Just he and Sarah, then, standing in the wavering light of the fire, listening to it snap, waiting as the sound of Father’s footsteps receded. Sarah put her hands over her mouth, stifling laughter, and ran to him.

‘Oh, I thought they’d know me,’ she said.

‘To them you will only ever be a dairymaid from another village.’ His words were more confident than his spirit. Still, he willed this to be so, with all his being. All their plans depended on it. He removed her coif, pulled her hair from the pins until it fell over her shoulders as he had seen so often before. ‘But not to me,’ he said. ‘Not me.’

Full-Moon Eyes

A new life, a new skin. Perhaps.

In the light of the candle I unlace the stays and strip off my shift with shaking hands, turn my side to the flame, lift the flesh as much as I can to be sure, scrutinise it.

The mark remains.

I look again, again. Run my fingers over the skin, though it’s always been smooth, the stain just for the eyes.

Still marked, still chosen. I press back tears with my fists, hold at bay the flicker at the corner of my vision. I don’t know why I thought that a different house, a new outfit would wash this fate from me. Relief and disappointment mingle. I must manage my powers with care, must ensure that the dog does not overwhelm and expose me as imposter.

I am still chosen, and I don’t know how long my master will let me hide here before taking me over, even against my will. He may yet take Annie. I press my hands to my eyes but cannot force away the image of her little arm bearing his mark, of the magistrate casting his cold eye upon it and dragging her, them all, to the assizes. And after that … I beat my forehead with my fists, driving out thoughts of the rope.

Snarling shudders my bones. If so much as a whisper of harm strays their way I shall bear all the dark power I can muster down upon those responsible. Any that speaks of my family to Magistrate Wright shall suffer my wrath.

The gentle tap on the door can only be Daniel’s. I pull my shift back on, lace the stays and call for him to enter.

‘So,’ he says softly. ‘Do you like it?’

I look around the room that once was Bett’s and now is mine. The same size as the one Annie, Mam and I sleep in, with a mat in the centre, a neatly folded petticoat lying on top of the thick blanket. Annie will be cold tonight without me there to warm her.

‘It’s lovely,’ I say.

‘It’s small,’ he says.

‘Big enough for me.’