsh Marches?” one of the other women said.
“And then it all turned out badly, with her husband dying before two years were out and no babies either,” someone else said.
“No ill luck on me,” Luce said quickly, signing a cross in the air between her and the other woman.
Several of them paused to cross and uncross their fingers before one of them said, “But I don’t know that Constance thought
Dame Claire could give amen to that readily enough. It was only two years since the end of three wet years of bad harvests when what had grown had rotted. St. Frideswide’s own fields had not produced enough for the nunnery’s needs, and high costs had made buying what little was imported almost ruinous. The same would have been true for every household, even those rich as the Lovells, because money could not buy what was not there.
But that was past. People were well-fleshed again and this year looked to be another goodly one.
Lady Lovell was saying, “I hope you’ll pardon me if I put off our talking over our village matter until afternoon. I’m to ride out this morning to see how it is with the fallow plowing and commend my dairywomen on how well they’re doing. Cook is complaining over what he’s to do with all the milk. Make more custards, I tell him. So if you grow sick of having custards while you’re here, it’s the dairymaids’ fault.”
More horses were being brought from the stable, lighter boned than those on which the hunters had ridden out: palfreys for an easy ride around the manor and its fields rather than hard galloping in the woods and over rough ground; and instead of plain harness, their leathers were bright with greens and reds and strong blues, some hung with little bells. Four of Lady Lovell’s ladies, Master Holt, and two squires strolled across the yard toward them. Lady Lovell stayed where she was and her horse was brought to her while Dame Claire said for both herself and Frevisse that they were quite willing to wait until her ladyship’s convenience in the village matter.
“But this afternoon for certain,” Lady Lovell said. She mounted and added cheerfully, “Luce, I leave our guests to your care.”
Luce, Dame Claire, and Frevisse curtsied their acknowledgment, but she had already drawn her horse around. Bells chimed on its harness as it stepped away, light-footed, leading the small, brightly dressed and caparisoned group away through the gateway.
The women left behind drifted back into the house, Dame Claire and Frevisse following Luce. The others were talking of the duties they were to see to while their lady was gone—Frevisse gathered that Lady Lovell left them to no idleness—and though some scattered away through the house about their business, Luce followed three others back into the hall and across it to Lady Lovell’s parlor, with Frevisse and Dame Claire perforce with her. They were no more bent on idleness than the rest; in the parlor they all took sewing from a chest along one wall. While the others moved away to sit where the light was best, beside the windows, Luce asked Frevisse and Dame Claire, “Would you care to join us? We’re sewing things for my dower chest. My lady said we could work at them this morning, please you.”
Sewing and Frevisse had never done well together, but Dame Claire said readily they would be most happy to join in so there was no help for it. She made the best of it by offering to do hems and was set to turning under and stitching the hem of a white linen smock while Dame Claire gladly took to setting in a gown’s sleeve and Luce worked on a bodice.
Dame Claire commented on the good quality of the cloth. Luce explained it was a gift from Lady Lovell. “She’s very good to any of us when we come to marriage.”
“Remember how after everything else she’d done, she gave Constance a set of strings for her lute when Constance was crying, so sure there would be none to be had where she was going to live in the Welsh Marches?” one of the other women said.
“And then it all turned out badly, with her husband dying before two years were out and no babies either,” someone else said.
“No ill luck on me,” Luce said quickly, signing a cross in the air between her and the other woman.
Several of them paused to cross and uncross their fingers before one of them said, “But I don’t know that Constance thought
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