She stood in the doorway with both her hands resting on its smooth wooden surface, tucked half in behind it like a child behind her mothers skirt. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth and she unconsciously bit into it, chewing gently the way she always did when she was nervous. Her lady sat before the mirror, attended by an older girl who drew a brush through those strands of spun gold with swift and practiced movements.

On this bright and clear morning, her senses were particularly alert. She felt the weight of her dress, thought she smelt the rough fibers of her apron. If she listened carefully she could hear the sounds from the marketplace through the open window, and the hollow rap of a hoof as one of the masters horses fidgeted in his stall.

"Thank you Alice, that will do"

By this stage the girl had worked the flowing hair into a neat bun, and was tucking renegade strays away, picking and fussing. Upon the signal from her Lady, she ducked a shallow curtsy and turned, hurrying out. Isabel pulled back from the door, jolted from her reverie, and then entered the room once Alice had passed.

Catherine Savill was the young wife of a wealthy middle aged merchant. As such, she was ever eager to improve her and her family's status in the court, and visited as often as she could, making small talk with the titled women. Such an expedition today meant that she had to be at her most impressive, and she peered intently into her mirror. She stood up at the last possible moment when her maid brought her over garments to her, thinking to conserve her strength.

Her husband had been displeased when she insisted that she need a second maid. He, content with his social standing, often accused her of excess. But the girl Alice, though competent, was too close to her own age, and her confidant manner offended the young lady's pride. She had found this Isabel quite by chance, employed by her cook temporarily to help serve at a banquet the Savill's had recently held. The girl was very young, probably only thirteen or fourteen years old, and had a hesitant, demure manner that pleased her. Immediately she had ordered that the girl be trained as a personal maid, and taken into permanent employ.

Even now as she buckled the hooped farthingale around Catherine's slim waist- she had yet to be blessed with children, to her husband's disappointment- she kept her eyes down in a properly humble manner. At first she had found the girl nearly intolerable for her hesitant bumbling in lacing her clothes, but the more she told her off the quicker she learnt, and now she much preferred her service to that of Alice- for Isabel never once dared to look her in the eyes, not even in the mirror.

She watched the girls reflection with the ghost of a smile etched across her face. Also, this girl was plain, and not yet a woman, and that flattered Catherine's sense of her own beauty. With her fine but prominent features and round, youthful face, the lady was quite admired among her peers. Alice was so plain she didn't even bother to look at her most of the time, but Isabel had an unusual sharpness of feature that drew Catherine's attention and gave her a small measure of smugness.

Isabel pulled the fine fabric of the richly embroidered dress, tugging the pieces of material so that they sat correctly against her lady's body. It was a rich forest green, decorated with golden vines and trefoils, and so gathered about the skirt that although she envied the wealth it represented in some small corner of her heart, she was quite glad that she was not the one who had to wear such a heavy garment.