Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,140

nearly as old as Imeyne, who nevertheless wore her faded pink hair down her back like a young girl. She had a pinched, unhappy-looking mouth and was obviously dissatisfied with the way the servants were unloading things. She snatched one overloaded basket out of the hands of a servant who was struggling with it and thrust it at a fat man in a green velvet kirtle.

He had red hair, too, and so did the nicest looking of the younger men. He was in his late twenties, but he had a round, open, freckled face and a pleasant expression at least.

“Sir Bloet!” Agnes cried, and flung herself past Kivrin and against the knees of the fat man.

Oh, no, Kivrin thought. She had assumed the fat man was married to the pink-tressed shrew or the woman in the starched coif. He was at least fifty, and nearly twenty stone, and when he smiled at Agnes his large teeth were brown with decay.

“Have you no trinket for me?” Agnes was demanding, tugging on the hem of his kirtle.

“Ay,” he said, looking toward where Rosemund still stood talking to the other girls, “for you and for your sister.”

“I will fetch her,” Agnes said, and darted across to Rosemund before Kivrin could stop her. Bloet lumbered after her. The girls giggled and parted as he approached, and Rosemund shot a murderous look at Agnes and then smiled and extended her hand to him. “Good day and welcome, sir,” she said.

Her chin was up about as far as it would go, and there were two spots of feverish red in her pale cheeks, but Bloet apparently took these for shyness and excitement. He took her little fingers in his own fat ones and said, “Surely you will not greet your husband with such formality come spring.”

The spots got redder. “It is still winter, sir.”

“It will be spring soon enough,” he said and laughed, showing his brown teeth.

“Where is my trinket?” Agnes demanded.

“Agnes, be not so greedy,” Eliwys said, coming to stand between her daughters. “It is a poor welcome to demand gifts of a guest.” She smiled at him, and if she dreaded this marriage, she showed no sign of it. She looked more relaxed than Kivrin had yet seen her.

“I promised my sister-in-law a trinket,” he said, reaching into his too-tight belt and bringing out a little cloth bag, “and my betrothed a bride-gift.” He fumbled in the little bag and brought out a brooch set with stones. “A loveknot for my bride,” he said, unfastening the clasp. “You must think of me when you wear it.”

He moved forward, puffing, to pin it to her cloak. I hope he has a stroke, Kivrin thought. Rosemund stood stock-still, her cheeks sharply red, while his fat hands fumbled at her neck.

“Rubies,” Eliwys said delightedly. “Do you not thank your betrothed for his goodly gift, Rosemund?”

“I thank thee for the brooch,” Rosemund said tonelessly.

“Where is my trinket?” Agnes said, dancing on one foot, then the other while he reached in the little bag again and brought out something clenched in his fist. He stooped down to Agnes’s level, breathing hard, and opened his hand.

“It is a bell!” Agnes said delightedly, holding it up and shaking it. It was brass and round, like a horse’s sleigh bell, and had a metal loop at the top.

Agnes insisted on Kivrin taking her up to the bower to fetch a ribbon to thread through it so she could wear it around her wrist for a bracelet. “My father brought me this ribbon from the fair,” Agnes said, pulling it out of the chest Kivrin’s clothes had been kept in. It was patchily dyed and so stiff Kivrin had trouble threading it through the hole. Even the cheapest ribbons at Woolworth’s or the paper ribbons used for wrapping Christmas presents were better than this obviously treasured one.

Kivrin tied it to Agnes’s wrist, and they went back downstairs. The bustle and unloading had moved inside, servants carrying chests and bedding and what looked like early versions of the carpet bag into the hall. She needn’t have worried about Sir Bloet et al carrying her off. It looked like they were here for the winter at the least.

She needn’t have worried about them discussing her fate either. None of them had so much as cast a glance at her, even when Agnes insisted on going over to her mother and showing off her bracelet. Eliwys was deep in conversation with Bloet, Gawyn, and the nice-looking