“Bit of a worry when Hugh went off looking for him, some time later. As if he didn’t believe what I’d told them. I was worried about that small piece of information that might just get out, assuming the boy was still alive somewhere. Thought maybe you knew something about it; why else would my nephew drag an Irish brat home with him? I wanted to make you talk. If you were kin to Sevenwaters, it was important to make you talk, before you blabbed the truth to my nephew. I thought that. But I couldn’t get near you, he guarded you like some precious jewel. I watched you. After a while, I began to change my mind. You’ll never talk. The boy’s fooling himself, if he thinks so. You’re a girl; girls scream when they’re hurt. They cry when they’re upset. Girls don’t hold out for days and moons and years with never a squeak out of them. You’ll burn without uttering a sound. And I will take immense pleasure in lighting the fire, my dear. A slap in the face for Colum. He may not want to pay for your return; I understand that. But he won’t like the tale I send back for his ears only; of how his daughter perished by a very special kind of fire. That tale will keep him awake at night.”

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Yes, it’s turned out very neatly,” he said. “Only one loose end, really. Not at all like your work, my dear, which looks woefully awry; are you really concentrating on what you’re doing there? Still, maybe it doesn’t matter. Fire will take you, and your pitiful shirts, in one great satisfying burst of heat. Spindle, distaff, loom, and cloth. Gown, hair, skin, nails. At first slowly, and then faster and hotter as the flames flow around you and work their way inward. By the time your husband returns, there’ll be no trace of you left at Harrowfield. You’ll be gone. Obliterated. He will pick up the pieces of his life and move on. Men forget. They forget easily. Elaine will soon pull him into line. Capable girl. She’ll take charge here, and as for me…”

He glanced up at the window.

“It’s getting late. Time for a flask of wine, perhaps a cutlet or two, I’m always a little peckish at this time of day.” He got up, stretching. “Must fly, my dear. So nice chatting to you. Talked longer than I realized. Oh well, tomorrow’s another day, as they say. Be ready when they come for you. I’ve had a word to the Bishop’s man about your case; your hearing will likely take the full day, and he wants an early start.”