housekeeper at the tavern, of Malesov
“I keep this tavern from turning into a pigsty, hauling water and scrubbing hearths while others track muck across my floors.”
Things Cecily had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the first Tuesday in May, at Prime
A certain fine woollen thing is doing no one any good sitting hidden in a grain sack. We should take it to Kuttenberg and turn it into coin, before the moths eat it or the master dies and we are all thrown out in the cold.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
William is already dragging muck across my clean taproom. I scrubbed those wooden boards until my knuckles bled with the lye. Wipe your bloody boots! If I stopped sweeping for one day, the fleas would carry this whole building away.
Christ almighty, woman, I've been working in the yard. Dirt is dirt.
Nota scribaeDictated while furiously sweeping the floor. She pointed the broom at me twice.
the Monday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
Master Peshek's cough is worse, God preserve him. I carried him hot water and broth up those narrow stairs again, but broth does not fill my own purse. None of us have seen a single groschen in wages since winter.
It is terrible to hear him cough so. I pray for him every night.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at None
That whoreson Anna Black sits right there in the taproom using my good bone needle! She claims I lost her miserable wooden comb, which I never touched. Give it back, you thief, my work shift is torn and I need to mend it!
You lost my comb, you careless cow. I am keeping the needle as a fair pledge until you buy me a new one.
I never touched your comb! I lent you the needle out of kindness on Saint Blaise's day!
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
I spent three hard-earned groschen on a shining copper jug. Like a fool, I lent it to Emma this morning to fetch hot water for the tubs. Now the lazy cow has moved it to her corner of the loft for evening slops. I want it back!
My back aches from the washing tubs. It is just a jug, Cecily, leave me be.
Nota scribaeShe spoke so quickly in her anger that I had to make her repeat the part about the evening slops.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your tongue! Do you want us both hanged? The guards will recognize it as plunder.
The guards have better things to do than look in my basket, you frightened old hen.