Marion and Peterkin parted after crossing the bridge, Peterkin to go through the village sheepfold and then up into the hills, Marion to go up the path to the Hall. She met Dame Margaret by the Hall porch.

‘Eggs,’ she said. ‘Shall I take them down the yard?’

But Dame Margaret was sharp. ‘Only eight? Shouldn’t you bring a dozen?’

‘I just haven’t got a dozen at present. I thought you’d like to have these while they’re fresh. I’ll bring more tomorrow if they lay them.’

‘I’ll tell Rollo,’ said Dame Margaret, and Marion knew she would and that Rollo would remember every detail. ‘All right, take them down to Joan in the dairy,’ but before Marion could do so there was a sudden shouting and crying out and a wild-looking woman came limping up to the Hall door, her hair down her shoulders, a huge bleeding bruise on her nose, blood pouring from her mouth and tears oozing from the crevices of the swollen purple lid of one eye. Her cloak was half caught up round the infant she was carrying. It lay quiet in her arms while blood from the woman’s mouth dripped on to its head. She was howling and roaring for Dame Margaret.

‘Angels preserve us, Jill!’ Dame Margaret cried. ‘What’s happened?’

A desperate wail of incoherent complaint followed. He’d been drinking again, chased the children out into the dark, hit her, broken the corn pot, knocked her down, upset the cradle, poor baby on the floor, hit her repeatedly, she’d run out of the cottage but he had caught her and dragged her back – drunk he was, horribly drunk, worse than ever before – she’d pushed him on to the straw and he had banged his head on the post and lay quiet and she had escaped with the baby and wanted sanctuary at the Hall, and mercy, and justice, and sympathy, and protection … and all this told with shrieks and howls.

Dame Margaret took Jill in, and sat down with her on the edge of the dais, motioned Marion to sit too, and ordered Milly, who had stood there relishing the drama, to bring a pail of water and a cloth. Dame Margaret was, as Marion long knew, always good at such a crisis, calm and practical. She took the baby from Jill’s arms and gave it to Marion.

‘See what you can do, Marion,’ she said, taking the cloth and wiping Jill’s face. ‘Get out of the light, Milly, and pull the shutters back. I need all the light I can get. Then tell Tom to go and get Dobbin – better take Rollo too, Dobbin may still be mad drunk – and keep Loppy away.’

Jill was calming down under Dame Margaret’s ministrations. The pain of the bruises eased under the cold water, and with a broken tooth removed from her jaw, the flow of blood lessened and Dame Margaret wiped the old blood off her chin and neck. Meanwhile Marion had wiped the silent baby clear of its mother’s blood. It did not itself seem to have been wounded, but it seemed stunned. She slid her hand up into its tunic and found its heart beating. She turned the baby over and washed more blood off the other side of its head.