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(Apologies for any language usage that’s anachronistic. I’ll deal with that once the first draft is done.)
This picks up from last week.
I held the envelope out to her and she pulled off her gloves and reached out with a delicate hand to take it from me.
I saw a faint flicker of surprise as she saw the insignia pressed into the wax, then she popped it open and pulled out the letter.
“It says you’re a carpenter?”
“Yes, ma’am. Me da was a carpenter and he taught me a bit and left me his tools. Most I’ve learned on me own, though.” For some reason I felt compelled to be completely honest with her.
She nodded and studied the letter again and I waited, trying not to let on how nervous I was. I wanted this job so bad I could taste it, but letting that show might just bollix up my chances, might make her think I’m nervous because I’ve got something to hide.
She looked up from the letter and began studying me and I wished she’d go back to studying the letter. On the other hand, her assessment was much different than the other woman’s. The other woman – Cecily – she’d been making a judgment based on my appearance, but this woman, she seemed to be making a judgment based on something else entirely.