CHAPTER ONE #2
"I did not dismiss you!" She didn't have to look to guess that Hilda had gone red in the face.
"Is this how you treat your betters? I have instructions for you yet.
Get the girls up and ready, then go out and fetch Bet some cod at market.
You forgot it last time, and now it's Friday and what shall we have to eat?
Ancelin is bringing the bishop to dine with us tonight, would you have me serve a holy man venison on a Friday?
Get on with you! I can't decide if you're stubborn or simple, no more so why God should burden me with you in my household. As if I hadn't cares enough!"
Isabel made an assenting noise as she edged towards the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bridget nudge Ellyn in the ribs with an elbow, grinning. She averted her eyes and ignored them both.
Once they were out in the hall, with Hilda's voice muted behind the heavy oak door.
Isabel sighed and slumped against the wall.
Her head, which had been only mildly tender when she woke, was now throbbing.
The honey Walter had spilled down her shift was already drying cold and tacky against her skin, and her son's hands were sticky with it; they'd both need a wash before they dressed, and there was still the girls to be roused and scrubbed and dressed.
Then to market for cod – Hilda was right in that regard, she had forgotten it on her last trip, and she was paying for it now – and back in time to let Bet prepare it for supper, and to help the girls with their music lessons.
And if the cod wasn't fresh enough, or if supper wasn't ready on time, or if the girls weren't as proficient with their madrigals as Hilda wanted – or if she was just overburdened with bile today and needed a receptacle in which to spew it – then Isabel would hear of it.
Walter whined again, and she looked down.
He'd wound both hands in her loose hair now, and was tugging on it to try and pull her head down to his level.
His eyes, which had been so bright when she got him up, had gone wide and anxious, and she felt another little piece of her heart break.
She had wanted so badly to shield him from all of this.
"It's all right," she said, and bent to kiss his forehead.
"Don't worry about her, it's only noise.
And we don't mind noise, do we?" Her temples gave a particularly vicious throb at that, but she gritted her teeth through it, and Walter hardly seemed to notice.
He broke into a wide grin, and pulled on his handfuls of hair.
Isabel bit down hard on her lower lip, and brought her own hand up to disentangle him.
"We'd best get on," she said. "There's much to be done." And if the thought made her feel even more weary than she'd felt when she first woke that morning, Walter didn't seem to mind at all.
# # #
If a trip to the market was not how Isabel would have chosen to spend her morning, then it was at least preferable to the alternative of staying in with Hilda and the girls.
The air was still chilly enough to require a heavy wool cloak, and the sun was bright enough to hurt her eyes; but the air was bracing, and the simple act of moving her feet was as much a balm to her mood as anything else.
Besides, Walter hardly seemed to mind the weather: he had started squirming and agitating to be put down as soon as they entered the square, and the moment his feet touched the ground, he was off like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Everything he saw seemed to delight him: the soft pelts hanging from the overhang of the furrier's stall, the burbling fountain that he insisted on sticking his hands in - Isabel had to grab the back of his tunic before he tumbled in headfirst - the bouquets of spring flowers being sold by hawkers, a riot of purples and blues and pinks.
Isabel had no money for treats, but it was no great matter, for he'd no sooner latched onto one thing than his attention was drawn by something new.
He ran a few steps ahead of her, twisting around every few moments to make sure she was still close behind before breaking into a fit of giggles and taking to his heels again.
Passers-by offered indulgent smiles when they saw him; one woman called out, "a bonny boy you've got there," to Isabel, who did not have to feign her answering smile.
Her sweet, brave boy: how had she come by him?
It seemed a miracle that such a sunny child could have come from her and from Geoffrey - Geoffrey, who had smiled only when delivering the cruelest barbs he could concoct, and she, who hardly smiled at all.
Since he was born, she had watched him anxiously for signs that he had inherited either of his parents' worst traits, but her fears had thus far proved entirely unfounded.
He was gentle and kind, happy to make friends wherever he went and free with his favours no matter who they were bestowed on.
Isabel had no idea what to make of him, but she felt a surge of almost painful affection whenever she looked at him - painful because she had no idea what would become of him as he grew.
Could a heart this tender ever survive in Hilda's house?
She had her doubts; she was only just surviving, and she was far older and more hardened than her son.
"Mama!" His shout of excitement drew her out of her melancholy thoughts and she looked to see where he had gone.
His headlong flight through the square had stopped in front of a girl who it took Isabel a moment to recognize - Nelly, the hawker's daughter who sold honey cakes and candied plums in front of the church on Sundays.
Walter's attention had been entirely claimed by her tray of sweets, and he was up on his toes trying to reach it.
His arms were just a little too short: he stumbled, then went up again with a whine of frustration. "Mama, wan' cake!"
Isabel quickened her pace, and managed to reach her son just before he toppled over a second time. "I know," she said, bending to pick him up. "They look very good, don't they? But we can't afford them today."
Walter dropped back on his heels, his face falling, and Isabel felt her heart twist. What sort of mother was she, that she couldn't afford such a small thing to make her child happy?
But she'd spoken true: Hilda had provided her with only enough coin to pay for bread and fish, and Isabel had already bought both. There was nothing left for treats.
"They're not so good," Nelly said. She spoke so quietly, it was hard for Isabel to hear her over Walter's fussing.
"Truth be told, they're left over from yesterday - the weather was so bad, no one stirred a foot out of doors, so I've all this surplus.
" She plucked two cakes from the tray, each one no larger than the palm of her hand.
"You may as well take them. I doubt I'll see them all sold by the end of the day. "
"We've no money to pay for them," Isabel said, feeling her face redden. She didn't know if she was more ashamed of seeing Walter deprived, or of having to admit her dire financial straits to a near-stranger.
"Ah, it's no matter." Nelly shrugged. "As I say, I've got to be rid of them all, and they won't sell.
Go on." The instruction was hardly necessary: Walter had caught sight of the cakes in her hand, and had redoubled his efforts to reach them.
Recognizing defeat, Isabel took the cakes with her free hand and offered them both to Walter.
He shoved one directly into his mouth, so quickly that Isabel feared he'd choke on it, and beamed up at Nelly and his mother as he chewed.
"What do you say?" Isabel prompted.
"Than'ew," he managed through a mouthful of crumbs.
Nelly smiled at him, her eyes crinkling.
She was not a pretty girl, Isabel thought, not precisely - but there was a sweetness in her face that Isabel hoped she would be able to maintain into womanhood.
She knew firsthand how quickly a woman's life could wear her down.
Walter was heavy in her arms, and occupied with his cake besides; it was safe enough to put him down.
They were standing next to a weaver's stall with shawls and woven belts of all colours fluttering in the breeze, which captured his attention and held it rapt.
Isabel, for her part, was happy to simply stand still for a few moments; she'd already bought the cod she'd been sent for, and had no reason to linger but to avoid going home a little while longer.
The sound of raised voices nearby drew her attention.
Beside her, Nelly tensed, shrinking in on herself.
When Isabel turned around, she spotted the source of the noise in an instant: two men, both visibly inebriated and clutching tankards in each of their fists, shouting and swearing at each other even as they struggled to hold themselves upright.
They all stood not ten steps away from the doorway to a tavern: evidently, the men had just stumbled out, or else been ejected by an exasperated proprietor.
The rest of the crowd had stopped in their business to watch the spectacle, some laughing and pointing while others shook their heads in disapproval.
Isabel was interested in doing neither. The morning's peace had been shattered, and she didn't want Walter exposed to the kind of language that was being bellowed across the square.
"All right," she said, reaching down to take her son's hand, "let's -"