She looks at me as though I’m the village goffy, and I hurry through the door. In the half-light I hear a scuttle and flurry of small creatures taking refuge as I enter. One mat fills most of the space, blanket neatly spread over it. There is a chest squeezed in by the wall and I place the rush on it, laying out the clothes.

The petticoat is not so different from my own, though this is thick and warm, smooth at the edges and without a thin patch to be seen. Such material is unfamiliar and a little prickly in my hand.

Leaving my own rags in a shameful pile on the floor, I sit on the mat and pull the stockings on, wriggle my toes now encased in cloth, feel the material rest right against the skin of my legs. Imagine myself a farmer’s wife, and that wearing these clothes is as unremarkable a feeling for me as it is for any other village woman. Pull on the shift, too large so the cuffs fall almost to my fingers. Then the stays, stiffened with reeds. A memory I didn’t know I had of Mam putting hers on comes to me, and I manage to tie the laces well enough. I reach for the petticoat, forced by the stays to bend awkwardly, feeling already more like a village woman simply because of the way I must hold myself now. Warm and thicker than I’m used to, the petticoat falls to my ankle. Wide at the waist, but no matter, I bunch it and tie the belt fast. Next, waistcoat and apron. So many clothes. More than Mam and I own between us. I’m glad Bett agreed that I may pay her.

I feel no longer myself. Held tall by the stays and layers covering every part of my body, I cannot imagine running along the riverbank or bending to lift Annie as I’m used to, nor ever feeling the wind from the sea cut through to my skin again. These clothes hide me, and I wonder if they are disguise enough to fool the one that chose me. Yet I’m shy to show myself. Sitting on the mat, in the rushlight, I listen to the chewing of mice and wonder what Annie, Mam and John are doing now, what they would make of me could they see. I want the life these clothes fit, but fear it will keep me apart from theirs.

The sound of knocking makes me jump. ‘Come along, then. Show yourself,’ Bett says.

I open the door and step through before allowing myself time to doubt. She holds the candle up, moving it so the light falls from my neck to my ankles.

‘Good, yes, you look a proper little lady. Well, excepting that.’ She waves a hand at my head. ‘Sit down.’