Maybe, just maybe, Ruth would have been glad to be remembered for something that belonged to her regardless of how hard she worked. Or she would terribly resent it because it wasn’t one of the things she had worked so hard to get for herself and lashed back, as if it was Zechariah’s fault that the world was more interested in her “gingerhood” than any of the accomplishment she cherished so… well, loudly.

Ruth glanced with pleasure at the watch. Some things hadn’t changed then. Ruth shrugged off “The post is awful in the country,” she waved it away “I am sure it has nothing to do with when you check you correspondence.” Of course.

Ruth was already about to move to a different topic when Zechariah made a comment. It was an odd idea, that her brother could find anything suitable for her. She hadn’t been suitable in a while. “Of course it does, darling.” She absolutely was, worldly, who could possibly doubt that? She most definitely wasn’t in a rush. Also, looking at her stance, one would think *she* could do some lifting, but of course, as a lady, she would never confirm.

Plausible deniability, we were saying. That suited both these Meijers, apparently, in different ways and with different degrees of risk.

Ruth marched in the direction indicated. She was normally quick, but not *that* quick. Ha her eyes not shown something had happened, probably that would have given it away. Either that or she had gone postal once and for all as predicted by many. At least she had hit thirty before that.

Or, again, she saw some changes in him and she wanted to avoid seeing them and, at the same time, she was not especially keen on showing she had the ability of notice certain things at all. She wasn’t doing a very good job and was more out of habit than anything else, but she still was protecting her reputation, probably a mixture of leftovers from their childhood and family legends.

“Oh I see, threads and embroidery can and will absolutely change one’s behaviour.” She said that with less irony than her usual remarks. There was bitter note in her voice not directed to him “And it goes as far as this fishermen’s village.” Aaaaand back she was. No one could hope to have a moment with her, apparently.

Ruth shook her head “Oh, they can try,” she put on a threatening smile. “No, I just thought you were either the victim of a mugging or your closet had burnt to ashes.” Because of the brown suit.

And yes, oddly enough the accusation stopped there, for now. Ruth climbed the carriage, caring little for the hem of her skirt -was that even an actual skirt?- and to request assistance. She had probably waited too long to lose time with further femininity nonsense.