Upstairs/Downstairs (Blanche/Portia or gen)
Each morning after breakfast, Portia begged Blanche to take her to the site, battering away every excuse. She did not care that the weather was unbearable, or that there were fifty men to three women; she rolled her eyes at Blanche’s fictitious accounts of bandits, and laughed when she mentioned that it was physically demanding.
“Oh, please. I’ve met half the men rummaging their way through this country, and most are hard pressed to lever themselves out of their beds every morning.” Her tone was light but contemptuous, and Blanche decided that maybe Portia was not so hopeless after all.