maidservant in Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I work harder than any three men in this town and carry water until my feet bleed. Sakra, it is a thankless life.”
Things Betty had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Vespers
Sakra, my feet are like raw meat today. I hauled water before Prime while the rest of this street snored. And still Sybil has not returned my best wooden washing paddle. She's ruined the wood, I know it, and the clumsy girl is too cowardly to pay me for it.
Nota scribaeShe spoke quickly and crossed herself twice.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Anna’s beastly cat Maggie has vanished, praise the saints. I told everyone that cat was a demon sent to watch us. It stared right at Elsbeth Schönpetr three winters ago and look at her crooked back now. I cross myself every time I walk past the armourer's cellar.
Maggie is a good mouser and you are a fool. If you see her, tell me.
I slipped on ice, Betty. The cat was nowhere near.
The ice was the devil's work, Elsbeth. Adelheid's ghost is still restless in that cellar because she brought the beast in.
the eve of St George, at None
Matilda gave me a good heel of bread today, God bless her. But she's soft in the head, feeding scraps to the stray dogs. She still hasn't walked barefoot to Sedletz like she vowed when John had the fever. The Lord remembers a broken promise, sakra.
The Lord knows my knees are too bad for walking, Betty. The dogs are hungry.
the first Tuesday in Lent, at Prime
Gerta was shouting at me in the market about her heavy iron pot. I told her I still need it for boiling the master's linens! I am not a thief, I am a working woman who needs tools to scrub the filth off this town. She has no patience.
You've had it since Candlemas! I need to boil my own linens. Give it back.
When the wash is done, Gerta. Sakra, you'd think it was made of silver.
Nota scribaeDictated while she was scrubbing a tub. The water was foul.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Bread is dearer again, and soldiers on the road mean more dirt on the floors. I swept the hall three times today. Kunigunde Torwart was weeping indoors again because her mother sent Karl away to Prague. A poor clerk is no match for her, they say, but it makes more work for me fetching her water.
My heart is broken, Betty. Have some pity.
He was only after the dowry anyway, lass.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I haven't ruined anything! The handle was loose when you gave it to me.
Liar! It was as sound as a church door. Hand it over by Sunday or I'll tell the bailiff.