Bold women certainly existed in the Middle Ages--Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is evidence of this--but meek women were probably the norm, good Christian family ladies who wanted nothing more than to serve God and have children. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. And Pottiswick, of course. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. .
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