washerwoman of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down, wash the merchants' linens, and look after my sister Sybil.”
Things Isabel Marsh had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
The Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Bread is two groschen a loaf now. I do not know how anyone can save a penny when just eating takes all we have. The Hungarians ruin everything. I counted my jar today, and it feels as though the pile grows smaller even when I add to it.
Nota scribaeShe spoke so softly I had to ask her to repeat it thrice.
The third day of Easter week, at None
My bone needle snapped today while mending a heavy wool cloak. I will have to make the pieces last. Simon the pedlar is gone on the road to Prague and will not be back until Saint Martin's day. I cannot afford a new one from the market stallholders anyway.
I hope Simon did not take my brass thimble with him. My husband Endres will be terribly cross if I do not find it.
Holy Saturday, at Prime
I spent the morning scrubbing lye soap into the alderman's shirts. The water is still so cold my hands are split and bleeding, but the linen is white. Sybil helped me wring them out. I just want her to have a clean cap for the mass tomorrow.
Your sister always looks so neat. I wish my mother would let me wear what I please.
Nota scribaeHer hands are indeed red as raw meat.
The feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Joan Porter was shouting again today about her stepmother Margery. I kept my eyes on the dirt path and hurried past. It is a terrible thing for a soul to hold onto so much bitterness, and I have no time to stand about listening to it. I found a dropped penny by the well, though.
If you knew how Margery treats my late mother Ellen's memory, you would shout too.
Candlemas, at Compline
I heard that old widower has been asking after Sybil again. It turns my stomach. I must gather the sixty groschen before the year turns. If I can just get her into the tailor's household, she will be safe. I will take in twice the washing if I must.
Sixty groschen is a mountain of silver, Isabel. You will wear yourself to the bone.
I do not care about my bones, Barbara. Only her.
Nota scribaeShe looked over her shoulder the entire time she spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We will manage, sister. I can eat less, I do not mind.
It is robbery. I rely on my cabbages, if only Barbara's brother would stay off my dirt.