‘All right,’ she said. ‘Aye.’ Took a slow breath in, edged towards Pippin, righted the pail. Turned to him with a look of triumph.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Excellent. Now, sit.’

He crouched behind her as she sat on the stool, took her hands in his, showed her how to bring the milk down.

Daniel finished the day’s work and hurried back in time to eat with Father. Bett gave him a slight nod as he walked in and quickly, before the confidence this gave him faded, before he thought again of the perils of his plan, he sat at the table, cleared his throat.

‘I am going to find a milkmaid,’ he said. Cut up the collops and eggs and took a bite, all without looking to see Father’s reaction. The sound of Bett calling her goodbyes as she left filled the gap.

‘Milkmaids cost,’ Father said at last. A predictable response and one Daniel had prepared for. It was not that Father was without the money to pay a dairymaid. He was just unwilling to spend it.

‘I’m a man. Your only son. There’s better work for me to do.’

Father chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘And where do you plan to find her?’

‘The mop.’

‘Not for another few weeks.’

‘I will manage until then.’

Father grunted, and spoke not another word that night.

Daniel ate his fill, and sat back, content. A milkmaid would bring less in the way of dowry than even a blacksmith’s daughter. Father would not be pleased.

But it was not unknown for romance to blossom between farmer’s son and dairymaid. And should Father learn of such a thing, should he believe Sarah might be left in some kind of trouble, he would insist they wed, however much the match disappointed him. As long as he did not discover who she truly was.

Sea and Leather and Fish

Bett’s house is as ours would be, had it not stood abandoned all those years, had we means and time to show it the same care. Two rooms, the first with table and chairs, fire glowing in grate, water pail standing in corner, pans hung on wall, nets draped from beams. There’s a smell of hot water and woodsmoke, and underneath that, faintly, fish. She takes a candle to the fire, lights it and shields it with her hand as she carries it over.

An unfamiliar and none-too-pleasant scent of burning tallow fills the room, a slow-flickering, warm light I’ve not seen before throws a small illuminated pool across the table. The house is not large but neat, the tabletop gleaming and empty, the floor clear and clean. No ash-fall around the fire, no mould on the wall, no draught whispering through the roof.