Nelly smiles at Annie, begins to play with the folds of her petticoat, where her pocket lies. Weighted with coins for church, no doubt. Surely God would not begrudge one given to feed a hungry child, she’s thinking. I know the kind of soft, motherly woman who will respond, and today my knowledge will furnish us with a coin to take home.

But soft, motherly women do not control purse strings. He reaches out and bats her hand away. A bracelet of fading bruises circles her wrist.

‘Oh, Samuel,’ she whispers. ‘Could we not …?’

‘No. You want to consort with heathens? On the way to church?’

He turns, pushing the small of her back as they walk away so swiftly that she stumbles a little.

‘For God’s sake, Nell,’ he says. ‘Step firm.’

She looks over her shoulder at us. I offer a smile, for her kindness is rare. Though a coin would be better.

The throngs dwindle and we’ve no success. I sit with Annie at the side of the road as the familiar clawing of hunger returns, imagining the tables these church-goers will return to, laden with meats and cheeses and bread, fragrant and fresh-baked. Annie wriggles her dusty toes, legs stretched in front of her.

One last villager makes his way to church, sauntering up the path, unafraid to appear late before God. Matt Taylor’s farmhand, Gabriel. Last summer I saw him spike a squirrel with a pitchfork and leave it to die in the heat. I think of the lamb, and look away, willing him to walk past.

‘Excuse us, sir,’ Annie says.

I turn too late to stop her. She is wearing her saddest face. I swear she’s managed a tear.

‘I’m hungry and there’s nowt to feed me,’ she says. ‘I’m a good girl, never mard—’

‘And here’s me thinking you just theft what you need.’ A shadow falls over us as he looms above, blocking the sun.

I catch his eye. Shall Annie and I be made to pay for the work of our foolhardy brother, now? My mouth dries, heart thumps.

‘Are you banished from church, sinners?’ he says.

I stand up. My head barely reaches his chin and he is broad, his wide shoulders leaning in to me. ‘Are you?’ I ask.

Annie’s upturned face looks from me to him. She does not fear village men, not even this brute, but is inquisitive about them as she is with the animals in the woods, as though they’re a different breed of person. Tall and bearded, clothed in doublets. She does not see such creatures at home.

‘If we could beg a kindness from you …’ The word ‘good’ has stuck on her lip.

There is laughter in his eyes now, cruel and powerful. ‘Kindness, is it? That’s all you ask for?’

‘Not from you.’

He takes a step towards me. I do not move. A mistake.