Okaay. mainly for Gizzy fans, I have to say, but others might get a giggle out of it.
Ahem
The Trials of Tansy
Being an occasional series, recounting episodes in the life of an innocent young serving wench of Olde Nottamun Towne.
T?was a dark and stormy night, which was pretty much business as usual for Olde Nottamun, then as now. But up at t?castle, the atmosphere was even darker and stormier than of wont in the kitchens that night, as Prince John was expected, a gargantuan banquet was to be served, and half the staff were off sick with the quartan ague.
This had been particularly virulent that year, due, some said, to a curse laid on the area by Olde Goody Hollieberrie, who had her best crop ever of carefully nurtured concombres trampled carelessly into the ground by the Sheriff?s horse as he galloped yet again in pursuit of Robin Hood. Trust that petulant little fuckwit to make trouble for everyone, she had muttered darkly, champing her nut-cracker jaw on the wodge of chewed goose-grass which she habitually used to sweeten her breath. And that was just old Dobbin. Don?t let her get started on the humans?
Whatever the case, dinner was late, the churls and scullions were hard pressed and Tansy was lurking in one of the darker corners hoping Mistress Pennyecuike, the head cook, would not notice she had let the tourteletes in fryture singe while taking a sneaky break by the window in search of a bit of coolth.
??Tanseeeeey! ??
My lord, the olde besome had seen her! Her be in a right old mood tonight and no mistaking, the hapless girl thought, in despair. She was a stout and comely wench of two and twenty, with large brown eyes and honey coloured hair, and was much sought after by the grooms and stable boys and even the odd squire, but she had always rebuffed their crude advances with a toss of her curls and a dismissive wave of a rather ill-kempt hand. ??Oi be savin moiself for better things, Alan Dale?? she would say, or whatever her would-be suitors name happened to be at the moment.
Now, tucking a damp ringlet inside her cap and hoisting her generous bosoms with a practised shove of her forearms she scuffed her way reluctantly over to the fire, where the good dame was alternately poking crossly at a pot of seething turnips and belabouring a shirking spit boy with her large ladle.
??Ah, there you are you wretched girl! As usual you are neither use nor ornament in this kitchen of mine. In fact you?d burn hot water, given the chance??
So she had noticed the tartelettes. ..
However, to Tansy?s relief, she merely indicated a large and steaming metal canister that stood on the hearth. ??No bother with that lot, at least. It?s all been done ready for you. As if I didn?t have enough to do round here, with all the folderols that have been ordered for tonight. Why couldn?t they have ordinary mortrews, like any Christian body, instead of wanting they fancy crustades gentyles on the side???
She drew an indignant breath, chins wobbling, and returned to her original point. ??Everyone suddenly wants baths, though I don?t know why everyone can?t be more like our lord the sheriff and restrict themselves to a decent, annual dip. And wouldn?t you know it? None of the pages or ewerers have deigned to get themselves down here in an age. Make yourself useful, bring the trolley cart and take that up to Sir Guy?s chamber. And be quick about it. He?ll be wanting a second can straight away, if I know him??
Sir Guy!
Tansy?s heart did strange, lurchey things inside her rather grubby and soup-stained chemise at the mere mention of his name. She had seen the tall figure of the lord of Gisborne in the corridors a time or two, hips thrusting arrogantly in his black leather trousers as he strode past her, his hawk like profile and dark features staring straight ahead, intent on some unspeakable goal. She had heard the other wenches whisper about him in delicious terror, at nights, when they huddled in their thin pallets round the remains of the kitchen fire, trying to keep warm. ? ee were a right one, and no mistake. Been through the local female population, townie and peasantry alike, like the proverbial dose of salts., and given to dark deeds as could make an honest maiden quiver in her shoes, most of them beginning with the letter ?r?.
??Couldn? t some other body go, Mistress Pennyecuike??? Tansy temporised , shivering with something that must surely have been panic. ??Oi feel mortal faint. Must be comin down with that there aigue, Oi do declare.??
??More like mortal idleness, me girl. Now get that water above stairs before you feel the back of my hand.??
Swallowing her protestations, Tansy got the cart and man-handled the heavy container onto its flimsy frame, managing not to scald more than one finger on the red-hot lip of the vessel as she did so. At the door she halted her reluctant progress and turned round, her burning question on her lips.
??Mistress Pennyecuike, mum. Sir Guy? Do ?ee????She swallowed again, convulsively. ??Do ?ee?. ask for extras???