seamstress of coarse cloth, of Kuttenberg
“I sew the heavy cloth for the merchants, and my stitches hold. I just wish folk would leave me be to work and stop pressing me for every penny and tool.”
Things Lucy Brown had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
Saint Barbara protect me, the muster is soon and I have no jack! That whoreson thief Lettice is parading about town in the padded jack I bought with my own groschen. If the bailiff fines me, I'll wring her neck. Give it back, you brazen cow!
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. She rubbed her neck fiercely the entire time.
the eve of the Ascension, at Prime
My neck is a knot of pain today. The merchants want double the heavy wool done by Vespers, and my hands are raw from the coarse thread. At least the weather is fair and I got my spot in the yard before the old hens woke up.
Aye, the yard was full early. Be glad you have a dry room to sleep in tonight. Claus still won't fix my roof.
The merchants squeeze us all, Lucy. They say the soldiers on the roads make the cloth dearer, but they still pay us the same pennies.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
Ella, I know I said I would have the shears back by Lent, but I just have one more heavy seam to finish for the merchant's load. It is very thick wool. I will bring them over tomorrow, I swear it.
It is past Easter, Lucy. Those are heavy iron shears and they cost me a month's wages. I need them for my own work.
I know how it is, Lucy. Good tools are hard to part with when you need them to eat.
Tomorrow, Ella. Just this one last heavy piece, the linen is so coarse it broke my tin snips.
Nota scribaeThe woman looked everywhere but at me while saying this.
the Wednesday in the second week of Lent, at Vespers
Listening to Dorothy and Gerda squabble over that washing is enough to drive a saint mad. They haven't spoken properly since Saint Martin's day, and we all have to suffer for it in the yard. I just put my head down and sew.
She ruined a good load of linen, Lucy! I won't speak to her until she pays for the soap.
It is exhausting. I wish Gerda would just stay behind her shutter forever.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
My tin snips snapped right in half on this coarse merchant wool today. Saint Barbara give me strength. I had to ask Ella Gross for her iron shears to finish the quota. I'll give them back before Lent, it's just a short loan to get through the week.
Mind you keep them clean, Lucy. They are the best shears in the yard and they cost dear.
Nota scribaeShe paid her penny for the entry from a very thin purse.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am not parading anywhere in it! I don't even have it right now, so calm yourself down.
Then where is it, Lettice? Did you ruin it already? I need it before the bailiff comes!