The crowd simply stand silent, watching us. I pull Annie away, glancing again towards where Daniel stood. He is no longer there. We need to leave now, before there’s worse trouble, but Annie taps a woman on the back and asks for a coin.

The woman lashes out and Annie sprawls on the ground.

‘That was not called for,’ I say, before I can stop myself, lifting her and dusting her off. She glowers at the woman, the blacksmith’s wife who stands with her daughter, both in coloured petticoats, staring at us as though at maggots, with arms folded.

‘Away,’ she says. ‘This is no place for your kind, but for those with honest earnings to spend.’ She pushes Annie again. ‘Shoo.’

Annie stamps her foot and it’s all I can do to prevent myself from joining her. I catch my breath and calm myself.

The daughter smirks. ‘Don’t touch them, Mother,’ she says, behind her hand but loud enough for me to hear. ‘They’re riddled with lice, at the least. Just look at them.’

There is a cruel joy lighting her eyes. ‘Is that not the new magistrate?’ she asks, head tilted towards her mother but gaze fixed on mine. Annie squirms at the strength of my grip. ‘Let’s call him, he shall not abide with this, shall he? Let’s see his views on begging. Perhaps he may ask again of those not seen attending church.’

We are nothing more than a moment’s amusement to her. I do not know how she can look upon Annie and see anything but a hungry child. I do not know how she can lack pity.

But they are both quickly turning towards a commotion on the other side of the market, hurrying to see the new entertainment. The space they leave is immediately filled with the farm housemaid, bustling in and ushering us both away.

‘Leave here,’ she whispers.

‘But we’ve no—’

‘Take this.’ She bends and gives a coin to Annie. ‘And away. No one is like to look kindly on you today.’

Annie stares at the coin, then back up at the housemaid, remembering a previous kindness from her. ‘Thank you,’ she says. Blinks. ‘That cake was very nice, is there any cake?’

‘Hush,’ I say.

The woman laughs. ‘Another time.’ She looks at me, flapping her arms as though I’m a crow stealing her seedlings, and turns away.

I pull Annie back up the path that skirts the green and the Taylors’ farm. Dare not stop by the beck and look for the hag stone. Only when we reach the foot of the hill, where our home nestles amongst the decaying remains of the hamlet, do I breathe free again.