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They finally settled on an underdress of red silk with a decorated surcoat to be worn over this of a gold and brown pattern. The surcoat had open sides to show the long trumpet sleeves of the gown underneath.

Freda had drifted back upstairs after her measurements were taken, as though she were in a complete dream, leaving Aimee to sort out the details of a second gown to follow at a later date. Remembering the well-worn dress Freda had worn to her wedding, she selected a dark green fabric decorated with silver thread. Aimee had just returned to the main room to take a seat before the fireplace when she was surprised by Freda’s sudden reappearance.

“Mr. Fulcher has just taken his leave, but we can always send Unwin with a message if there was some detail you forgot to mention,” she said looking up.

“Oh, no, no,” Freda said distractedly. “I am sure you thought of everything.” She stood hesitating a moment before coming forward with faltering steps. When she reached Aimee, she thrust out one bony clenched fist. “This is for you,” she said awkwardly.

Aimee blinked at her a moment before opening her palm below Freda’s. The older woman released her fingers, and an object fell into Aimee’s outstretched hand. It was a large silver brooch in the shape of a heart with a hand closed about it. A scroll around it proclaimed ‘Heart be Trewe’, and there were three silver circles at the base of the brooch from which further adornment must have once hung down.

“It used to be a good deal more impressive,” Freda admitted anxiously. “Apparently, there used to be small silver chains that hung down from the bottom with three precious jewels, but the chains were very delicate, and the jewels were lost long before it was given to me.” When Aimee remained silent, Freda pressed on. “I assure you it is mine to give. My grandmother received it on the occasion of her marriage.”

Aimee looked up. “Are you sure you wish to give it now to me if it is a family heirloom?” she asked.

“Of course! Nothing could be more appropriate!” Freda assured her. “My grandmother was bride to a Bartree, the same as you now are. Unless,” she hesitated, “you do not find it congenial to accept my gift, in light of, well –” She broke off her words in embarrassment.

Aimee closed her fingers about the brooch. “I am very happy to receive your gift, cousin,” she said. “But you must now accept one from me also as is the custom of my mother’s people.”

Freda swallowed and nodded, and Aimee made for the oaken cabinet that stood in the far corner of the room. She brought both parcels she had placed there and presented them to Freda. “Which one would you like?”

Freda’s eyes darted to her. “It does not matter? One is for Magnatrude, is it not?”

“It does not signify,” Aimee replied firmly. “Take your pick.”

Lightly, Freda touched the parcel done up with yellow ribbon, and Aimee passed it to her. “Shall I open it now?” the older woman asked self-consciously.

“It is up to you. You can open it in the privacy of your own room if you wish.”

Freda hesitated a moment and then carried the parcel over to the table where she carefully undid the knot of ribbons and revealed a fine long strand of gleaming amber beads. “Oh!” she breathed, lifting them out of the paper. “These are beautiful!” She turned to look back at Aimee over her shoulder. “Are you quite sure that it is alright for me to accept so expensive a gift?”

“Yes, of course.” Secretly, Aimee was pleased that Freda had taken the amber beads which she thought were far nicer than the red coral ones in the second package. “Try them on.”

With hands that shook slightly, Freda slipped the rope of beads over her head. So long was the strand that it extended down to her narrow waist. With careful hands, Freda twisted the beads and looped them once again about her neck until they hung in a double strand. “How does that look?” she asked, turning to show Aimee with a faintly self-conscious air.

“They look lovely.”

With an expression of wonder on her face, Freda examined the round polished beads. “Each one is so perfectly matched in size,” she marveled.

Aimee nodded. “Do you happen to recall the lapis lazuli necklace I wore on the occasion of my wedding?”

“Oh yes,” Freda agreed, nodding. “I remember admiring it excessively. Such rich blue beads.”

“They were from the same merchant. Ursula and I became connoisseurs of beads when Father made his money. As the daughters of a merchant, we were not permitted to wear jewels and furs, but fine beads were not objectionable.”

Freda looked a little disconcerted by Aimee’s frankness. “Oh – er, yes, I see,” she mumbled. “And now, of course, you may wear whatever jewels you so desire. What a pity that the family jewels were plundered during the war.”

Aimee who, prior to this moment, had heard no mention of any family jewels, made no reply. Freda closed the distance between them with three impetuous steps. “Thank you, Aimee,” she said placing her hands lightly on Aimee’s upper arms. She kissed Aimee’s cheek, then looked a little startled when Aimee impulsively returned the gesture.

Clearly, her new kinswoman was not used to physical affection. “Oh dear,” Freda said, pressing a thin hand to the slight swell of her chest. “I fear I must lie down a while before supper. I am almost overcome with all the happenings of this afternoon.”

“Why do you not lie a while on that settle over there?” Aimee suggested, gesturing to a long wooden bench with a high back and sides which had a long cushion almost like a mattress along it. “I can sit nearby and make sure you are not disturbed.”

Freda looked extremely touched by this solicitous offer, and after a moment’s dithering, allowed herself to be shepherded in that direction and arranged onto the bench with her feet up and her head propped against another cushion. Freda closed her eyes with a faint sigh and lay as still as the dead while Aimee stabbed at her embroidery.

Much like her playing of the symphonia, embroidery was a recent pastime that Aimee had adopted since her stay last spring at the Wycliffe’s. As such, it was not something that came at all easily to her. She squinted at it now and wondered if the horse she was attempting did not look rather more like a hound.

Lowering her needle, Aimee glanced over at her new cousin-in-law. Freda did not seem robust, she thought, for she could not be much above forty years or thereabouts. Her untidy hair was an indeterminate shade, but there were no gray hairs present, and Aimee wondered if her husband’s cousin had not suffered from poor health in her youth leaving her rather delicate.

She picked up once more the heavy silver brooch Freda had given her, examining it. It was clearly well-made by a master craftsman, with many fine details. It was a shame that it should show so many signs of ill use, Aimee thought turning it over. The heart showed many dents and dings, and the pretty embellishment that ran along the edges was bent and twisted in several places. She wondered if the jewels Freda had said used to hang from the empty holes had been roughly wrenched from the brooch? After all, the Bartrees had suffered many losses during the late war. Had Freda’s brooch also been a casualty of violence?