housekeeper, of Malesov
“I am the mistress of this farm, married to Richard last autumn, though nobody here treats me as such. I work the loom and try to keep the peace, but everyone looks at me as if I'm the one emptying the purse.”
Things Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
The peddler Osbert is back on the road toward Kuttenberg. I saw his cart from the yard. God grant he keeps walking and does not turn his horse toward this gate. I have naught to buy from him and less to say.
Nota scribaeShe twisted her rings so hard I feared she might snap a finger.
the third day of May, at Terce
My husband has locked my fine bolt of linen in his heavy chest. I wove every thread with my own hands. He says I meant to sneak it to my brother, which is a black lie. I need it for... for an errand in town. It is mine by right.
the eve of St George, at Prime
William the hired hand has taken my best copper jug from the washhouse. He keeps it by his pallet in the hayloft like a prize. If Richard finds out I lost it, there will be hell to pay, but William just grins when I ask for it back.
It is just a jug, mistress. And he uses it for his ale. He'll put it back when he's done.
Tell your husband. A hired hand shouldn't steal from the mistress.
I cannot tell him. He will shout at me for leaving it out in the first place.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper behind the washhouse.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
Bartholomew the clerk rode by again, demanding silver for the tax. Richard's face was like thunder all afternoon. Because the strongbox is light, suddenly we eat thin pottage and I am watched like a hawk if I so much as look at the pantry door. A miserable Easter.
The king's brother ruins the land and we pay for the privilege. Someone has to watch the stores.
Half the village is drinking water this week. The clerk has a heavy hand.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
I dropped a silver cross in the snow on the road to the church. Or in the yard. Or perhaps in the mud by the barn. I have turned the whole house upside down. God's wounds, it was not even mine to lose. I must find it.
Our mother never lost so much as a wooden spoon. You are careless.
Pray to St Anthony, child. He finds what is lost.
I have prayed until my knees ache. It does not put silver back in my hand.
Nota scribaeShe was weeping and asked me to write that the mud was very deep.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If he comes, I'll send him packing. We have no coin for his trinkets.
He stopped by the green. Asked after you, my girl.
Christ almighty, what did you tell him? Tell him I am gone to Sedletz.