“That’s Chantal and Tiffinnae,” Dave continued, taking on the role of host. “And Sandy and Mr. Gregory. And that’s Jason sitting next to you,” he said.
Flynn looked at Jason, who did not look up from his intent study of the table next to the loom.
“So you’ve decided to tackle weaving?” Dave continued with a laugh.
“If it’s quite all right with the instructor, yes.”
Everyone looked at Rachel. “Of course!” she said, a tad too enthusiastically. “Welcome to our class!” But wait—what was he doing here? As in, how could he have possibly known she taught a weaving . . . Oh, right, right. She’d told him she taught a class the night of the tampons. Not a weaving class, but . . . but everyone was staring at her. “All righty, then!” she said, and looked down at her notes, shook her head a little. With a smile plastered on her face, Rachel lifted her head. “Before we get to work on the looms, I’m going to talk a little more about yarns.”
Sandy instantly responded by sitting up in her seat, pen and paper ready to take notes. Flynn settled back, that ever-present smile on his lips.
“Last week, we talked about the origins of weaving, and how far back we could trace it.”
Mr. Gregory’s hand shot up. He was very enthusiastic about history, Rachel had learned. “Yes, Mr. Gregory?”
“You said no one actually knows when the process began, given that few remnants survive, but that there is evidence of cloth being made as early as seven to eight thousand B.C., and that the earliest evidence of large tapestries being woven in Europe is just before the twelfth century, of which, by the way, you promised a picture.”
Damn, he was good. “I have it right here,” she said, and fished a picture of a tapestry out of her box and handed it to Chantal, motioning for her to send it around. “So who knows what tapestries were typically used for in medieval Europe?”
“Rugs?” Dave tossed out.
“No, but close,” Rachel said.
“Furniture coverings?” Sandy guessed.
“Smaller tapestries were used over furniture at times. But I’m talking about the large tapestries that depicted romance and gothic themes. There was a more common use for them.”
The students stared at her blankly. Rachel glanced at Flynn. “Ah . . . perhaps our new student knows the answer?”
That suggestion seemed to surprise Flynn. He sat up a little straighter and glanced around. “Tapestry?” he repeated.
Rachel nodded.
“Right. Of course. They were . . . bed coverings.”
“Well . . . no.” Rachel winced inwardly at having put him on the spot. “I suppose they could have been. But they were actually wall hangings. Weavers would create these gigantically thick tapestries to hang along the walls of big old castles to keep drafts out of the rooms.”
“How we supposed to know that! None of us ever been in a castle!” Chantal groused, and glanced at Flynn over her shoulder. “You ever been to a castle?”
“Ah . . . actually, my mum took me to visit Windsor Castle when I was a lad.”
“Windsor. That’s where the queen lives,” Tiffinnae informed them all.
“No she doesn’t, she lives in Buckingham,” Mr. Gregory said with a sniff of disdain.
“Actually,” Rachel said, “I believe she travels between Buckingham and Windsor, and even up to Balmoral in Scotland, and a few other places. Is that right, Flynn?”
Now everyone was looking at him, and Flynn flashed a perfectly charming smile. “Ah . . . actually, I haven’t had access to her itinerary, so I can’t really say for certain.”
“You sure you’re English?” Chantal demanded.
“Excellent question. I should inquire of my parents.”
That earned a laugh from everyone in the room—except Jason, naturally.
“Perhaps if I talked a little about tapestries,” Rachel suggested, and launched into her notes.
By the end of her talk, when it was apparent everyone had had their fill of looms and yarns, Rachel gave them time to work on their projects before the end of class. Dave and Lucy quickly took Flynn under their wing—Rachel even spied him weaving a little as she helped Jason, who, she was sorry to see, had retained absolutely nothing from last week.
“Man, am I glad this is over!” Chantal announced to the room at large when the clock struck nine. “I been smelling cookies the whole time and I’m damn close to gnawing my left arm off.”
“I smelled them too,” Sandy said, nodding. “I can smell it a mile away because I’m allergic to chocolate.”