The only thing stopping her from acrobatics was the tray in her hands. More delicious-smelling herbs, flowers and those damn twiggy things she was forced to use to clean her teeth. “Hello, Mary,” she said, smiling at the young girl’s exuberance. “Good afternoon, mum!” Mary looked around for a place to set the tray, as the table was still filled with remnants of other trays. “How about on the bed, Mary?” Isabel suggested. Mary turned, but stopped. “I was certain I had made up your bed finely this morn.” Whoops! She and Arthur hadn’t gotten very far, but far enough to dishevel the coverlet. “It was my fault, Mary. I was . . . restless.” “No worries, mum, I will tidy up.” Isabel sat her butt down beside the tray, then patted the bed on the other side of the tray. “If you can manage to sit long enough, please tell me what has you so excited.” “Gilda says she can easily fix the gown to fit me! Is that not wonderful?” “Oh, Mary, it truly is! But I had no doubt.”
