She reaches her arms around me nonetheless, though not before rummaging through the food I’ve brought and taking the whispering shell Daniel found and sent for her. She turns it in her hands, holds it to her ear, mouth falling open in wonder. She’s grown thinner again in the weeks I’ve been living away, I’m feared to embrace her in case she breaks in my arms. I need to come more often. To feed her. To keep my place in their lives, as daughter, sister. To keep the dog at bay. Visitor I am not and shall not be.

Mam too looks drawn and thin, though the weather warms and there should be food enough to be found. There’s something in the glittering intensity of her quick-flitting gaze, her sinister whispers to Dew-Springer, that troubles me. I fear Magistrate Wright has returned, but daren’t ask in front of Annie.

‘You’re busy with tonics, Mam?’ I ask, sitting at the table while Annie settles on my lap and takes another portion of food. She smells of mud and fresh air. The house seems small, drab and decayed. Fragile, leaning on the keck as it does. I am used now to solid, straight walls. ‘Many calling for an amatory in summer, isn’t it?’

‘Happen they’ve all no need of my amatory, but let nature do as it will. Like you.’ She makes to sit with us, stands again, turns her back and pokes at the dead fire. ‘There’s no appetite for us wares in the village, the new magistrate has them all feared to call upon me. Not one has asked for an enchantment on the crops, as usually they would this time of year.’

I can hold my tongue no longer. ‘He hasn’t returned?’

She shakes her head. ‘Bides his time. Waiting for good reason, happen.’

I pray she doesn’t give him one. Does not walk the village selling curses. Does not send John on missions of revenge upon the netter. Open my mouth to say so, to brave the sharpness of her reply.

‘I’ll give you more food,’ I say. Cannot bring myself to challenge her on this day I feel myself a stranger here, this day I remain plagued by Gabriel’s questioning and the darkness it conjured in me.

‘We’ve no need,’ Mam says, without turning.

Annie almost chokes on the mouthful she’s chewing, her eyes rounded with indignation. ‘But – Mammy, we do, we do have need, Sarah. You’ll not stop bringing food, will you?’

‘Nay, of course not, cub,’ I say, laughing. ‘I’ll have you stout and round so that you’ll not even fit through the door.’ I tickle her bony ribs and she squirms, giggles. Gone is the little fold of fat that had grown under her chin. ‘Won’t you have some, Mam?’ I ask.