handsome oak shingles. There were even a few, over in the Jews’ quarter, made of lovely, rust-colored curved tiles, and one that looked like it might be slate! I’m a long way from Cuxham . She closed the shutters. Even the grandest dwelling in the village of her birth—Sir Roger’s manor house—was roofed with humble thatch.
Grateful to find water in the pitcher on the washstand, Corliss scrubbed her face. Then she used the chamber pot; there was a privy in the stable yard, but she didn’t want to venture outside in the daylight wearing just the nightshirt Rainulf had lent her. She rummaged in her satchel for her big whalebone comb and quickly tidied her hair. How wonderful not to have to plait it into those tedious braids , she thought as she stowed away the comb. She pulled the nightshirt off over her head, then retrieved a fresh shirt and chausses.
The leather curtain that separated her bedchamber from the main hall began to part. “Someone in there?”
Luella! Clutching her clothes to her bare breasts, Corliss jumped onto the bed and yanked the curtains shut. “Uh...” She cleared her throat and consciously lowered her voice. “It’s Corliss.”
A slight pause. “Who? Show your face!”
Corliss poked her head out from between the curtains and forced herself to smile at the scowling housekeeper, who held her broom with both hands, as if ready to swing. “Corliss. From last night?”
“Oh. You.” Luella lowered the broom. “Father let you sleep there? ” She grunted and shook her head. “Figures. Come on out of there, then, and let me make up that bed.”
Corliss shrank back and pulled the curtains closed, then began furiously wriggling into her chausses. “I... I’m not dressed.”
Luella snorted with amusement. “I raised seven sons of my own, young man. You haven’t got anything that’d shock me .”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that , thought Corliss, with a glance down at her half-naked body. “Please, Luella. Leave me and I’ll dress quickly and then you can do whatever you need to.”
Luella sighed heavily. “All right,” she growled, leaving and closing the leather curtain behind her. “But make it quick!”
With more speed than she knew she was capable of, Corliss shimmied the chausses up over her small hips and tied the waist-cord, then tugged on her boots. She wrapped her breasts in a length of linen to compress them, then donned her shirt and tunic, just as Luella flung the curtain aside and stomped toward the bed.
“There’s some wine and bread out there if you want,” the old woman said as she briskly straightened the bedcovers.
“Thank you. Is Rain—er, Master Fairfax... is he—”
“Father’s been downstairs all morning, talking his ungodly gibble-gabble with all them so-called students of his.”
“All morning?” asked Corliss, appalled. She had never slept so late in her life, except when she had the pox. “How late is it?”
Luella grunted. “Too late for a healthy young man to be lying abed, that’s for sure. Father’ll be wondering how come you’re not down in the lecture hall with the rest of them.”
“I’m not a scholar,” Corliss admitted. “I’m looking for work.”
“Glad to hear it! They’re like packs of begging dogs, those scholars . Half of them’ll be up here looking for a handout afterward. Master Thomas and Master Brad will, at any rate. Idle young good-for-nothing...”
“Why do you still call him ‘Father’?” Corliss asked. “He’s not a priest anymore.”
“Hmph!” Luella punched the pillows up, one by one, and piled them against the headboard. “You can’t undo something like that just by wishing it so. Once a priest, always a priest. The idea... thinking he can just wake up one day and...”
Corliss stole out through the leather curtain while Luella griped and muttered. On the table in front of the fireplace she found a pitcher of watered wine, a loaf of crusty bread, and a wedge of cheese. She ate
Grateful to find water in the pitcher on the washstand, Corliss scrubbed her face. Then she used the chamber pot; there was a privy in the stable yard, but she didn’t want to venture outside in the daylight wearing just the nightshirt Rainulf had lent her. She rummaged in her satchel for her big whalebone comb and quickly tidied her hair. How wonderful not to have to plait it into those tedious braids , she thought as she stowed away the comb. She pulled the nightshirt off over her head, then retrieved a fresh shirt and chausses.
The leather curtain that separated her bedchamber from the main hall began to part. “Someone in there?”
Luella! Clutching her clothes to her bare breasts, Corliss jumped onto the bed and yanked the curtains shut. “Uh...” She cleared her throat and consciously lowered her voice. “It’s Corliss.”
A slight pause. “Who? Show your face!”
Corliss poked her head out from between the curtains and forced herself to smile at the scowling housekeeper, who held her broom with both hands, as if ready to swing. “Corliss. From last night?”
“Oh. You.” Luella lowered the broom. “Father let you sleep there? ” She grunted and shook her head. “Figures. Come on out of there, then, and let me make up that bed.”
Corliss shrank back and pulled the curtains closed, then began furiously wriggling into her chausses. “I... I’m not dressed.”
Luella snorted with amusement. “I raised seven sons of my own, young man. You haven’t got anything that’d shock me .”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that , thought Corliss, with a glance down at her half-naked body. “Please, Luella. Leave me and I’ll dress quickly and then you can do whatever you need to.”
Luella sighed heavily. “All right,” she growled, leaving and closing the leather curtain behind her. “But make it quick!”
With more speed than she knew she was capable of, Corliss shimmied the chausses up over her small hips and tied the waist-cord, then tugged on her boots. She wrapped her breasts in a length of linen to compress them, then donned her shirt and tunic, just as Luella flung the curtain aside and stomped toward the bed.
“There’s some wine and bread out there if you want,” the old woman said as she briskly straightened the bedcovers.
“Thank you. Is Rain—er, Master Fairfax... is he—”
“Father’s been downstairs all morning, talking his ungodly gibble-gabble with all them so-called students of his.”
“All morning?” asked Corliss, appalled. She had never slept so late in her life, except when she had the pox. “How late is it?”
Luella grunted. “Too late for a healthy young man to be lying abed, that’s for sure. Father’ll be wondering how come you’re not down in the lecture hall with the rest of them.”
“I’m not a scholar,” Corliss admitted. “I’m looking for work.”
“Glad to hear it! They’re like packs of begging dogs, those scholars . Half of them’ll be up here looking for a handout afterward. Master Thomas and Master Brad will, at any rate. Idle young good-for-nothing...”
“Why do you still call him ‘Father’?” Corliss asked. “He’s not a priest anymore.”
“Hmph!” Luella punched the pillows up, one by one, and piled them against the headboard. “You can’t undo something like that just by wishing it so. Once a priest, always a priest. The idea... thinking he can just wake up one day and...”
Corliss stole out through the leather curtain while Luella griped and muttered. On the table in front of the fireplace she found a pitcher of watered wine, a loaf of crusty bread, and a wedge of cheese. She ate
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