‘Who’s the lucky family getting one of those?’ asked Margery Hunter in her deep voice. Marion knew she was hinting at her own family because she always produced more spun wool than other women.

‘They will be handed out tomorrow,’ said Sir Hugh severely. ‘You know M’Dame always remembers who had iron pots previous years,’ and everyone knew this was true. Sir Hugh pushed his hand into the last pannier and pulled out a sack of something soft and heavy.

‘What’s that?’ said Magda, pushing forward again.

‘Not for you,’ said her father, unfolding the sack and showing a roll of woollen cloth of a rich dark red colour. An ‘Oooh’ escaped the mouths of women as he passed it to Dame Margaret.

‘Your brother and his wife sent this, to make you a new gown.’

Dame Margaret took the roll on her knee and unwound a bit. ‘So thick and soft,’ she exclaimed, impressed. ‘Where did it come from?’

Other women peered at it and commented, ‘How did they get that colour? Is it from sloes? Or elderberries? What a loom they must have to make anything that long. There must be yards in that roll.’

‘Your brother didn’t know where it came from,’ said Sir Hugh. ‘It wasn’t made in Rutherford, that’s for sure. He said some men travelling north from the seacoast came to Rutherford, same men as brought the currants – ’

‘Currants?’

‘Those little black sweet things – in the jar. They also brought this great roll of woollen stuff. There was more of it, but your sister-in-law made a gown of it for herself and she’s a big woman, and for her daughter too, and this bit was over. She said it ought to be enough for a gown for you with sleeves. And this is really the last thing.’

He pulled from his sleeve the little white bundle he had secreted there at the beginning, and gave it to his wife. She looked at him with wonder. ‘Unroll it,’ he said. She gently unrolled a length of smooth white fabric over the crimson wool on her knees. She had never seen anything like it before.

‘It’s another present from your sister-in-law,’ Sir Hugh went on, happy to still be the centre for all eyes. ‘It’s for the new baby. It’s what they call linen. It came from over the sea too, I think. Your sister-in-law has a cap made of the stuff, wears it all the summer, light and cool, she says.’

This confirmed what Marion had suspected by now – that Dame Margaret was pregnant.

‘Make a nice cap,’ said Dame Margaret, running the fabric through her fingers, ‘and more than one cap,’ she added glancing at Magda.

‘She said it was for wrapping the new baby in,’ repeated Sir Hugh.

‘Pity to let a baby mess up that lovely stuff,’ said Milly, putting coarse fingers on it.

Having delivered up all he had been charged to do, and having given all the family messages, as he thought, appropriately, Sir Hugh said to Tom, ‘We’ve not eaten since early this morning. Let’s go in and see what Joan has for us. Your boy Ed must be in need of something solid, he’s worked and walked enough.’ Sir Hugh made a sweeping gesture to the group of villagers. ‘Tomorrow, all you wives come along with your tubs and things and Dame Margaret will give out some of this salt – can do no more this evening. Matt, see that all these baskets and sacks are under cover tonight – we could have rain. Marion, I hope you’ve got some hearty supper for Peter, he’ll be in need of it too.’