He sees through me. ‘I think – you miss home, don’t you?’ he asks. ‘Tomorrow you will go to them. There will be time, I’ll make sure.’

‘Thank you.’

He takes me in his arms. ‘I’m happy you’re here.’

‘I’m happy to be here,’ I say. And at this moment it’s almost entirely true.

The bed is a large stack of hay tied together, it’s thicker than I am used to and the blanket warmer. I am under the same roof as Daniel. I should sleep like an angel, but I cannot.

At home Sleep sails in on the sounds of Annie’s steady breathing, even John’s night-time snorts. Here there’s only silence and she has no means to enter. I lie in my comfortable bed, relieved when sunlight fingers through the window and I may rise to be about my work.

Shift, stays, petticoat, shoes. The stays feel unnatural and stiff, the petticoat is bunched at the waist. Three attempts to pin my hair and it begins to loosen and fall already. Pull the coif on to my head, trying to feel the position that Bett set it in.

In the hall there hangs a round, polished plate. The house is silent yet and I allow myself to stop there. The girl stares back with large, blue eyes, face exposed by the pulling away of hair. Like any other village girl. More serious, perhaps. I wonder what she would think of me, had she been born to this.

Daniel’s chin appears at her shoulder, his lips touch her cheek. She smiles, and is me again.

‘Shall I come with you?’ he asks. ‘Help on your first day?’

‘I can manage. Have you no task of your own, idle?’

‘Yes,’ he says, laughing. ‘Though it’s dung spreading and now I regret passing milking to you.’

‘Too late. You must away to your dung and leave me be. I am very busy about my work.’

The sound of footsteps and Mr Taylor coughing the night’s phlegm from his throat approaches.

‘Yes, miss,’ Daniel says, winking. ‘Then I shall see you tonight, when we are done.’

The beasts seem larger now I’m alone with them; the horses baring their great teeth, the oxen cracking their horns. Even gentle Pippin, with her eyes like deep pools, seems bigger and clumsier.

I take a breath, smooth down my petticoat. I am Sarah, the dairymaid. Reaching for the stool and pail, I settle myself, set to my task. Soon enough, though once I almost slip from my seat and once Pippin prances and almost spills the milk, the bucket is filled and my first task complete. I would skip to the dairy were I not so weighed down by the results of my efforts.