Page 18 of The Tailor's Treasure

Isabel could almost feel the thud of her rapid descent back to earth."When I was fourteen," she said."My – that is, I came to town to find work."The story of her mother and father dying was, she decided, something else she could keep back: she had no wish to invite pity, especially for something long past."I've not been back since."

Constance nodded, looking thoughtful."Would you like to?While the weather's fine?"

Isabel blinked."You mean – now?"

"Why not?"Constance shrugged, getting to her feet."There's nothing more for you to do with these pieces – it's left to me to sew them together, and that can be done just as well outdoors as in.Besides, I'd like to see this mill-pond of yours.It sounds like a fine place."

Isabel was silent for several moments, struggling to come up with a sensible reason to refuse.She couldn't find one: it was unorthodox, certainly, but it harmed no one, and nobody who might object need ever know of it.Walter was safe with Elizabeth and would be until she arrived to fetch him; Hilda didn't expect her back until supper.She had at least four hours to herself, and it surely would not take that long to walk to the mill-pond and back.So why was she hesitating?

"You'll want a cloak," she managed, finally."We both will.The grass will be wet."

"A good thing you're wearing one, then," Constance said.She reached back to the peg on the wall behind her, pulling down the cloak Isabel had returned the previous week."And a fine one at that, embroidered by a master of her craft.Though you’ll have to be careful not to let the damp spoil it."

"It's made of sturdier stuff than that," Isabel said, and felt something inside her crack open.Perhaps it was simply the flattery that Constance seemed to dole out as naturally as she breathed.Perhaps it was the memories that still clouded her vision.Or perhaps it was the smile Constance offered her, and the hand outstretched towards her – open and easy and so warm.If she could somehow bottle that smile up, she thought, it might smell like an afternoon by the shore of the mill-pond.Clean and new.

"Let's," she said in a rush, before she found some reason to gainsay their mission.She reached out to meet Constance's hand, and let Constance close her fingers around her own in a light squeeze.Her grip was sturdy, callused and yet somehow comfortable.

The tailor's shop was not far from the town gates, and so, in no time at all, they were walking down the path that Isabel had not trodden on in fifteen years.It did not vary greatly from what she remembered – country roads, she supposed, did not change much over time.The greenery here was bolder than what she'd seen in town, with primroses and snowdrops already blooming in clusters by the roadside.She reached out to pluck some, after a moment's hesitation – no one would judge her for it, and there would be plenty left over.She brought her makeshift bouquet to her nose, inhaling deeply.It smelled, somehow, like home.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Constance watching her."Here," she said, and went to extend her arm, but Constance was too quick for her: she leaned in close to sniff the flowers, the loop of her braid brushing against Isabel's arm as she did so.Isabel wasn't altogether certain what to do with this proximity, so she held herself rabbit-still until Constance leaned back."I see what you mean," she said."About the smell."

Isabel's answering smile was shaky, though she could not have said why."I thought I remembered it right."

The mill-pond was a little ways outside the cluster of houses Isabel remembered from her childhood.That was fine: she had no desire to venture onto the commons or see any of her old neighbours.She was far happier putting a hand on Constance's shoulder, directing her off the main path to a tramped-down footpath made from years of villagers traveling to the pond's edge.The terrain was, as she had predicted, both wet and muddy, but that was remedied with their cloaks spread across the grass.Out here, without the awnings blocking the sun, it was warmer than it had been in town: warm enough that Isabel felt no chill, despite being left in only her kirtle.

The spot they had settled on was far enough from the water's edge that the ground was still firm, but close enough that they could reach out and touch the surface of the pond if they stretched.Isabel, remembering the chill of the early-spring water, kept her hands clasped in her lap.Constance, who must have had no such memory, pulled her shoes and hose off and reached out to touch the water with her toes.She snatched them back with a yelp as soon as they made contact, and Isabel was surprised to feel an easy laugh bubbling up in her throat.She tried to swallow it – it wouldn't do to be unkind – but Constance looked at her and pulled a face, and she laughed anyway.

"That's my folly punished," she grumbled good-naturedly, pulling her hose back on."I thought the sun would have warmed the water by now.More fool me."

"You weren't altogether wrong," Isabel said, once her laughter had run itself out."The very top of the wateriswarm, when it's still.It's just that the sun hasn't touched the deepest parts of the pond yet, and when they wash up against the shore, it chills the rest of the water.Look –" She pointed.The breeze – as with the sunlight, stronger here than it was in town – was ruffling the surface of the water, sending little waves up to touch the shore before they retreated back to the centre of the pond.The water closest to them was foamed with movement.She remembered, when she was very small, asking her father what made the foam, and him telling her that they were bits of cloud that had fallen out of the sky.Another moment she hadn't thought of in years: somehow the day, or the location, or Constance's presence, was drawing these old memories up and out.Like a purgative meant to draw out bad humours – only these weren't bad, for all they came flavoured with the pain of old losses.

"I'm surprised you were allowed to play here," Constance said, interrupting her thoughts."It seems an easy place for a child to drown."

"Children did drown, sometimes," Isabel said.That, at least was not a memory that cut too close – the children who'd lost their lives in the mill-pond had been familiar to her, but no more so than a passing nod in the street."And I was never permitted here alone, when I was small.My mother or father would bring me, when they came to see the miller.And later, when my brother was small and I was a little older, I'd bring him to play here, while our mother and father were working in the fields.Sometimes other children came with us, since their parents were likewise occupied.I was always the oldest."Most often, it had been Elizabeth who came with her – always a blessing, since Elizabeth had been more cautious around the water than Matthew was, and he would usually hold back for her sake.She wondered if Elizabeth or Matthew remembered those afternoons; they had been so little.

"Matthew liked to pretend a great deal, when he was small," she added, unprompted.Now that the floodgates had been opened, memories were rising up too thick and fast for her to hold them back.And this one, at least, was pleasant."He had a little toy boat our father carved for him, and he'd tie one end to a string to keep it from drifting too far out.He'd tell me stories of sailors and sea monsters – I've no idea where he got the notion.I recall once, he –" She stopped, remembering quite suddenly how that particular memory ended.

"He what?"Constance prompted.

Isabel sighed."You'll think me ridiculous."

"I won't!"Constance sat up straight, her hands clasped around her knees."God's honest truth, I won't.I promise."

Isabel sighed again.It wasn't a painful memory – at a remove of twenty years, she could even see the humour in it – but still ..."I was sitting here on the bank while he played at the water's edge – he called me over to see something, I don't recall what.So I came and leaned over the water and –"

Constance leaned forward."And what?"

Isabel refrained from sighing a third time, though she wanted to."And then a frog came leaping up out of the water and hit me in the nose."

Constance's face did something Isabel had never seen before; it was as though she was attempting to swallow her own mouth.Even that couldn't disguise the quiver of her lip as she tried in vain to choke laughter back, or the way her cheeks purpled with the effort.It was a valiant attempt, Isabel had to grant her that.

"You may as well laugh," she said, a trifle sourly, "I fear you'll burst if you don't."That was all the prompting Constance needed to double over, gasping with mirth.The sound of her merriment was enough to prompt a smile on Isabel's part, much as her dignity was still stung by the memory."It wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't gone racing back home to tell everyone he could find.The other children were croaking at me for weeks afterwards, and someone put a frog in my shoe.I can only hope it wasn't thesamefrog."Fortunately, she'd noticed it before she actually put the shoe on – but she'd fancied at the time that the slime had lingered all day.She never had liked frogs; they, at least, were a part of life on the green that she did not miss.

"Did he do it on purpose?"Constance asked, once she had gotten herself under control.She was wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.The laughter had left her cheeks pinker than usual, and her eyes sparkling.She was as colourful as a saint in stained glass – but stained glass would never suit her, Isabel thought.She was too full of life to be frozen in a church window.

"I can't see how he would have managed it," Isabel said."My brother gets along well enough with animals, but I doubt he could train a frog to jump on command.The creature seemed as surprised as I was."

"I don't doubt it was," Constance said, with a shake of her head."But brothers will find a way.Jack and Peter once found a snake in the woodpile and managed to smuggle it into the house and onto Matilda's pillow.She left both their ears red and ringing for that one."