sharply. “And into whose household are we going? We are being sent to Queen Joan herself!” Orva crowed. “We’ll be a part of the royal court!” Her eyes scanned the bolts of material.
“God’s boots!” Bingham swore softly. “How did the earl manage that? Leighton isn’t an important house.”
“He says it was pure good fortune that put him in Queen Joan’s eye,” Orva said. “I think Saint Anne, to whom I always pray, looks out for her namesake’s child.” She reached for a bolt of medium blue velvet and, unrolling it to the length she desired, took the scissors on her girdle and cut the piece. Folding it, she then set it on a small table.
“Praise God and his blessed Mother that the child will be safe,” Bingham replied. He was Lady Cicely’s great-uncle on her mother’s side. “The others will be glad to learn your news, Orva. May I tell them?”
“Shout it to the skies if you will,” Orva said, taking another bolt down, this one of burnt orange brocade, and cutting the piece she wanted.
“I’ll leave you then to your picking and choosing,” Bingham answered. “Lock the door from the inside, Orva. That way you’ll not be disturbed.” And he gave her a broad wink. “The mistress isn’t pleased at all this morning, I’m told.” Then he left her.
Orva took his advice and turned the big key in the lock before going back to her task. There was much to chose from, and Orva took her time. To the blue velvet and the burnt orange silk brocade she added a dark green, a cream, and a burgundy-colored velvet, along with a violet silk brocade, a medium blue and a grass green silk. She took a length of deep blue wool and another of rich brown to make cloaks for her mistress, as well as a packet of rabbit fur and another of marten to line the cloaks. She took linen and lawn for undergarments and veils, trimmings, buttons, several narrow lengths of satin, and another of leather to make girdles. The shoemaker belonging to Leighton would make Cicely new shoes and boots.
In a dark corner Orva found a small dusty box almost hidden beneath several bolts of heavy wool. Curious, she opened it. Seeing its contents, she smiled. Inside the box was a narrow gold chain with a small jeweled cross, a simple band of red gold, and a tarnished wire caul. The gilt flaked from the caul as she lifted it up. These few small possessions had belonged to Cicely’s mother, Anne. The chain and the ring had been Bowen family jewelry. Robert Bowen had given them to Anne in pledge of their love. The little wire gilt caul Orva remembered the earl buying for his love at a Michaelmas fair. She could still picture Anne in her mind’s eye, tucking her thick auburn hair into the caul and twirling about happily as she showed it off to Orva and to her father.
“These should belong to Cicely,” Orva said aloud to herself. The chain and the ring were hardly impressive pieces, and the little caul needed to be regilded. But the serving woman knew that her little mistress would appreciate that these items had belonged to the mother she had never known. She added the box to her pile. Then, unlocking the door, letting herself out, and relocking it, she hurried
off to find some servants to aid her in taking her prizes back to the cottage, where she would begin to fashion the gowns her little mistress needed.
When the earl came to visit his child later that day Orva showed him everything she had taken from his storerooms. The earl nodded, thinking to himself that Cicely could not be in better hands than Orva’s. The serving woman had taken enough material to make his daughter a wardrobe fit for a princess. Then Orva showed him the box with the few small pieces of jewelry that had been Anne’s.
Robert Bowen’s eyes welled up. “I had forgotten these,” he said softly, fingering the chain with the crucifix. “Aye, Cicely should have them. You were right to bring them, Orva. But the caul has seen better days, hasn’t it?” He
“God’s boots!” Bingham swore softly. “How did the earl manage that? Leighton isn’t an important house.”
“He says it was pure good fortune that put him in Queen Joan’s eye,” Orva said. “I think Saint Anne, to whom I always pray, looks out for her namesake’s child.” She reached for a bolt of medium blue velvet and, unrolling it to the length she desired, took the scissors on her girdle and cut the piece. Folding it, she then set it on a small table.
“Praise God and his blessed Mother that the child will be safe,” Bingham replied. He was Lady Cicely’s great-uncle on her mother’s side. “The others will be glad to learn your news, Orva. May I tell them?”
“Shout it to the skies if you will,” Orva said, taking another bolt down, this one of burnt orange brocade, and cutting the piece she wanted.
“I’ll leave you then to your picking and choosing,” Bingham answered. “Lock the door from the inside, Orva. That way you’ll not be disturbed.” And he gave her a broad wink. “The mistress isn’t pleased at all this morning, I’m told.” Then he left her.
Orva took his advice and turned the big key in the lock before going back to her task. There was much to chose from, and Orva took her time. To the blue velvet and the burnt orange silk brocade she added a dark green, a cream, and a burgundy-colored velvet, along with a violet silk brocade, a medium blue and a grass green silk. She took a length of deep blue wool and another of rich brown to make cloaks for her mistress, as well as a packet of rabbit fur and another of marten to line the cloaks. She took linen and lawn for undergarments and veils, trimmings, buttons, several narrow lengths of satin, and another of leather to make girdles. The shoemaker belonging to Leighton would make Cicely new shoes and boots.
In a dark corner Orva found a small dusty box almost hidden beneath several bolts of heavy wool. Curious, she opened it. Seeing its contents, she smiled. Inside the box was a narrow gold chain with a small jeweled cross, a simple band of red gold, and a tarnished wire caul. The gilt flaked from the caul as she lifted it up. These few small possessions had belonged to Cicely’s mother, Anne. The chain and the ring had been Bowen family jewelry. Robert Bowen had given them to Anne in pledge of their love. The little wire gilt caul Orva remembered the earl buying for his love at a Michaelmas fair. She could still picture Anne in her mind’s eye, tucking her thick auburn hair into the caul and twirling about happily as she showed it off to Orva and to her father.
“These should belong to Cicely,” Orva said aloud to herself. The chain and the ring were hardly impressive pieces, and the little caul needed to be regilded. But the serving woman knew that her little mistress would appreciate that these items had belonged to the mother she had never known. She added the box to her pile. Then, unlocking the door, letting herself out, and relocking it, she hurried
off to find some servants to aid her in taking her prizes back to the cottage, where she would begin to fashion the gowns her little mistress needed.
When the earl came to visit his child later that day Orva showed him everything she had taken from his storerooms. The earl nodded, thinking to himself that Cicely could not be in better hands than Orva’s. The serving woman had taken enough material to make his daughter a wardrobe fit for a princess. Then Orva showed him the box with the few small pieces of jewelry that had been Anne’s.
Robert Bowen’s eyes welled up. “I had forgotten these,” he said softly, fingering the chain with the crucifix. “Aye, Cicely should have them. You were right to bring them, Orva. But the caul has seen better days, hasn’t it?” He
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