housekeeper of the lodging house, of Kuttenberg
“I run my mother's lodging house, sweeping up after drunkards and counting pennies that vanish into thin air.”
Things Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after Whitsun, at Compline
I count the coin box every night and every night a few pennies are missing. It is driving me mad. Someone in this house is a thief. I reckon John is drinking it away, but I cannot prove it. God sees the one who robs a poor woman.
Nota scribaeShe counted the coins thrice while speaking, trusting no one.
the eve of the Ascension, at Terce
John stepped right through the bottom of my best wash-tub with his clumsy boots. Now he whines that his shed leaks and wants his axe back. He will not see that rusty blade until he pays for the tub. Until then, it stays wedged under the cellar door.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Elizabeth is screaming about Amice and that ruined linen shift again. I have half a mind to box her ears. We have no flour, the broth is water, and she shouts about a shift from last Saint George's day. I need quiet to count the copper.
That spiteful cow knew what she was doing! The stain never came out.
At least your roof holds. The wind blew half my shingles into the mud.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard over a great deal of shouting from the kitchen.
the second Tuesday of Lent, at None
If Adam thinks he can keep my good copper jug just because I have not paid his wages since Epiphany, he has a wooden head. I need that jug for the high table. You will get your groschen when the lodgers return, you stubborn whoreson!
Candlemas, at Vespers
Three winters since my mother Johanka died of the fever. God rest her. She knew how to fill this house with merchants paying good silver. Now I serve root stew to miners and the roads are full of soldiers. I lit her candle, but the wax was dear.
We must pay Father Matthew for her mass, Anna. He will read my name from the pulpit!
Let him read it to the pigeons. We have no coin for him.
Nota scribaeThe woman wiped her eyes, though it might have been the smoke from the hearth.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Perhaps a rat dragged the coins off, mistress. The cellar is full of them.
I have not seen a tavern since Christmas, you mad old bat.