Magistrate Wright grips her arm, and uses the other to fend off a man attempting to pull her free. ‘The time for mercy is passed,’ he says. ‘Your sins have caught up to you.’

‘Please,’ the man says. ‘We are honest people. God-fearing.’

A crowd gathers around them, standing a little back, watching silently. Bett and I do not move. ‘The Shaws,’ she says. Her face has paled to the colour of milk.

‘What have they done?’ I ask.

‘Papists,’ she says.

‘Your trickery has failed,’ the magistrate shouts. ‘Time is come to face the truth and away to the assizes. Where were you on Good Friday? Not here, the God-fearing folk of this village tell me, but about your own heathen rituals. There is witchery here.’

Mrs Shaw sobs and shakes her head. ‘No, sir, as God is my witness, you have it wrong. I am no such—’

A boy in the crowd points at her and shouts. ‘’Tis she, the one I saw turned to a hare that day, the one that tricked me away.’

The ground tilts beneath me and I reach for Bett. She clasps my arm. This mention of the hare is too close to Dew-Springer for me to ignore.

Mrs Shaw’s eyes roll towards the child, mouth agape. ‘No,’ she implores. ‘The lad’s mistaken, it was not me, as the Lord is—’

There are shouts now from the crowd, accusations of her sorcery and evil doings. Mr Shaw tries again to reach her, muttering about God and prayer in a torrent of words that I know shan’t save either of them.

‘My will is that you be hanged for your sins,’ Magistrate Wright says. ‘And no doubt God shall ensure it is so.’

She screams at his words, collapses to the ground, sobbing, almost taking the magistrate down with her. He turns a furious glare on those gathered. ‘Are you all also sinners, that stand by and allow the witch and papist to escape? Take hold this man and assist me in escorting them away.’

I grip Bett’s hand. ‘But – they’re in church. How can they be …?’

She shakes her head. ‘In church today. Never before.’

I watch, I do nothing as they’re hauled away, she limp and silent now, her shoes leaving a trail on the dusty path. Gabriel helps the magistrate, his meaty hand clasped around Mr Shaw’s arm. I search for Daniel. No sign of him, nor Seth either. Magistrate Wright picked his time well.

‘Will they really be hanged?’ I ask.

Bett wipes her eyes. ‘That is the punishment.’

I cast my eyes over the crowd that lingers. Women who help me wash clothes in the beck, who ask after me when they come to bake their bread in the farm oven. Those same that have pushed me away, thrown stones and pulled my hair when, in my other life, I dared ask for a coin.