profit for the monastery.
The monks themselves did little or nothing that William could see, beyond wielding a desultory hoe in the Abbot’s garden from time to time before scuttling back to the chapel at the first note of the chapel bell. Or so it seemed to William. But William had too much to do.
He went outside and, shooing an indignant brown hen out of his way with the besom, he began brushing away mud and straw with long, rhythmic strokes, sluicing down the cobbles with pails of water from the big water butt in the corner of the yard.
‘I could do that for you.’
She hadn’t gone. Jenna Harding stood outside the door of the byre, watching him with concern. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘It will pay for my night’s lodging. And, if your wife will agree to employ me, then I might as well start today as start tomorrow.’
‘But ... but clearing out the yard would be no part of your duties.’ Surprised, William let her take the besom away from him without demur. ‘Your work would be in the dairy.’
‘But looking after the hens would be part of my duties, too, and I felt sorry for that poor creature you shooed out of your way,’ Jenna said with a shy smile. ‘I almost feel responsible for her! Her eggs could be worth four silver pence a year to you.’ She started sweeping the wet cobbles methodically, hoping he didn’t think her too disrespectful.
Bemused, William watched her. Yes, he’d been right. He had a feeling this one was going to be a good worker and, to be honest, he could really do with another willing pair of hands to help around the farm, especially since his wife was so busy elsewhere.
Still, perhaps Margery was right to say she was far better employed in selling dreams to fine ladies of fashion, rather than working her fingers to the bone in a draughty dairy. One day, she promised, she would make enough money to buy him a holding of his own, making him the equal of his older brother Robert in Acton. Then he’d be grateful to her and he could take on all the dairymaids he wanted.
Margery was always one for grand ideas. A clever woman, too. William had to admit that Margery seemed popular with the fine ladies up at the palace and they did pay absurd amounts of money for what she sold to them. Her eyes lit up with laughter when she came home and regaled him with stories about which great ladies had paid ridiculously high prices for her creams, her lotions and perfumes. Gentlemen, too, for whom toothpicks, ear scoops or tweezers were absolutely essential aids to grooming. Yes, Margery was undoubtedly clever.
He shook his head and brought his attention back to the woman who was still sweeping the yard with great diligence and skill.
‘Thank you, Mistress Harding,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of you to do that.’
‘Oh, tut, that’s nothing,’ she said, straightening up. ‘It’s a pleasure. And please ... call me Jenna.’
‘Not jonnack?’
She laughed, delighted to realise that William Jourdemayne had a sense of humour to rival Robin’s.
‘No, not jonnack. Jenna will do very nicely, thank you!’
‘Very well, Jenna,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think I need trouble my wife to make a decision in your case. Consider yourself hired.’
***
M argery made sure the linen squares were scrupulously clean before packing them up with the order. It would be stupid to run any risks with Lady Northumberland’s eyes for the sake of re-using a small pad of folded linen. She crossed the kitchen floor to the fire where a pan full of blue liquid was boiling ferociously, and judged it to have reduced by half since she had placed it on the hob.
‘Come in,’ she called, mildly irritated by a knock on the outer door.
‘Excuse me, mistress.’
Margery frowned. ‘Yes, Hawys, what is it?’ she said, wrapping a cloth around her hand before removing the pan of liquid from the fire and placing it on the hearthstone to cool. She straightened up. ‘Speak up, girl. Is there a problem in the
The monks themselves did little or nothing that William could see, beyond wielding a desultory hoe in the Abbot’s garden from time to time before scuttling back to the chapel at the first note of the chapel bell. Or so it seemed to William. But William had too much to do.
He went outside and, shooing an indignant brown hen out of his way with the besom, he began brushing away mud and straw with long, rhythmic strokes, sluicing down the cobbles with pails of water from the big water butt in the corner of the yard.
‘I could do that for you.’
She hadn’t gone. Jenna Harding stood outside the door of the byre, watching him with concern. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘It will pay for my night’s lodging. And, if your wife will agree to employ me, then I might as well start today as start tomorrow.’
‘But ... but clearing out the yard would be no part of your duties.’ Surprised, William let her take the besom away from him without demur. ‘Your work would be in the dairy.’
‘But looking after the hens would be part of my duties, too, and I felt sorry for that poor creature you shooed out of your way,’ Jenna said with a shy smile. ‘I almost feel responsible for her! Her eggs could be worth four silver pence a year to you.’ She started sweeping the wet cobbles methodically, hoping he didn’t think her too disrespectful.
Bemused, William watched her. Yes, he’d been right. He had a feeling this one was going to be a good worker and, to be honest, he could really do with another willing pair of hands to help around the farm, especially since his wife was so busy elsewhere.
Still, perhaps Margery was right to say she was far better employed in selling dreams to fine ladies of fashion, rather than working her fingers to the bone in a draughty dairy. One day, she promised, she would make enough money to buy him a holding of his own, making him the equal of his older brother Robert in Acton. Then he’d be grateful to her and he could take on all the dairymaids he wanted.
Margery was always one for grand ideas. A clever woman, too. William had to admit that Margery seemed popular with the fine ladies up at the palace and they did pay absurd amounts of money for what she sold to them. Her eyes lit up with laughter when she came home and regaled him with stories about which great ladies had paid ridiculously high prices for her creams, her lotions and perfumes. Gentlemen, too, for whom toothpicks, ear scoops or tweezers were absolutely essential aids to grooming. Yes, Margery was undoubtedly clever.
He shook his head and brought his attention back to the woman who was still sweeping the yard with great diligence and skill.
‘Thank you, Mistress Harding,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of you to do that.’
‘Oh, tut, that’s nothing,’ she said, straightening up. ‘It’s a pleasure. And please ... call me Jenna.’
‘Not jonnack?’
She laughed, delighted to realise that William Jourdemayne had a sense of humour to rival Robin’s.
‘No, not jonnack. Jenna will do very nicely, thank you!’
‘Very well, Jenna,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think I need trouble my wife to make a decision in your case. Consider yourself hired.’
***
M argery made sure the linen squares were scrupulously clean before packing them up with the order. It would be stupid to run any risks with Lady Northumberland’s eyes for the sake of re-using a small pad of folded linen. She crossed the kitchen floor to the fire where a pan full of blue liquid was boiling ferociously, and judged it to have reduced by half since she had placed it on the hob.
‘Come in,’ she called, mildly irritated by a knock on the outer door.
‘Excuse me, mistress.’
Margery frowned. ‘Yes, Hawys, what is it?’ she said, wrapping a cloth around her hand before removing the pan of liquid from the fire and placing it on the hearthstone to cool. She straightened up. ‘Speak up, girl. Is there a problem in the
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