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Claye, a total stranger?

 
    CHAPTER 5
     
    The door opened and Jane saw a grey-haired woman of ample proportions and dressed in a costume in a shade of mauve amble herself into the bedroom.
    The woman glanced suspiciously at Jane. Jane could see she, too, was affronted at Jane’s unusual “male” attire.
    Mrs. Claye’s white apron was tied under large hanging breasts and a string purse was pinned to the front of her apron. She was neat and had an air of control. Her blond hair was slicked back into a tight braided bun at the nape of her neck while a lace cap sat primly atop her head.
    “Mrs. Claye,” Greywick addressed the woman, “Miss Fielder needs help in removing her clothes. The uh – breeches she is wearing have become tight with the swelling. Miss Fielder was coming back from a masquerade ball in which she participated in a theatrical performance when she had an accident. She was wearing the breeches because that was her costume.”
    Jestyn’s explanation of her pants sounded silly even to Jane.
    Mrs. Claye glanced at Jane with disapproval written all over her face. Jane saw that Mrs. Claye had not accepted Jestyn’s explanation of Jane’s “breeches” as the attire worn at a masquerade ball.
    “Yes, sir; I will see what I can do.”
    With a last glance at Jane, which still said, ‘ Don’t confide in Mrs. Cla y e ,’ Greywick left the room.
    “I'm Jane Fielder.” Jane extended her hand toward Mrs. Claye.
    Mrs. Claye glanced at Jane's hand with hostility and ignored it.
    “If you will allow me, miss.” Mrs. Claye pulled back the coverlet and stared at Jane's jeans as if she were looking at a serpent.
    “I don't think I can remove the breeches without cutting them , miss.”
    “Mrs. Claye, if you would just pull at the pants – I mean the breeches, I’m sure I can wriggle out of them.”
    “It will bring you unnecessary pain, miss. I think it would be better if I just cut them with me scissors.”
    Mrs. Claye appeared anxious to cut the “breeches” and to reducing them to rags in the process. She took out a pair of small scissors from their small worn case from the string purse that hung from her waist. She leaned toward Jane.
    “No. I do not want the uh – breeches cut, Mrs. Claye,” Jane said forcefully. “I can withstand the pain.” And she added firmly, “Please, just do as I say and help me get out of them.”
    Jane didn’t want the only clothes she could lay claim to in this strange environment to be rendered useless. She would not allow anyone to cut her jeans.
    Unpleasant whiffs of underarm odor came from Mrs. Claye, which immediately gave Jane a strong urge to suggest a clinical strength deodorant to her.
    “Very well, miss, if you insist on this I shall call Nellie to help you,” Mrs. Claye’s face had become sterner, if that were possible. She pulled back away from the bed, much to Jane’s relief, for Jane was holding her breath so as not to absorb the floating whiffs coming from Mrs. Claye’s ample underarms.
    Mrs. Claye then replaced the small but sharp-looking pair of scissors in its case in her string purse and once more glanced with distaste at Jane's jeans, then at Jane herself with an unmistakable dirty look. Then without another word she left the room.
    “Oh, for Pete's sake!” Jane said out loud, “Now I have to deal with that unpleasant woman! No wonder Greywick seemed almost desperate that I not trust her. She’s mean and petty.”
    A few minutes later a young slight girl with wispy blond hair walked into the bedroom. Her hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She was rubbing the sleep from large light blue eyes rimmed with pale lashes. In her arm she carried a huge wicker basket with lid. She wore a faded blue dress that was apparently a hand-me-down for it was folded at the waist and held in place by a white apron. She glanced at Jane expectantly, as if waiting for directions.
    Nellie smiled, a bit sleepily. Jane noticed there was a tooth