CHAPTER ONE #4
"If you'll pardon my saying so, I don't know that he did run," Constance said.
"He bumped into me, and I believe he thought I was you until he looked up.
An easy mistake to make, when all you can see around you are knees.
" The woman was wearing a kirtle in a similar shade of russet to Constance's, she noticed: another clue as to how Walter had gotten them confused.
No wonder he'd been so frightened when he realized his mistake.
The woman started; it was as if she had noticed for the first time that Constance was there.
Looking her full in the face for the first time, Constance almost staggered backwards.
She was the loveliest woman Constance had ever seen: a pale oval face with only the faintest hint of colour tingeing her cheeks, wide grey-green eyes and a mouth that was currently pressed in a tight line, though Constance thought it might be generous if she smiled.
Her hair was covered by a veil, but a few chestnut-brown curls peeped out from the hem, presumably having escaped their pins.
Constance had known beautiful women - some of them intimately - but she had never before been struck dumb by one as she was in that moment.
"Thank you," the woman said. Her voice was still throaty with emotion, but Constance thought it might be melodious under different circumstances. "For finding him. I don't know what might have happened if you hadn't."
"I did no more than anyone might." Constance recovered her wits enough to smile at her.
"I've nieces and nephews about his age, and I would hope to see someone take pity on them if they found themselves lost. I know how easily it can happen, at that age.
" She stepped forward, extending a hand.
"I'm called Constance. Constance Rykener. "
The woman hesitated a moment before reaching out to take Constance's hand. Her grasp was cool, her hands soft. "Isabel d'Eresby," she said. "and you've met Walter already, of course."
It was then, standing in closer proximity to Isabel, that Constance noticed two things.
One, her bodice was dark with moisture, as if someone had overturned a bucket on her; and two, she reeked of small beer.
Constance did not rank herself as someone with an especially sensitive nose, but the smell was enough to make her head ache.
It was distinctly at odds with her poise; Constance had only encountered such a stink in men who drank so heavily, the ale began to seep from their pores.
Isabel followed her gaze, and flushed. "There was a fight," she said, "over by the weaver's stall. Two men in their cups, and one tripped and fell on me and, well -" She gestured "You can see the results."
"Come out of the tavern, I don't doubt." Constance clicked her tongue.
"Linden would be far better off if Adam Fergant made it his practice to stop serving beer to those men before they're drunk enough to begin exchanging blows.
All of his neighbours have complained of it - there's a fight there most every night, though at least they're usually otherwise occupied during the daylight hours.
Perhaps their masters have finally gotten fed up and sent them packing. I know I would."
"Indeed." Isabel's lips were pursed in an unhappy moue, which Constance could hardly blame her for.
She wouldn't look much happier, if a belligerent drunkard had spilled beer all down the front of her dress.
Isabel dropped her hand and used both arms to hoist Walter up in her arms. "I think it best we go home now.
Walter's had a scare, and I - I need to be out of this dress.
" She shivered a little as she said it: the wind had picked up as they spoke, and it was sharp enough to pierce Constance's own warm, dry cloak and dress.
She could only imagine how it felt to someone wearing wet clothes.
She made a sympathetic sound. "Do you live far from here?"
"High Street, near St. Giles's." She winced a little as she said it, and Constance nearly did the same.
High Street was one of the wealthier areas of Linden - it was primarily the domain of silk and wool merchants - but it was also a good half-hour's walk from the marketplace.
The stroll might be an enjoyable one in fine weather, but fighting against a cold wind, in wet clothes, carrying a toddler - it didn't bear thinking about.
Constance had only met this woman scant moments ago, but her innate sympathy rebelled against letting her make the walk when an easier alternative was at hand.
"Come to mine, then," she said. "I'm only two streets away, and I've spare clothes you may put on. You can both take a moment's rest and warm yourself at the fire before you set off home."
Isabel was already shaking her head before she'd even finished speaking. "No, thank you. I couldn't impose, and we really ought to be getting home."
"It's no imposition at all," Constance insisted.
"And you'll catch your death walking all the way to High Street in that.
You needn't stay any longer than you wish to, but I couldn't let you risk it.
" She nodded to Walter. "And I've food to hand for him - it's getting on in the day, and it would surely be well past noon by the time you arrive home.
" She extended her hand again. "Please do come.
My sister would have my head if she knew I left a woman and child to walk home alone in this state. "
The ghost of a smile crossed Isabel's face. "Well," she said, "if it will save you from your sister."
"It will, and I'm thankful for it." Constance indicated the direction they were to travel in with one hand, and began to walk; Isabel fell into step beside her.
"You've no idea how fearsome she can be.
She kept us all well in hand when we were children, and we're all still properly in awe of her now.
Just last month, my brother said to her . . ."