Feather sat besides the great lady in all of her finery, feeling small and mousy next to her. The Alderman was stout, wide and rosy cheeked, Feather was just the opposite: tall, thin, gawky and whey faced with plain features and flyaway blond hair that fought the attempt to braid it in even a single plait. Soulful grey eyes stared out in tremulous terror of saying the wrong thing or near anything at all. She was pretty, actually, in an underfed, country sort of way. A meek girl of seventeen, she feared offending the fine guest from the city. She had no idea what might offend such a person, but her father was taking great pains to tend to her so she must be important. Feather paused before and after each sentence. It was a halting way of speaking, but the farmer's daughter knew no other way to communicate; the words were there in her head, but she had to concentrate on getting them to come out in the right order.

"No, miss. Never been a maid." Feather looked down at her own feet as she sat upon her hands to still them. Eyes darted to and fro as she worked out what to say next, and there was a small smile of pleasure as she said eagerly, "I can wash, though, miss! Me Ma and I, we do the washing at home! And I can sew and cook, too!" Pause. "I don't know about stations though, mum. No engines come out this way, Da says, they're for the army men."

Her eyes lit up again as the next answer worked its winding way to her lips. "There's no shop, miss, but Master Bandleman comes with his cart every Seventh Day! He says he has wonders from all over the word for those of us with the coin! He might have some books, miss. And Seventh Day is only two days from now since this is Fifth Day!" Feathers eyes danced about again as if searching for anything she might have missed within her own mind. "Oh, and Da has a book!" she added helpfully. Feather looked up towards the city girl hopefully, watching for any sign of kindness or approval at her contributions. 

Alderman Brown, the meanwhile, was rubbing his hands and chuckling in satisfaction. Everything was going well. The young lady would be safe in the house of a soldier, even one as wounded as Vinegar; she would have her holiday and hopefully tell her friends of the delightful little village that was good for resting the body and soul; Feather and Vinegar would spend some time close together and might grow on each other; and... and... all would be right with the world! "Well and good, Vinegar! Well and good! And I promise you, promise you I will, that you'll scarce hear a peep! Er... if you might spend at least a little time... helping Feather? You know she can be a bit... well... She's a good girl! Knows how to keep a house! But..."

Victor resisted sighing in annoyance again. This hardly sounded like he wouldn't notice the women living in his house. What it did sound like was that he was correct in thinning the Alderman was throwing his beloved daughter at Victor again in the hopes of a wedding and someone else to care for her. Brown loved his daughter, doted on her even! But declining years and sons who had families of their own to tend to made it harder to look after the simple girl. Having already given his word, though, Victor was loathe to go back on it.

"Fine. Fine. She can have the grand room up and on the left, the door locks on the inside. There's a crib room off of that with a small bed that Feather can have. Feather'll need to clean the dust out of the rooms and put to fresh sheets. There's spare blankets in the cedar chest in my room. Spare comforter, too." He rose up with wince, leaning heavily on his cane and glaring at the Alderman when he started forward as if to help. Defiant against his pain, Victor stumped about. "You get her things in. I'll stoke up the fire so she had embers for the bed warmer. I just have to find the damned thing, first."