At last summer was nearing its end, and its tyrannical grip on his time. The wheat was now golden and brittle, giving a rich, dusty scent. It was ready to be cut, tied into stooks and stored. The stubble had dried and was harvested. Long days of labour and thin nourishment of bread and butter in the field were done. A goose had been slaughtered to celebrate and Bett and Sarah had cooked up a feast.

On this first free night Sarah and Daniel at last had some time together, the air was warm and the riverbank empty. Sarah had taken no persuading to set foot in the water. She shed each layer and ran to immerse herself before her beauty was too long displayed. He hurried to follow, cursing as his eager fingers tangled laces, as he tripped on the uneven surface, and longing for the day soon to come, when their love need not be hidden.

The cry came from the riverbank as they swam, and they both turned to see who it came from.

Daniel squinted into the sun, feet reaching for the muddy bed as he shaded his eyes. Surely, he was mistaken. Surely, he had misheard.

‘Witch,’ it came again, a shriek that could not be ignored, no matter how the wind snatched it.

The figure stood at the river’s edge. They were so entranced, they had not noticed. Had not cared to.

Sarah’s arms reached pale under the rippling surface, her body a white blur that wavered below. Dappled sunlight lit her face. She kicked her way over to him, silver droplets of water falling from her lifted arms.

‘What’s this?’ she asked. ‘Happen a visitor.’

Her voice was light, but her eyes hard, snapping a fire he had only ever seen when she felt Annie to be threatened. He was distracted still by the desire to slip his arms around her, bring her body to his own. She turned from him, glaring towards the bank.

He peered into the sunlight again. ‘I – I think it’s—’

‘Molly,’ she said.

It was, as he already knew, Molly Matthews stepping over rocks, closer and closer to the river’s edge until she was in danger of soaking her shoes, screaming into the wind. ‘You have bewitched him. Stolen and bewitched him. I will tell them all.’

How did she come to be there? How did she know who Sarah was? His thoughts tumbled in a panicked cascade – what she would do next, what would happen to Sarah as a result. And to himself.

‘Do not be afraid,’ he said, though his own voice shook. ‘I shall talk to her.’

‘It’s she that should be feared,’ Sarah said, a cold flame in her eyes.