Page 17 of The Tailor's Treasure

Matilda crossed her arms."And why is it you can't reach her?"

Sometimes Constance thought her sister must have been born with some miraculous form of deafness: she only heard what she wished to."Because she doesn'tcarewhat I think.She knows her own mind - at least, she believes she does, which is as good as - and she wants you to know it, too.A little understanding would go a long way with her."

"I understand her perfectly," Matilda snapped."She is behaving like a petulant child, and she's far too old for it.She will marry Simon, like it or not, so she had better accustom herself to the idea.And I'd best not have any word of you encouraging her to think otherwise."Without giving Constance a chance to respond, she spun on her heel and went back in, fairly slamming the door behind her.

Constance rubbed her hands over her face with a bone-deep sigh.More than once, in her childhood, she had been commended for her level head: she had been the one called on to settle disputes between her siblings and smooth over ruffled feathers and injured pride when fights turned bitter.With Matilda and Jack the way they were, she'd had no real choice in the matter.She had hoped that adulthood would bring with it a little peace, but God evidently had other plans.She would be mediating between her siblings and their children until she was ninety.

At least I've nobody to fight with myself, she reflected.Somehow, the thought brought her little comfort.

CHAPTER FIVE

The last of the winterchill had, it seemed, almost lifted.In its place was a light breeze that carried upon it the fresh scent of spring.No flowers yet emerged from the slushy much that covered the streets, but a few brave shoots of green grass could be seen rising above the mire.It was not quite warm enough to go without a cloak, but it was warm enough to let one's cloak hang open to reveal the garment below.

Isabel walked at a measured pace, the better to enjoy the change in temperature.The sun had, at long last, emerged from behind the clouds, and she lifted her face to enjoy its warmth as she walked.Living in Linden, the sun never seemed as warm as it had in her country childhood – the awnings of the buildings, crowded cheek by jowl as they were, blocked all but the most determined beams – but it was still better than the winter's gloom.

When she reached the tailor's shop, she saw that Constance was enjoying the weather as well as she was: all the shutters were thrown wide, and the door was propped open and wedged in place with a piece of wood.Constance was seated just inside the doorway, her sewing spread out across her lap.She looked up with an easy smile as Isabel came in."Good afternoon.It's a beautiful day, is it not?It seems a shame to spend it indoors."

"Where else may it be spent?"Isabel replied.She handed her latest embroidery – the right and left sleeves of Leah's wedding gown, now decorated with bands of golden oak leaves around the wrist.It had been a simple enough job – Leah's wrists were not especially large – but Isabel still could not help the ember of pride that flickered to life inside her as Constance examined the pieces, her eyes alight as she followed the tracery of the vines with her fingers.She had not realized how vain she was regarding her handiwork until Constance had begun to praise it.

"It's beautiful," she said, once she had examined both.She lay them in the basket at her feet, then held up the piece she was working on – the bodice front, still unadorned."You mean to match it here?"

"At the very bottom, where the waist begins."Isabel bent to indicate the section in question."And then two more bands about the skirt.Possibly one outlining the neck as well, if she wishes."It was more than she'd ever done to a single dress before – her own were only embroidered at the cuffs – but this girl and her family had done Constance a kindness in commissioning the dress to begin with, so they ought to make it as sumptuous as possible.Besides, it was meant for a wedding – and one the bride seemed genuinely excited about.Isabel's memories of her own wedding were all coloured by what had come after, but she did at least recall glorying in the finest dress she'd ever had occasion to wear.

"She will, I think," Constance said, "for she likes pretty things, or so her father tells me.And he will certainly encourage anything that beautifies it further."She let the bodice fall back into her lap."As to going outside, would you not prefer a jaunt around the town in such weather?Surely it would be preferable to staying indoors."

Isabel did not quite pull a face, but from the way Constance's eyebrow quirked, she was certain her thoughts were evident nonetheless."To enjoy the smell of offal and dung and refuse rotting in the streets?Hardly."

Constance laughed."It's not so bad as all that.Especially now, with the rains washing last year's leavings away.It will smell fresh for weeks to come."

"Nothing in town smells fresh," Isabel rejoined."You don't realize it because you've lived here all your life."

"And you haven't?"Constance asked.Isabel had not realized, until just then, that Constance had no idea where she'd come from.It was such a commonly accepted – and derided – fact of her existence, and her circle was so small, she had come to assume that everyone she spoke to knew it automatically.The peasant girl with country mud still clinging to the hem of her skirts after all these years, her manners rustic, her speech unpolished; the fact that shehadlearned to blend in among Geoffrey's circle, made herself small and inoffensive, and spoke as well as any merchant's wife made no difference.When something was said often enough, it took on a ring of truth.A villein she had been, and a villein she always would be, no matter who she married.

"I was born in the countryside," she said.She did not add,in a wattle-and-daub cottage that we shared with a cow and heated with dried dung.There was honesty and then there was laying herself bare.Constance had not asked for the latter, and Isabel did not intend to offer it unprompted."At this time of year, the flowers are beginning to bloom, and everything smells clean and new.My brother and I used to walk down to the mill-pond, and I'd gather fresh rushes for the floor while he played by the water."Saying it aloud tugged the memory fully loose: her apron full to bursting with greenery, Matthew's gleeful yells as he splashed in the shallows, Isabel keeping one eye on her work and one on him to make sure he didn't fall into the pond.Matthew darting closer to the water's edge, teasing her, then dancing back when she shouted.More than once, he'd tripped and fallen, but never too far out: he'd always come up spluttering and laughing, his clothes soaked through, and his hair plastered to his forehead with mud.It had driven her mad then, knowing she'd be scolded for letting him get dirty.It seemed so long ago, now.With a start, she realized that the Matthew of her memory was nearly identical to Walter now.Had he really looked like that, or was the present writing over the past in her mind?

"It sounds beautiful," Constance said, breaking into her thoughts."When did you leave?"