She turns, the light flickering over her sagging jaw and narrowed eyes. ‘Then you’ll have to fetch me some of his hair, or a bit of cloth from his tunic at least.’ She goes back to the figure she’s fashioning. ‘He will suffer now. Brought hurt to my family. He must pay.’

Somehow, I notice now the gaps in the wooden planks of the door, the holes where the rain mizzles through our roof. This house does not feel as solid as it did when I walked into it, offering little in the way of protection.

I kneel in front of Mam, take her hands and still them. ‘Don’t use it,’ I say. ‘Please. Leave them be. We don’t want more trouble.’

She shakes me off. ‘If they want no trouble they should not hurt my own,’ she says, continuing to mould the clay.

‘That isn’t what I said.’

I take a handful of the ash and sprinkle it around the mat. Ring the bell in the corners, Annie’s hand in mine. I do my best to keep her safe. Would I knew an enchantment to protect her from the villagers too.

Mice Shaken from a Sack

Exhausted and reeling from the night’s events, Daniel stepped through the door. Extraordinary to enter the house so late. The kitchen quiet and tidy, pans polished and hanging on the wall, fire glowing behind the grate. Scent of the bread Bett had baked that day still lingering in the air. Father, sitting at the table with a flagon of ale, looked up as he opened the door and they both hesitated.

‘Son,’ he said, nodding an acknowledgement of Daniel’s presence. ‘Drink?’

It was late and Daniel had to be up at dawn for the milking. The last thing he wanted was to make awkward conversation into the night. ‘Please,’ he said, and drew up a chair.

Father filled a tankard and Daniel took a gulp, then another. He was dry, he realised, and this was more welcome than he had first thought.

‘So,’ Father said, ‘mare’s coming on well.’ A deliberate steering away, Daniel knew, from the roles they had both played in the events of just hours before.

‘Yes.’

Father tipped his tankard and inspected the contents.

Daniel raised his drink to his lips, tried to appear casual. ‘Did you find the magistrate?’

Father shrugged. ‘Didn’t go, I left them to it.’

Daniel was desperate to know what had become of Phyllis and clung to the hope that, in sending the crowd to find her, he had rescued her in some part. Sarah’s house had still been standing when he left her there, that much he knew, but would the villagers remember their cause and return another night?