At the back of the church the door creaked and swung. Daniel gripped the pew in front – the boy had come for him, even the house of God could not keep such wickedness at bay, and Daniel would be cursed or killed right here as he worshipped.

Every head turned, filling the building with the sound of rustling, though Parson Walsh did not pause in his descriptions of damnation. He thumped his hands together and glared round at the congregation, raising his voice to demand attention.

Daniel looked to see Gabriel enter, head bent towards the floor, frowning. Watched by all, he simply found a space and sat. A collective sigh of disappointment washed through the crowd; the interruption had not met expectations. Gabriel lived with his young sister and frail mother, tending to their every need, and he was often late for church. The only task he never complained about, carrying out with a care that left Daniel bewildered as to how one man could be both so gentle and so brutish.

Daniel closed his eyes, swayed. Breathed again, and turned back to the parson and his spittle-flecked warnings of the fires of hell, but found himself looking straight into Molly’s smiling face.

He blinked. Her eyes were too light, the colour of pale green apples; her lips too laden with mischief, curved into a smile that should not be worn to church. His eyes narrowed as if dazzled.

She leaned towards him. An aroma of smoke and iron, somehow out of place against the delicately coloured cloth of her petticoat.

‘What’s kept him from church?’ she whispered.

Daniel suppressed the urge to hush her. Opened his mouth, waited for the words to come. No easier at the sight of a pretty face than that of the demon-boy.

‘A fight?’ he managed at last. Also a cause that often delayed Gabriel, though usually after the tavern.

She leaned closer, resting her hand on the back of her pew. ‘Or a lover.’

The smile spread over her face at the same speed as the blush over Daniel’s, until she turned away at last.

He looked to the parson, but her face was all he saw. If God gazed down into Daniel’s mind through the spires and beams, the coifs and hats and freshly combed hair, He would not find what He should. All Daniel could think of was the flavour of Molly’s lips.

After the service people gathered in small groups. Boys picked and offered bunches of wild flowers: girls blushed, pretending coyness. Sunday was the most entertaining day of the week.

Daniel followed Father to join Mr Matthews and some fishermen, Bett’s husband Nathaniel amongst them, as they stood talking under the oak, its branches beginning to bear a cover of light green leaves. They all nodded at Father and fell silent, waiting for him to speak.

‘Good service,’ Father said. ‘Bit of gumption this week.’

The men murmured agreement.