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Signor Arnotti’s head emerged once again, and Fen braced herself for a criticism, but he said nothing, merely regarded them thoughtfully and then retreated.

It was on the tip of Fen’s tongue to mention Bess’s odd behavior the previous day to Mathilde, but she could not really do that with signor Arnotti himself within earshot, so she suppressed the impulse. “Well, that is fortunate for me, at any event,” she said and left it at that. She watched Mathilde’s design filling out the border with approval. “The other idea I had was that we could have a central text after all,” she said. “But not an improving one,” she said hastily. “Something around the bonds of female friendship, I thought might be nice.”

Mathilde’s head bowed over the design a moment and when she looked up her eyes were moist with tears. “I think that would be lovely,” she said softly. “Though that subject is not much celebrated in classical literature.”

“Because it is all written by men,” said Fenella briskly. “We can compose our own tenet, if needs must.”

“Yes,” agreed Mathilde and left a blank rectangular shape in the middle of the paper. “That can be added in.” She hesitated. “In that case, I think our design is as good as completed,” she said, straightening up.

Fen clapped her hands. “Excellent. Most excellent. And now, poetry, do you think?” she asked lifting a red-leather bound book out of her bag. “Or cards?”

“Cards, I think,” said Mathilde tapping her chin. “We can read the poetry after, and then we won’t have to worry about Nurse arriving.”

“Good idea.” Fen spent the next ten minutes explaining the game of Livelihoods to her friend in great detail. Mathilde’s eyes glazed over and Fen had a feeling she would not be adept at the game, but to her surprise, as soon as they started laying down cards she found that Mathilde was quite the protégée. Fen watched in amazement as her friend’s pile of cards grew and her own diminished. “You really are extremely good at this,” she marveled.

Mathilde glanced down at her pile of cards and flushed “Oh – beginner’s luck, I’m sure,” she said uncomfortably.

“It’s remarkable,” said Fen. “I had thought that I was quite good, but-” She sat in surprise as her friend trumped her cleric’s card with that of the topless female.

“Whore,” said Mathilde absently.

Fen gasped.

Mathilde looked from Fenella to the card and back again. “Is that not what it’s called?” she asked in confusion.

“Roland told me it was a nursing mother!”

Mathilde blushed to the roots of her hair. “I do apologize,” she stammered. “I must not have been attending to what you said!”

Fen remembered how Roland’s friends had told her not to play it with any other ladies. She looked shrewdly at ‘Mouse’ Martindale. “Have I been very naïve?” she asked slowly.

Mathilde fidgeted unhappily on her low seat. “I – have a confession to make,” she said, hanging her head. “I have played this game before.”

“Who on earth with?” asked Fen in astonishment.

Mathilde went an even darker shade of red. “The palace pages,” she admitted. “They’re very dear little boys. And I’ve been so terribly lonely over the years…” To Fen’s horror her friend burst into tears. “Please don’t tell my mother,” she begged, groping for her kerchief.

“Of course I won’t!” responded Fen hotly, patting her on the shoulder. “You’ve done nothing wrong to find allies where you can.” She wasn’t sure how sweet the pages were though, teaching the sheltered Mathilde most unsuitable words!

Mathilde mopped her eyes and sat back. “I give them sweets and mend their hose, and they teach me their games, or tell me their woes. They are most horribly neglected you know, and left to their own devices after being sent by their families to court.” Mathilde looked so sincere that Fen’s heart went out to her. Was this another outlet for her thwarted maternal instinct? She wouldn’t be surprised. “Before you came to court,” Mathilde hiccupped. “They were my only friends.”

“I see,” said Fen. “Of course. Please don’t distress yourself.” She glanced over at the easel, but it did not seem that signor Arnotti was remotely interested in their conversation, so she relaxed.

By degrees, Mathilde was comforted and they abandoned the cards for the poetry book and sat side-by-side in companionable silence. Mathilde’s old nurse arrived promptly as the clock struck one and made much exclamation about Mathilde’s red-rimmed eyes and nose.

“It’s my cough, Nurse,” Mathilde explained, “Indeed my throat is rather sore too.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” her Nurse fretted. “We must get you back to bed immediately.” She steadfastly refused to allow her charge to come by the Vawdrey rooms to collect her solstice gift. “We must get you to bed at once, my lady,” the older woman fussed. Mathilde looked regretful, but subsided under her nurse’s insistence.

“It is of no matter,” Fen assured her, though she had not seen Mathilde cough once, except the decorous small cough she had given to illustrate her point. “I can send your gift along presently with Cuthbert.”

“I had hoped to see Baby Archie one more time,” said Mathilde wistfully.

“Oh no milady,” exclaimed her Nurse in shocked tones. “Not when you’re so poorly! That wouldn’t do at all!”

Fen embraced her friend, despite Nurse’s disapproval. “Will I see you on the morrow?”

“In three days hence,” said Mathilde. “I should be recovered enough for us to start our tapestry together. Shall we meet in the usual place – the Long Gallery? At the usual time?”