Eleven years old and I was to be out of the house because Mam was with the men, but it was mizzling and I returned. I stood outside, soaked and shivering, building courage to defy her and step in. I can still see my own hand reaching out, pushing the door open. Can still feel that sure, sickening knowledge that whatever lay behind it was shadowed in shame. She was with one, the blanket hung in the doorway and I could hear the noises, so I stayed in the other room.

He was waiting. Bright little eyes stared at me from folds of flesh; sweat glistening, then beading, then running down the quivering jowls. He heaved to his feet, hand outstretched, and I didn’t know what he meant to do, so I remained there.

Then the sound of tearing cloth as if from far away, the stench of his breath in my face. Hot, clammy palm against my skin. I can feel it now, jerk back in revulsion.

Mam behind him, arm around his neck, point of the knife digging into the doughy ripples under his chin. The only time I ever saw her driven to real violence. Red trickle that ran and pattered on the floor. Wet glisten of his lips as he prattled and begged, offered Mam whatever she asked if only she let him be. I understand now, this was my first meeting with Magistrate Thompson. And our reason for safety all this time.

Only now do I see that this encounter I had with him has sheltered us. And it is swept away with his leaving, our safety no more robust than a dwelling built of sand against the sea, licked away by a wave in a moment. We are exposed.

Without protection from a law which fears and seeks to extinguish us, without protection from the violence and hatred brewing in the village. I feel for the first time a sense of immediate ruin upon us. Tomorrow. Tonight.

I rest my head in my hands. Feel as though I’m falling and there will be no end to it.

‘John,’ Mam says, kneeling at his feet. ‘Tell me all, think and tell it slow, all you know of this new man.’

John glances at me. I nod. We must know the worst of it now.

‘He’s come from different parts, they say, and stands by every word of law. He’s a big church man and they say he sent a woman to the rope for – godless acts.’ He shifts in the seat, looks again at me, expression uneasy. I press my hand to my chest, where my heart gallops.

Mam dips her head, breathes deep. When she looks up again she has almost steadied the tremble in her voice. ‘Godless acts? Like those of us cunning folk?’

‘No, just – witchcraft, is what they said. Spells and …’ John’s voice trails off. ‘Not what we do, Mam, they meant – something different.’