kitchen maid at the baker's, of Kuttenberg
“I scrub pots and dodge the mistress's spoon to keep myself fed.”
Things Beatrice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
The Hungarians swept the market bare on St Mark's day, and now the mistress wants cabbage stew regardless. If anyone can scrounge up three cabbages quietly, I'll leave the back door unlocked for you.
Nota scribaeDictated in a hurried whisper while she wiped soot from her coarse apron.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
Sibyl Bauer keeps badgering me to carry word to her kin on my way to the farms. I am tied to the ovens from dawn to dusk, Sibyl! I cannot go wandering the roads.
It is but a short walk, Beatrice. Have you no Christian charity for an old woman?
Nota scribaeShe spoke very fast and kept looking over her shoulder.
the first day of Easter week, at Prime
I saw Anne at the ale-house again. It is a crying shame what grief does. Her mother Emma was a loud piece of work, but pouring your pennies down your throat will not bring her back.
Shut your mouth, Beatrice. You know nothing of it.
the third Wednesday of Lent, at None
Eleanor is making a great fuss over a smoothing iron she lent me at Candlemas. I am still using it for the mistress's pressing, and the handle needs fixing anyway. She will get it when I am done.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at Compline
Old Thomas the quartermaster is off to Prague. When he gets back to ask about that mended canvas, Annabel and the girls will catch it. The council should have paid them, but pawning army gear is foolishness.
We pawned it to eat, Beatrice. Not all of us have baker's bins to dip our hands into.
Nota scribaeThe subject asked if the pillory hurts as much in spring as it does in winter.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Good luck finding a single leaf in this town. The soldiers took everything.