Eleanor?’ she asked. I recollected myself and hurriedly smoothed my shabby kirtle. Sir Walter’s instructions had been to stay in my room, so I made to leave, but she remained in the doorway, blocking my exit and smiling. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you! And to see that you are recovered from your indisposition, of course.’ She stepped forward and embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. I felt myself stiff and resistant. I did not like being hugged by strangers. In fact I wasn’t used to being touched by anyone at all.
The lady looked out at the building work and smiled slyly at me.
‘Ah! You have been dreaming of the knight who will ride into the lists wearing your favour. Of watching him ride to victory. I see it in your eyes.’
I cast my eyes down hurriedly. I was thinking of no such thing, I thought indignantly. If I were to think of the tournament at all, I would dream of riding in it myself.
‘So shy?’ laughed the lady, and put her arm about my shoulders. She reeked of perfume and hair paste and I pulled away. There was a large pomander swinging from her girdle giving off a sickly scent.
‘You do not know me, Eleanor. But we shall be better acquainted hereafter. I am Maria Sheldon. I have been looking for you. Can you guess why?’ She looked at me archly, her brows raised, a determined smile pinned to her lips. I shook my head mutely.
‘The merchant has arrived with cloths and silks. Your dear father has asked me to choose something suitable for you. And I can see you are sorely in need of new clothes.’ She cast a doubtful look at my attire. ‘Will that not be exciting?’ she asked.
She treats me like a small child, I thought. But I suppose I must go along with it, at least a little, if I do not wish to anger Sir Walter. I can be as false as she.
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ I said drily as I curtseyed. ‘That will be vastly entertaining. Do I accompany you at once?’
She seemed to notice nothing amiss in my tone, for she smiled once more and led me down to the former family apartment. There, a sharp-faced merchant awaited us, his bolts of cloth laid out for us to view.
I must confess that after wearing worn-out dresses for so long, the prospect of new ones was appealing. Mistress Maria quickly totted up what I would need on her fingers, and the list made me reel with shock.
‘Four chemises, two kirtles for day wear, with matching gowns. Two evening gowns. Matching girdles for each outfit. And red flannel for underclothes—it’s the warmest. A cloak for riding. Do you ride? You do? Yes, very well then, a cloak. And headdresses … do you favour the English hood, my dear?’
‘No, certainly not,’ I began, but I was not allowed to continue.
‘You are quite right. So out of style. The French hood is far more becoming. We will need several ells of black velvet for French hoods.’ This last was spoken to the merchant, whose small eyes were lighting up with glee at the length of Mistress Maria’s list.
I almost forgot my hostility towards my companion as we examined and selected fabrics. Mistress Maria was some years older than I and far more experienced in the ways of the world. She chose and directed with great confidence, and drove a hard bargain with the merchant.
The cloth cut and the price agreed, she grandly waved him away, telling him to present his bill to Sir Walter. The shoemaker and hatter followed and my hoods were ordered and my shoes chosen. It had become the fashion, it appeared, to wear shoes with a square toe, and I would need one pair for each outfit, as the leather was slashed and the coloured lining arranged to show through and match the gown.
Maria threw herself back into my mother’s chair and sighed.
‘I declare there is nothing more exhausting than the choosing of clothes,’ she remarked languidly.
I could have agreed, but I refrained. Instead, I wondered to see her so at home here where Mother had once lived. She cannot be aware that this is Mother’s room,
The lady looked out at the building work and smiled slyly at me.
‘Ah! You have been dreaming of the knight who will ride into the lists wearing your favour. Of watching him ride to victory. I see it in your eyes.’
I cast my eyes down hurriedly. I was thinking of no such thing, I thought indignantly. If I were to think of the tournament at all, I would dream of riding in it myself.
‘So shy?’ laughed the lady, and put her arm about my shoulders. She reeked of perfume and hair paste and I pulled away. There was a large pomander swinging from her girdle giving off a sickly scent.
‘You do not know me, Eleanor. But we shall be better acquainted hereafter. I am Maria Sheldon. I have been looking for you. Can you guess why?’ She looked at me archly, her brows raised, a determined smile pinned to her lips. I shook my head mutely.
‘The merchant has arrived with cloths and silks. Your dear father has asked me to choose something suitable for you. And I can see you are sorely in need of new clothes.’ She cast a doubtful look at my attire. ‘Will that not be exciting?’ she asked.
She treats me like a small child, I thought. But I suppose I must go along with it, at least a little, if I do not wish to anger Sir Walter. I can be as false as she.
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ I said drily as I curtseyed. ‘That will be vastly entertaining. Do I accompany you at once?’
She seemed to notice nothing amiss in my tone, for she smiled once more and led me down to the former family apartment. There, a sharp-faced merchant awaited us, his bolts of cloth laid out for us to view.
I must confess that after wearing worn-out dresses for so long, the prospect of new ones was appealing. Mistress Maria quickly totted up what I would need on her fingers, and the list made me reel with shock.
‘Four chemises, two kirtles for day wear, with matching gowns. Two evening gowns. Matching girdles for each outfit. And red flannel for underclothes—it’s the warmest. A cloak for riding. Do you ride? You do? Yes, very well then, a cloak. And headdresses … do you favour the English hood, my dear?’
‘No, certainly not,’ I began, but I was not allowed to continue.
‘You are quite right. So out of style. The French hood is far more becoming. We will need several ells of black velvet for French hoods.’ This last was spoken to the merchant, whose small eyes were lighting up with glee at the length of Mistress Maria’s list.
I almost forgot my hostility towards my companion as we examined and selected fabrics. Mistress Maria was some years older than I and far more experienced in the ways of the world. She chose and directed with great confidence, and drove a hard bargain with the merchant.
The cloth cut and the price agreed, she grandly waved him away, telling him to present his bill to Sir Walter. The shoemaker and hatter followed and my hoods were ordered and my shoes chosen. It had become the fashion, it appeared, to wear shoes with a square toe, and I would need one pair for each outfit, as the leather was slashed and the coloured lining arranged to show through and match the gown.
Maria threw herself back into my mother’s chair and sighed.
‘I declare there is nothing more exhausting than the choosing of clothes,’ she remarked languidly.
I could have agreed, but I refrained. Instead, I wondered to see her so at home here where Mother had once lived. She cannot be aware that this is Mother’s room,
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