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Ruthven had trundled over to the cistern that had collected the rain water running down from the roof. She poured some water over her hands to wash them, and was drying them on her shawl as a commotion came to the window. She watched as first one leg and then another leg appeared out the window, bereft of skirts and apron and none too ceremoniously. She winced. Frodides was far from a vain and cantankerous woman, and was one of the best and kindest mothers around, but she had a proper sense of her own dignity and decorum. And this event did not match that. Any cook worth her salt and her herbs would want to walk directly out of her kitchen.
Quickly though the young 'uns attended to her and one ran off to call the healer.
"Could I take one of your shawls, please, ma'am?" asked one of them.
Ruthven looked down at her shawl, damp from wiping her hands. Yet it was the best they had to offer. She wrapped it 'round Frodides' shoulders with a matter of fact tug and turned to the girl.
"What was it that ye jumped on to reach the window? Would there be a cask or chair there we could retrive, for Frodides? I can help lift ye back into the kitchen. We'll be wanting something for Frodides to put under her leg, to keep it lifted like."
The sound of males voices was muffled and the women, the three woman, stood there and considered what they were about.
"Well, lass, will you go back in to fetch a support for our cook?" commented Ruthven.
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