thou travel here?â
I shook my head dolefully. âI canât tell, I canât answer,â I muttered.
âYe donât know?â exclaimed Aunt Tissie, astonished, but not more surprised than myself. âNay, that beats all. If ye werenât my own kin I should say ye were simple,â and she clucked her tongue in consternation.
The kitchen-maids crowded round me and touched my dress with curious fingers. I looked down at my navy serge tunic and the little striped apron I had worn when I was helping Aunt Tissie. It wasnât I who had changed, but my surroundings, I reminded myself, as they whispered and nodded and pointed at my shoes.
âTheyâre mebbe out of the oak chest on the landing,â said one of them, as I stood miserably blushing with the attention I had caused. âThereâs a store of ancient clothes for the poor and needy, gear of well-nigh a hundred years in that chest.â
âOr she found âem in the play-acting chest, where the mistress keeps her garments for mumming-plays and Christmas routs and junketings. Ye might have found something seemlier than that doublet if ye wanted to dress up and surprise us,â said another.
âWhere have ye hidden your ordinary gear?â asked the one whom I had seen the first, who now entered the room. âI found her on the landing, near the mistressâs chamber, and mebbe sheâs been inside poking about.â
âNo Aunt,â I cried, and tears sprang to my eyes. âThese are my own clothes, and I havenât any more.â
âWell amercy! Donât weep, my pretty! I mun make ye some more, for those are not seemly,â said Dame Cicely, and she wiped my eyes with her apron and put her arm about me to shield me from the others. âTabitha,â she called to the pretty girl who had met me on the stairs. âTake Penelope upstairs to my bedchamber, and put more womanly weeds on her to cover up her long legs. Sheâs like a lad in that garb. I wouldnât have the mistress see my niece so.â
âItâs the dress of a London prentice sheâs wearing, and it becomes her. Leave her, Dame Cicely,â said Tabitha. âSheâs bonny in them and the mistress wonât mind anything on a day like this. Sheâll laugh mebbe, and it will do her good, for, poor soul, she has troubles enow with Master Georgeâs gambling debts and Master Anthony, God bless him, bringing anxieties to this quiet place where nothingâs ever happed since Adam and Eve were on earth.â
âHave it thy own way,â laughed Dame Cicely. âIâll tell Mistress Babington and Mistress Foljambe that my niece has come from Chelsey to help me, and sheâll be right glad to have ye in the household, and whoever was your mother, ye are a Taberner, and the very image of her who died and is buried out yonder. Ye shall sleep in my bed, for itâs had an empty place since she left us. Phoebe shall make a new smock for ye, and Iâll lend ye a night-rail of mine, although thy little body will be lost in it.â
She looked me up and down, considering my position in the household.
âNiece Penelope, canst thou sew and cook and milk the kine?â she questioned. âThereâs a-plenty of work to be done here, and no room for an idle maid.â
âI donât sew very well, and I canât cook,â I confessed.
âMaybe yeâve been eddicated above thy station?â she said cheerfully. âCanst read and write like the quality?â
âOh yes,â said I.
âThatâs more nor us can do! I canât read a word, but I keep this household going. I carry my knowledge in my noddle and have no use for printed books. Receipts for cooking, and making of drinks and possets, I know them all. I remember the old ballads and I know the Psalms, so that I can sing without a Psalter. I keep a tally on the doorpost of the number of eggs and
Lauren Sattersby
Dewey Lambdin
Kathy Ivan
Karen Erickson
Iceberg Slim
Stephen A. Bly
Serdar Ozkan
Louis L'amour
Josie Dennis
Kristin Elyon