CHAPTER TWO #2
A soft sound from the doorway was all that alerted her to Isabel's presence: when she looked up and saw her, she was hard-pressed to keep her jaw from dropping.
The dress fit her well enough, in that everything that was meant to be covered, was; but it was also tight across the chest and shoulders, meaning that her bosom was pushed up and out, and even the shift underneath did not entirely conceal the cleft between her breasts.
Constance swallowed hard, looking away. She ought not stare: even in the extremely unlikely event that this woman would welcome her attentions, this was hardly the time.
"You really needn't wash these," Isabel said, indicating the soiled dress and shift draped over her arm. "I can manage it myself at home. It's no trouble."
"No trouble for me, either," Constance said, once she had unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
"I was planning a wash day tomorrow anyhow; two more garments won't be any extra work.
" She took both garments from Isabel and laid them on the top of the washtub, which was sitting under the table.
"Besides -" She nodded to Walter. "Easier for me to do it, without a little one to mind. "
Isabel followed Constance's gaze, and her whole face seemed to soften when she saw her son playing.
"Where did you come by that?" she asked, going to crouch down beside him.
It was a fruitless gesture, for Walter was off again as soon as the toy rolled to a halt after his previous push.
Isabel sat back on her heels, a hint of a smile playing about her mouth.
She looked - not younger, not really, but far less pinched than she'd appeared since Constance first ran into her in the market.
"I keep a chest of toys there," Constance said, gesturing to the spot beside the fireplace. "There's women aplenty who come to have their clothes fitted with their children in tow, and I've found it helps to have something on hand to entertain them with."
Isabel's smile was there and gone in a flash, but Constance was sure she'd seen it. "That's kind of you."
"Kind to all of us," Constance said, "for it's no easy feat to pin a dress while three little ones are hanging off its hem. My husband says -"
"Kee!" Walter's shriek made both women jump and look around. He'd stopped by the far wall, mouth a round O of delight as he pointed at the doorway. "Kee, Mama, kee!"
Constance looked back to the door. Tib, the cat, had come trotting in from her morning excursions, and - apparently unperturbed by the small, shrieking stranger in her domain - padded to her customary spot in front of the fire, stretching with a wide yawn before sprawling out on the floor.
Walter shrieked again and began to trot over to where Tib was laying.
"You're right, it's a kitty cat." Isabel intercepted him before he could reach Tib, holding him fast in her arms. "But we mustn't bother her.
She might scratch." Her argument found no favour with Walter, who whined and kicked as he attempted to free himself from her grasp and reach this new, exciting diversion.
"Oh, Tib's good-natured," Constance said. "My nieces and nephews come to visit often, so she's used to children. Sarah and Nicholas dressed her up in a coif and veil last week and she didn't object. I can't imagine Walter would bother her overmuch."
Isabel looked from Constance to the cat, then picked Walter up - a move he protested loudly - and carried him over to Tib. "Gently," she said, taking his hand in hers' and guiding it along Tib's back. "Like this, see? Mustn't be rough, she's smaller than you."
Not by much, Constance thought, amused. Tib was a great beast of a brown-and-white tabby cat - although it was admittedly difficult to tell how much of her bulk was fat and how much was fur - and if she stood the cat and the child side-by-side, she was fairly certain Tib would at least come up to Walter's shoulder.
But she wasn't going to interrupt the lesson Isabel was evidently trying to teach.
Walter let his mother guide him, his mouth still open in delight and wonder. "Kee," he whispered.
"That's right," Isabel said. Her face had gone soft again, though it shuttered somewhat whenever she looked away from her son. She glanced over her shoulder at Constance. "Tib's an odd name. How did she come by it?"
"A joke, told backwards," Constance said. "She was the runt of the litter when she came to us, and my husband said she was just a little bit of a thing. So we called her Bit to begin with. Then she grew, as you can see, and Jack said she was the reverse of how she'd started, and so -"
"Bit became Tib," Isabel finished for her.
Tib had turned her head and was now licking Walter's hand, sending him into paroxysms of delight.
Isabel scratched behind the cat's ears with her free hand, and was rewarded with a rumbling purr.
"Good girl," she said softly. Then, almost as if to herself: "Walter loves animals, and we've none at home. This is a rare treat for him."
"Not even a kitchen cat to keep the mice away?
" Constance was curious. She could count on one hand the families she knew who didn't keep a mouser: it was the only way any of them managed to keep enough grain in the house to bake bread.
The only people she could imagine eschewing the practice were those wealthy enough to hire a professional rat-catcher, if such a man even existed.
"No." Isabel's face shuttered fully again. "Hilda - my niece - says they're dirty. She won't have them in the house. The kitchen maids are the ones charged with keeping the mice out by keeping the house clean - they'll be blamed if Hilda ever spots vermin."
"Your niece?" Their conversation thus far had been utilitarian - any personal details had come from Constance. But here was something of Isabel's family life. "Does she live with you?"
"It's her house," Isabel said. "My husband - he died last year - left it to her in his will.
I stay on as a nursemaid to her girls, and Walter with me.
" Her mouth twisted with some unspoken grief, though Constance could hazard a guess as to its source.
A man was within his rights to will his home to whoever he chose; but to leave a wife and infant child without a place to call their own was the act of a man who Constance did not think she would enjoy meeting. At least he was dead.
"That's a hard thing," she murmured. "To lose him and the house in one fell swoop."
Isabel's expression flickered, then solidified into careful neutrality. "I suppose," she said. "But we're fortunate that she permits us to stay."
Constance attempted to picture her sister's reaction if Peter had died and left no provision for her lodging in his will.
Or, for that matter, her reaction if Matilda's husband had died and done the same.
She felt quite certain that her sister would have gone to war on her behalf, and Constance would do the same for her.
For that matter, Jack would raise all manner of hell for either of them.
Did Isabel have no other family to advocate on her behalf?
"We should be going anyhow," Isabel said, getting to her feet. Walter's attention was still absorbed by the cat. "I promised Hilda I would fetch cod for her at the market for supper, and she'll be wanting it sooner rather than later to start preparing. I've lingered too long already."
"It's hardly been a half-hour," Constance said gently. Isabel's posture had grown tense and wary, and Constance wondered anew what was waiting for her when she got home. "Surely you can spare a moment to eat before you go? It's past lunch; you must be famished -"
"Constance!" The sound of Jack's voice from the front room made Isabel tense even further, and Constance saw any chance she'd had of convincing her to stay drain away.
"Constance, are you in? I've just -" He poked his head around the kitchen door, and his eyes fell on Isabel.
"Oh, hello. I didn't realize you had visitors. "
"We were just going," Isabel said. Her voice was perfectly polite, and perfectly frozen.
She bent to pick up Walter. "Say goodbye to the cat, Walter, it's time to go home.
" Walter fussed, but she only held him tighter as she addressed herself to Constance.
"Thank you for the clothes. I'll be back to return them as soon as I can. "
"It's no trouble," Constance murmured, giving up on convincing Isabel to linger any longer.
If she'd had any hopes of succeeding, Jack's appearance had smothered them in their cradle: whatever else troubled Isabel, it seemed that the presence of men was near the top of the list. A troubling symptom, to be sure, but not one that Constance could ask her about scant hours after their first meeting.
"As you saw, they were doing nothing but gathering dust in that chest until you came.
It's fortunate you did, for I hate to see them go to waste. "
"Fortunate for me as well," Isabel said with another one of her fleeting smiles. "And I don't only offer to return out of goodwill. I must get my own clothes back sooner rather than later."
Jack, apparently oblivious to the tension that had seized Isabel when he entered the room, had not had the good grace to retreat. Rather, he was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He raised his eyebrows at his sister. "Been stealing clothes, have you?"
Constance made a shooing gesture. "Go see to Peter."