“Truly you are a courtier.”
“Ay, and have been at court, and those of most courtesy have bought most of my wares.”
“Enough, enough, what have you of good household stuff, things that a good housewife must buy though the times be hard. Come, show my lady such things as good linen and good cloth.”
“You bring him to the point,” said Mistress Mowbray; “yes, sirrah, what have you in the way of linen?”
“I have linen of France and linen of Flanders; I have linen fine and linen coarse.”
He unrolled several samples as he spoke, and Mistress Mowbray selected some linen of Rennes of fine texture, which she said would do to make garments for Audry and herself. “And your supply of clothes that you brought from Scotland is in need of some plenishing,” she said, glancing at Aline. “There will be work for idle hands. Here, this stout dowlas[13] will stand wear well, and be warmer too.”
[13] A very coarse sort of canvas used for underclothes by the poorest classes in the sixteenth century.
Aline felt the blood rush to her face, but she said nothing. It was not that she thought much about her clothes; indeed she had the natural simple taste of the high born that eschews finery, yet a certain daintiness and delicacy she did desire and had always had, and it was a bitter disappointment, a disappointment made more cruel by the public shame of it.
Walter Margrove, the packman, looked at her; he had not travelled amongst all sorts and conditions for nothing and he took the situation in at a glance.