maidservant at the farm, of Suchdol
“I sweep the yard, mend the tunics, and try to keep the younger maids from waking the master.”
Things Edith had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after Philip and James, at Vespers
The priest looked right at me across the church today. He read out the tanner's name last month, and I know ours are next on his tongue if we do not find the silver we promised. We are going to the pillory for sure.
Nota scribaeThe woman kept wringing her apron the entire time she spoke.
the fourth day of Easter week, at Prime
The iron pots in the kitchen seem to grow heavier every spring. I took the handle from Alice today before the mistress could see her wince. The master must not know her arm is still weak from that timber cart accident, or he will turn her out.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at None
I went up to the dovecote and saw the master's daughter counting coppers. She saves for a silver clasp from Bynyek the peddler, while three of us face ruin for a holy vow. It rankles my soul, but I hold my tongue.
It is my own coin! And Bynyek promised to bring the clasp by summer.
That peddler is a cheat. He sold us tarnished tin last year.
Nota scribaeDictated in a low whisper so as not to be overheard by the bailiff.
the morrow of St Gregory, at Compline
It is cold enough in the loft without Joan jumping at every shadow and weeping, and Margery spitting curses about the church. If they do not hush, they will wake the master. At least the dog keeps my feet warm.
Candlemas, at Terce
I curse the day that travelling preacher passed through at Michaelmas. We promised him silver for masses, caught up in the incense and the fear of purgatory. Now we have nothing to pay with, and the parish wants its due. I see no way out of this.
Do not look to my purse to pay for your foolishness. You get your porridge and a dry roof.
Nota scribaeThe scribe notes the Church does not look kindly on those who default on their holy vows.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Let him name us! I told you we should not give a single groschen to that howling friar.
Oh Blessed Mother, we are ruined. The master will turn us out into the road.