I realized then, with dawning horror, that he meant this to happen straightaway; today would indeed be his wedding day. For he was leaving to cross the sea; he would not return; and he intended me to be as well protected as I could be, before then. But—

“Look at me, Jenny,” said Red, and I looked. Looked at the strong planes of the face, the pallor of the skin, the flame of hair cut short as the pelt of a fox. The deep, serious eyes.

“I have never taken a woman against her will,” he said. “Never. And I’m not about to start now. Especially—” he did not finish this particular thought. “Do you believe this?”

I nodded. It’s not just that; though that is a part of it.

“Will it help, if I tell you that others know of this, that your return to Harrowfield has been prepared? You will not have to break this news to my mother. Elaine has done so, before she returned home.”

I had thought I could be shocked no further; I was wrong. Elaine knew? Who else? Does the whole household know, before ever you ask me? He gave a grim little smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I spoke only to those whom I could trust. Elaine, yes; she deserved an explanation, and I gave one. She is not only my cousin, Jenny, but an old friend; I have known her since we were children. She bore a burden for us today, in telling them; it is a source of wonder to me that my uncle produced such a daughter. Ben knows too; his part in this is vital. He will take you home, and be your protector while I am gone. And—and I spoke of my intentions to John, long since.”

There was silence. A weighty silence. At length I got up, and walked down to the sea again, and the sand was still good under my bare feet, and the afternoon sun still benign. But everything was changed. At the time, I had not understood John’s last words, had dismissed them as the jumbled ravings of a man dying in intense pain. What had he said? Red, right choice. Say yes. Something like that, when you put it together. And I had nodded to him, mindlessly hoping to soothe his distress. I had agreed. You did not break a promise to a dying man. Especially when his death was your fault.

I walked along the beach again, as the shadows lengthened and the sea grew dark. Down by the water, the mermaid was almost gone. All that was left of her was a strand of dark, knotted hair and one delicate, reaching hand. I sat and watched as the ocean took her back, down to its secret places. I cleared my mind; sought for answers. But this time no wise inner voice came to my aid. There were only hard, cold facts. My brothers were returning There was still one shirt to finish, and another yet unmade. Someone had burned my work, someone had killed my friend. Red was going away. And I had promised John. There was but one conclusion. I had to trust that Hugh of Harrowfield had made another of his sensible, calculated decisions. That he was, as they described him, a man who could not make a wrong choice. I had to say yes, though it made my heart cold to think of it.