‘It’s the bridge steps that stop them,’ Marion said. ‘Peter and Martin would have brought them.’

The old man only half raised his eyes from his honey-bread – the nuts were too hard but he licked the honey happily. The glance showed him Alice’s face peeping out from the cloak round Marion’s shoulders.

‘Ah, my little Allikin, my fat little Allikin, come and sit on Grandpa’s knee.’ Alice hid her face in Marion’s cloak again.

‘She’s a bit shy still, Father,’ said Marion. ‘She’ll remember you soon. Alice, sit up and say Happy Christmas to Grandpa.’

Alice shook her head without raising it.

‘Come and sit on Grandpa’s knee and have some honey-bread.’

Alice dug a podgy elbow in Marion’s breast to lever herself up, and stared at Grandpa who held out a bit of honey-bread. She took it daintily in fingertip and thumb, then a slow smile swelled her cheeks.

‘More,’ said Alice, holding out her hand and the old man laughed with delight.

‘Not such a big bit, Father, she’ll choke.’

‘No, no, she’s all right,’ and he guffawed again, showing his pink gums in which were set a few stumps of teeth like broken wellheads filled with black poison. His breath came sour and bitter over them. ‘Come and sit on Grandpa’s knee,’ he repeated, but though Marion put Alice down on his lap very gently, the child’s weight caused him much pain and he became subdued and Alice gladly returned to Marion’s embrace.

An extra loud sizzling over the fire was heard, and a flame danced up from one of the legs of veal, and by its brief light Marion saw Molly approach her. She spoke in low confidential tones.

‘The Plowrights have come.’

‘Well, I thought they would. They never miss a feast.’

‘How many children have they?’ Molly’s voice was conspiratorial.

‘Five, I think, including the youngest – and he must be over two now. The littlest died just before last Christmas.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Molly went on, ‘but there’s only four here and that’s counting the baby.’

‘Perhaps one of them is ill,’ said Marion.

‘I asked Small Sarah, but of course I only got the usual gobbledy noise, but she looked troubled – something to hide.’

Marion could not be bothered with this searching for trouble.

‘Why not ask Jack? He must know how many children he’s got.’

‘I did,’ Molly was triumphant, ‘and he says, “Four, as you well know. Why do you ask?” and he points to the four standing around, all close and silent like always.’

‘Well – that’s that,’ said Marion.

‘I know they had five, boys or girls I don’t know, but five there were. If one was sick at home he could have said, so what I want to know is, where is the lost one? Is it dead and they never told anyone?’

Marion thought it quite likely. One miserable little starved life, flicked out some cold winter’s night, and neither parent doing the right thing like getting Father John and having a proper burial. Probably they felt ashamed and hid the body in the midden.