housekeeper and shoemaker's wife, of Around Raborsch
“I am the mistress of the house at Dum cp. 4, wife to John Turner the shoemaker. I keep the hearth swept and the servants in line, though some women need more watching than others.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
I have spent the whole afternoon turning out the linen chest and sweeping under the benches. Joan helped me, trembling the whole time, but we found nothing. If a certain older woman in this house thinks it is a fine jest to hide things from the mistress, she will find my patience worn thin.
Nota scribaeShe asked that the name not be written, though she looked sharply at her sister-in-law across the room.
the third day of May, at Sext
The market was loud today. I took John his bread and meat, and the soldiers on the road were shouting in their rough tongue. I am glad to be back behind my own door. I walked back with Isabel and we spoke of quieter things.
It is a comfort to walk with you, Alice. The men are too loud, and the soldiers are worse.
The meat was good, wife. Keep the door barred if the soldiers come near.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
John Miller came by the hearth last evening to complain of his landlord Mikesh again. The roof at his lodging leaks straight onto his bed, he says. I gave him a bowl of pottage, for he is a pleasant enough fellow, even if he speaks of nothing but rain and rot.
Thank you for the pottage, Alice. If Mikesh lived under my roof, he would mend it quick enough.
Let the butcher mend his own roof or pay his rent. I have shoes to finish.
Nota scribaeThe shoemaker's wife sighed heavily when she spoke of the butcher.
the Thursday after St Gregory, at None
I cannot sleep for listening to the house creak. I reach back to smooth my hair and remember what is gone. My grandmother Anne gave it to me before she was buried, and now it is lost in this crowded place. I must find it before John notices.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Terce
A year since I was wed and came to this house. The hearth is warm, but the bickering over that strip of cabbage-land out back never ends. Cecily claims it is hers by right, but John will hear none of it. I only wish for peace in my own kitchen.
The land is mine, just as the house and the shop are mine. Father left it to me, not her.
He meant for me to have the cabbage strip, and you know it, John. You take everything.
A cabbage strip is not worth a family war, John. Let the women tend it in peace.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If the mistress loses her things, she should look to her own careless hands before she casts blame on those who do the real work.
I am not careless, Cecily. And I know the real work I do in my own house.
I looked in every corner, mistress, truly I did. I pray God does not punish us for losing it.