CHAPTER THREE #4
"No one has fallen afoul of sumptuary laws in ten years," Constance pointed out.
The old king, Edward, had been in the habit of prosecuting those who put themselves above their betters by wearing fine clothing, but King Richard had all but abandoned the practice since he came to the throne.
Either he did not care, or he recognized after the revolt of three years prior that he had better not do anything to stir up his subjects.
People of all classes went out bedecked in whatever finery they could afford, and if it was not strictly legal, then it was at least tacitly accepted.
Constance had already thought Isabel's late husband a bully; now she also thought him an idiot.
"And even if the possibility existed, I expect there are many who would risk it for a dress of this quality.
I know many who buy from us would." She folded the dress and set it on the table.
"For myself, I would certainly pay a pretty penny to work with someone whose skills were equal to yours.
You have not added value to the garment, you have made it valuable.
This is something I could sell, if anyone were to come into the shop and see it. "
Isabel was blushing in earnest now. "It's still not wearable, not properly.
The trouble is the sleeves - you ought to have cut them slantwise, so the fabric would stretch.
These are too tight to be comfortable to be worn for any great length of time.
" She put her head to one side, thoughtful as she warmed to her theme.
"Although I suppose if you removed the sleeves entirely, it might function as a surcoat.
The embroidery I did conceals the flaws in the seams, and -" She caught Constance's eye and seemed to come back to herself all at once.
"And you did not summon me to be lectured on the deficiencies of the garment. "
"You say only what is true, so I've no grounds to object," Constance said.
She set the dress on her knee and smoothed a hand over it.
"And clearly you've skill enough to make such judgment - far more so than I may claim.
This was my first attempt at making a kirtle myself, while Peter was too unwell to assist. I hardly knew what I was doing, and I suppose that's obvious. I've improved somewhat, but . . ."
She trailed off mid-sentence, her attention caught by an idea that bloomed suddenly in her consciousness. It could come to nothing - Isabel could refuse. But if she didn't, it would be a great boon to her. And, she suspected, to Isabel as well.
"You say you kept house, while your husband was alive," she said. Isabel blinked at the sudden change of subject, but only nodded in response. "How is it you occupy yourself now? I know Walter must take up a great deal of your time, but surely he cannot fill every waking hour."
"You'd be surprised," Isabel said, dry. "But no, he doesn't. I mentioned I live with my niece - she has two daughters of her own, and I am instructed to care for them and assist in their education.
And there are always other tasks and errands to be attended to.
So I find my hours filled, one way or another. "
Constance nodded, rubbing the embroidery between her fingers. "But you had the time for this?"
"I did." A faint smile touched Isabel's lips. "I've a few hours to myself, most days. Of late, it has been - difficult, finding ways to fill those hours. I have been too prone to ruminations that do me no good. The embroidery was a welcome distraction."
Constance took a deep breath. "Would you like to do more of it?
And be paid for your efforts?" Please say yes, she thought, surprising herself with the ferocity of her hope.
It would be a good turn for her, of course - all her worries about completing Leah's dresses swept away in an instant - but it wasn't only that.
She didn't just want any embroiderer to help her.
She wanted Isabel - strange, prickly Isabel, who seemed to flinch away from kind words and spoke only enough of her past for Constance to glean that it had been an unhappy one.
She wanted to see that faint smile on her face unfurl into real joy, unburdened by whatever cruel echoes still haunted her.
She wanted the chance to make Isabel smile, and laugh, too.
To see how she would look, what she would be.
She recognized these wants; she'd felt them before. They had not often boded well for her. But she still went on hoping. What else could she do?
"Paid," Isabel repeated. Her voice was doubtful. "I - I would like to do more, certainly. If you wish to have your own garments embroidered, I would be glad to. But I cannot accept payment for it. Not when you have been so kind."
"Not my own garments, no." Although she certainly wouldn't mind it, come to that.
"Speaking truthfully, you happened across me at a poor time - or a good time, considering.
With Peter as sick as he has been, I've not been able to make enough money to keep us all clothed and fed.
Jack helps as he can, but he's not paid well enough to support a household of three, especially when the physician and the apothecary both demand payment for treating Peter.
I borrowed from a moneylender, and he has been as kind and patient as he can be, but he has his own accounts to settle.
He offered to have me prepare a new wardrobe for his daughter, and I agreed, but I doubt my skill is equal to the task.
If you are willing, I would be - more than pleased to share in the work with you, and in the payment likewise.
" On finishing her short speech, she was slightly out of breath, but she didn't feel she could take in fresh air until she had an answer.
Isabel's look was inscrutable as always, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "If you owe this man a great deal of money," she said, "and he is allowing you to repay him in work rather than coin, then surely there is no payment to be shared?"
"Only one of the dresses is meant as payment," Constance said, her pulse quickening.
Isabel hadn't said yes, but she hadn't said no, either.
"The rest will be paid for as normal - he suggested three in total.
The dresses would be six shillings each, possibly more if Leah - that's the daughter - finds the embroidery pleasing.
So, twelve shillings in all, split evenly between the two of us. "
"Six shillings," Isabel said, a little faintly.
Constance couldn't blame her. If she'd been keeping house all her adult life, she likely hadn't had money of her own since she'd been married.
Six shillings wasn't a great deal - it would not buy a house, or a horse, or a silk dress.
But for a woman who lived on the goodwill of her family, it was a substantial improvement over what she had known before.
"I could not - that is, if you have need of the money, it would be poorly done of me to take it from you -"
"Nonsense," Constance said. Her pulse was rabbit-quick now.
"If you've done the work, why should you not be paid?
" She meant to let it lie, give Isabel a moment to consider, but the situation was too urgent, and it left her too eager.
"Will you do the work? It would be - that is, I could not thank you enough, if you agreed.
It would be the saving of us - Peter and Jack and I, that is. "
And, she thought, it would mean you'd come back.
A ridiculous thing for her to be thinking of, at a time like this; even if Isabel did agree, there was still weeks of work to be done to finish the dresses and ensure that she had enough money to keep herself and Peter fed, clothed, and housed.
That was what she ought to be focused on, not Isabel's presence.
Besides, there was no reason for her to believe that Isabel would want to come back more often than was strictly necessary.
She had already learned a painful lesson about not expecting too much from the women she had known - had loved, though of course, she did not yet know Isabel well enough to love her.
But she felt she could, if she nurtured the possibility.
There were any number of reasons for her not to do so, reasons to do with her and with Isabel and with the circumstances they both found themselves in.
But when had she ever been wise enough to temper her softer feelings?
"I owe you that, and more," Isabel murmured.
Constance did not think this was the case - an afternoon's kindness did not incur a life debt - but she said nothing.
"And - it would not be a great hardship, for me.
As I have said, I enjoy embroidery, and I have time to fill.
" She had been looking down at Walter, who was still busily stuffing bread into his mouth, but now she looked back up at Constance.
"I will have to find someone to care for him - if I take up my needle while he is in the room, he will want to play with the thread, and he'll make a mess of things.
" She stroked his back, almost absent-mindedly.
"But my brother and his wife have told me before that they wish to see him more often - I might ask them if they would take him a few afternoons a week, to give me time to sew. I doubt they would refuse."
"To everyone's benefit," Constance said. She was not going to leap for joy like a child, but the impulse was there. "I'm sure he would be happy to see his aunt and uncle, too."