dairy?’
‘It’s Kitty, Mistress Jourdemayne. The child has a terrible belly-ache and I wondered...’
‘Has she been sick?’
‘Yes, mistress, twice.’
‘Then it’s probably something she’s eaten.’
‘Well, yes, mistress, but I wondered whether you would be able to come down to the dairy to give her something to aid it?’
‘No, I’m far too busy. Make her an infusion of sweet camomile. That will help.’
‘And where would I...?’
‘Wait there.’ Margery went into her own room and closed the door to the kitchen. Really, these women didn’t seem capable of doing anything for themselves. Camomile was such a well-known cure for a stomach upset and it wasn’t difficult to make an infusion of it. Reaching for a coffer on the shelf, she took out a rough handful of dried camomile flowers and put them into a clean linen bag.
‘Here,’ she said as she returned to the kitchen. ‘Make the child an infusion of these in boiling water.’
‘Will I boil up the water here, mistress?’
‘No, Hawys, I’m busy here, you’ll have to take it to the brewhouse. And, remember, let the infusion cool before she drinks it. That should do the trick.’
‘And what if it doesn’t, mistress?’
‘It will,’ said Margery, becoming impatient. ‘Now, Hawys, I suggest you get back to the dairy as soon as you can. There’s always more than enough work to do.’
‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.’
The kitchen door closed behind Hawys and Margery turned her attention back to the saucepan. She tested the temperature of the blue liquid with a cautious finger. Her Ladyship must suffer dreadfully from pinkeye if her constant demand for Margery’s decoction of cornflowers was anything to go by. Her maid had come to the farm yet again this morning to buy a bottle of it for her mistress and Margery didn’t have any of the decoction made up, so the job was urgent.
Her Ladyship wanted some yarrow, too, to settle her stomach, though Margery was not sure it was the best remedy for the wind. Generally she preferred tansy but Lady Northumberland swore by the efficacy of yarrow and was rumoured to take it after every meal. And she was always prepared to pay good money for it, so why argue? If it meant a higher profit, that suited Margery very well.
But there was one problem. William said there was a big cattle drove coming up from Devon this afternoon. This meant all hands were needed to settle the animals and see to the milking so there wouldn’t be anyone available to deliver the order for her. She’d simply have to deliver it herself: she couldn’t let a good client down, she dared not. The word would spread around the palace that she was not reliable, so there was no other option. What with one thing and another, she certainly didn’t have time to go wandering down to the dairy to attend to that child, whatever her name was.
But at least William wouldn’t be getting under her feet tonight, not with the Devon drovers staying in Westminster for a day or two before returning home. He’d probably be in the ale house with his friend Robin Fairweather. It’s what they usually did.
***
T he loft above the stable was much like many others where Jenna had slept during her journey from Devon, fragrant with stored hay and still retaining the warmth of the departed day. She stuffed hay into the canvas sack she’d brought with her, pleased that it seemed fairly clean: it would make a dry, comfortable pallet. She shook it vigorously then laid it flat and levelled the hay inside it before lying down. There were two other women already fast asleep in the gathering darkness, exhausted after a hard day’s work. Next to her, a much younger girl was still awake, wide-eyed in the gloom and apparently hungry for information about this newcomer to the farm.
‘So, whereabouts in Devon are you from?’ she asked.
‘Kingskerswell,’ Jenna answered shortly. She didn’t want to be quizzed.
‘And where might that be,
‘It’s Kitty, Mistress Jourdemayne. The child has a terrible belly-ache and I wondered...’
‘Has she been sick?’
‘Yes, mistress, twice.’
‘Then it’s probably something she’s eaten.’
‘Well, yes, mistress, but I wondered whether you would be able to come down to the dairy to give her something to aid it?’
‘No, I’m far too busy. Make her an infusion of sweet camomile. That will help.’
‘And where would I...?’
‘Wait there.’ Margery went into her own room and closed the door to the kitchen. Really, these women didn’t seem capable of doing anything for themselves. Camomile was such a well-known cure for a stomach upset and it wasn’t difficult to make an infusion of it. Reaching for a coffer on the shelf, she took out a rough handful of dried camomile flowers and put them into a clean linen bag.
‘Here,’ she said as she returned to the kitchen. ‘Make the child an infusion of these in boiling water.’
‘Will I boil up the water here, mistress?’
‘No, Hawys, I’m busy here, you’ll have to take it to the brewhouse. And, remember, let the infusion cool before she drinks it. That should do the trick.’
‘And what if it doesn’t, mistress?’
‘It will,’ said Margery, becoming impatient. ‘Now, Hawys, I suggest you get back to the dairy as soon as you can. There’s always more than enough work to do.’
‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.’
The kitchen door closed behind Hawys and Margery turned her attention back to the saucepan. She tested the temperature of the blue liquid with a cautious finger. Her Ladyship must suffer dreadfully from pinkeye if her constant demand for Margery’s decoction of cornflowers was anything to go by. Her maid had come to the farm yet again this morning to buy a bottle of it for her mistress and Margery didn’t have any of the decoction made up, so the job was urgent.
Her Ladyship wanted some yarrow, too, to settle her stomach, though Margery was not sure it was the best remedy for the wind. Generally she preferred tansy but Lady Northumberland swore by the efficacy of yarrow and was rumoured to take it after every meal. And she was always prepared to pay good money for it, so why argue? If it meant a higher profit, that suited Margery very well.
But there was one problem. William said there was a big cattle drove coming up from Devon this afternoon. This meant all hands were needed to settle the animals and see to the milking so there wouldn’t be anyone available to deliver the order for her. She’d simply have to deliver it herself: she couldn’t let a good client down, she dared not. The word would spread around the palace that she was not reliable, so there was no other option. What with one thing and another, she certainly didn’t have time to go wandering down to the dairy to attend to that child, whatever her name was.
But at least William wouldn’t be getting under her feet tonight, not with the Devon drovers staying in Westminster for a day or two before returning home. He’d probably be in the ale house with his friend Robin Fairweather. It’s what they usually did.
***
T he loft above the stable was much like many others where Jenna had slept during her journey from Devon, fragrant with stored hay and still retaining the warmth of the departed day. She stuffed hay into the canvas sack she’d brought with her, pleased that it seemed fairly clean: it would make a dry, comfortable pallet. She shook it vigorously then laid it flat and levelled the hay inside it before lying down. There were two other women already fast asleep in the gathering darkness, exhausted after a hard day’s work. Next to her, a much younger girl was still awake, wide-eyed in the gloom and apparently hungry for information about this newcomer to the farm.
‘So, whereabouts in Devon are you from?’ she asked.
‘Kingskerswell,’ Jenna answered shortly. She didn’t want to be quizzed.
‘And where might that be,
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