“Really, Bee--you should have seen the look on your face!”
“I really don’t see what’s so--”
“Of course you don’t, you couldn’t see a joke if it bit you on the erse! Mercy’s absolutely right there.”
“But did you have to pull so hard? A-li-o-eeee, I’m going to feel that for a week…”
“Ha! I didn’t hit you that hard--I’ve hit Aurelie harder. Haven’t I Aurelie?”
The silence from her chattering companions is what drew Aurelie Steerpike, the fourth girl, back to reality. Her three companions looked at her expectantly. Dread crept over her--she had been spoken to, hadn’t she. Oh chimes, she absolutely had. Before she could open her mouth to apologize, the first girl--young woman, really, Mercy, huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t waste your time on Matron Aurelie, Lottie--she’s too good for our childish ways.” The other three laughed; Aurelie’s face flushed, annoyed. The barb hurt--it always did. Instead of biting back, she just smiled and shrugged. It was simpler that way. Eventually they would get bored and return to--whatever it was they’d been doing to poor Bernadetta. Then everything would be fine again, and they would go on ignoring her like she wanted. Patience and good sense, that was the key.
Eventually, Aurelie was proven correct. Her companions, wishing to wallow in a rare moment of idleness between their early morning tasks and what was to occupy them later, fell into easy patter and idle gossip. Aurelie listened to them, smiling and nodding along, waiting for her chance--ah! There it was. They’d stopped paying attention to her entirely. Her chance to slip away.
And slip away she did, wandering deeper into the garden. The sun overhead was gentle, not yet high enough in the sky or late enough in the season for the heat to be oppressive instead of welcoming. A breeze moved gently through grass, carrying on it the scent of freshly-trimmed hedges and warm stone. After a moment’s exploration, Aurelie found what she was looking for--a small bench in the garden, sheltered from immediate view by the low-hanging branches of a tree. Not out of the way enough to be completely invisible, but more private all the same. The perfect spot for a private conversation, reading--or practicing one’s new and somewhat clandestine hobby.
Aurelie checked to make sure the others were still occupied--they were just where she left them. Feeling sufficiently unobserved, she removed several things from her pocket: a scrap of cloth (part of a cleaning rag that had seen better days) stretched over a round frame, thread given to her by one of the other women in the laundries (“for repairs”), and a good, sturdy needle. She also had in her other pocket a clumsy drawing, poorly rendered by her own hand, that planned out a series of stitches. Carefully, Aurelie threaded her needle and began to make hesitant stitches. She could only practice when she was alone, or late at night when Bernie was asleep. If anyone saw her… Well, nobody would. Her hobby was her secret, just for herself. How had it looked on that dress again? Something like… a loop or…? Without realizing it, she had become completely absorbed in her practice, dead to the outside world.