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“So very kind,” Freda twittered, dropping her hair comb and glancing nervously toward the bed. Aimee followed her gaze and to her surprise found a large ginger cat curled up on the covers. “Oh dear,” Freda said twisting her hands together. “I-I do hope you do not mind my co-opting the kitchen cat. Such a comfort, I always think, and such very good company.” She looked to be on the verge of tears as though anticipating a telling off.

“Of course not!” Aimee assured her smoothly. “I did not know we even possessed a kitchen cat, truth be told.” One of the cat’s eyes flickered open to glint at Aimee a moment before he decided she was not worth the effort and shut it again.

“Oh, most houses do,” Freda answered fervently. She twisted about to retrieve a moth-eaten mantle which had fallen off one of her bony shoulders. “They always seem to find their way to me by hook or by crook. I’m afraid Trude always gets rather cross with me appearing with cat hairs all over me. I always think they are such instinctive animals, though. As though they sense a creature who is in sympathy with them and seek them out.”

As she spoke, Freda drifted across the room toward her wash basin, the shawl slipping off her other shoulder and trailing along behind her.

“You have warm water to wash?” Aimee asked, kneeling to retrieve the fallen hair comb and carrying it to the dresser where Freda’s beads and veil lay in an untidy heap. She set the hairpins next to them and shook out the linen veil.

“Oh yes! Ingrid was good enough to bring me some when she woke me.” Freda set about washing her hands vigorously. “She is attending Magnatrude, so I usually shift for myself. It will be quite the luxury,” she twittered, “to have you help me dress, Aimee, dear.” It was at this point she noticed Aimee frowning over the creased veil.

“Oh dear, I am afraid I have always been a very untidy and disorganized creature,” she apologized. “I was so tired when we got back last night …”

“Well, it must have been rather late,” Aimee answered sympathetically.

“Oh, it was!” Freda seized eagerly on the excuse. “I was quite ready to drop! The Countess of Strethneal was so very accommodating that we tarried for far too long, and I fancy the dear earl was heartily glad to be rid of us. But there, Magnatrude could not be dragged away by wild horses!” She bit off her words with a sigh. “Though in truth, I must confess, my dear,” she added conscientiously. “I usually throw down my things any old how. It is a disgraceful habit, and my poor nurse used to scold me dreadfully.”

Aimee smiled. “I am sure there are worse faults to possess. I have bought you some new hairpins, Freda, for I noticed the other day your own are looking in sad repair.”

“Oh, Aimee! How kind!” Freda’s pale eyes filled once more with tears. Aimee’s heart went out to her. She was starting to suspect that Freda was so used to being overlooked by everyone except household cats that she was pathetically grateful even for a few copper hairpins.

“It is nothing,” Aimee hurried to assure her. “I have dozens of them.”

Freda was drying herself off now and started toward her before halting with a loud “Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand and stared transfixed at Aimee.

“What is it?” Aimee asked, straightening up. “My gown?” She held out her arms so that Freda could get the full effect. Suddenly, she was filled with misgiving. “Do you think it is too much?”

But it was not the gown which held Freda’s gaze but the brooch pinned beneath the insignia of the Kentigerns. “My brooch!” she breathed, then seemed to catch herself and colored violently. “Your brooch, I mean!”

“Yes,” said Aimee, touching a hand to the large silver heart. “Does it not look fine? All polished up and with the dents worked out?”

“Oh, it looks magnificent!” Freda sobbed, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Freda!” Aimee said with dismay. “Why are you crying?”

Freda shook her head, flinging out a hand. “Do not pay it any attention!” she begged. “It is simply that I am a little overcome!”

“Come and sit on this chair,” Aimee said, walking over to her and ushering her to sit before the looking glass. She rested her hands on Freda’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “It is quite the nicest thing that I own.”

Freda’s mouth formed an unspoken ‘oh’, and she gazed at the brooch in their reflection. “I can scarce believe it,” she muttered and colored again before dropping her gaze. “And for it to be your favorite adornment too, but perhaps you said that just to please me.”

“No,” answered Aimee, beginning to run the comb through Freda’s hair. “I said it because it is true. What do you think of the pearl my father added? Would it originally have had a pearl embellishment?”

“It looks beautiful!” Freda opined. “But as to its originality, I’m afraid I could not say. By the time it was passed to me, it bore no jewels whatsoever.” She scrunched up her face. “I think my mother mentioned it had a sapphire, but I could not say for certain, for it was many years ago, and I did not have the slightest expectation of being able to restore it.”

Between the two of them, they managed to get Freda into her new gown of red satin.

“Oh,” Freda said, turning this way and that as she tried to admire the effect in the looking glass. “I do think the sleeves are most cunningly cut,” she said holding up one skinny arm to show the trumpet shape. “Does it not almost make me look elegant?” Her enthusiasm had given her a pretty flush in her cheeks.

“It looks very well indeed,” Aimee told her. “But I am determined to fetch Golda now to dress your hair, otherwise it will not match the effect of your handsome outfit. And you must borrow a veil from me as this one is so sadly crumpled.”

Freda protested that it was far too much trouble to go to just for her but was overruled. Golda duly tamed her fine flyaway hair and fixed a veil with a wide gold border to the top of her head. “For it matches your surcoat very well indeed, Mistress Freda,” Golda told her sternly.

“Oh, the surcoat,” Freda murmured. “I had almost forgotten.” She glanced at the over-robe of brown and gold. “And very nicely it will go with my amber beads too!”

Both she and Aimee were far too excited to eat much at table. Freda was just telling her that she had not been to a tournament in ‘why, it must be quite ten years’ when Magnatrude came into the dining chamber. Aimee was so surprised to see her sister-in-law taking any meal bar supper below stairs that she almost dropped her slice of bread.

“Good morning,” Magnatrude murmured and seated herself with scant ceremony. She was wearing the maroon velvet gown she had worn to Aimee’s wedding. It was clearly a grand gown which had seen better days. This time, she had teamed with a close-fitting velvet cap which concealed her hair almost completely and looked very severe. Over this was draped a very translucent silk veil without any structure underneath it. Aimee thought she looked more like she was going to her own execution than a royal tournament.