‘Oh, you haven’t?’ Molly went on. ‘’Spect that bitch of theirs with her pups scared you away. All the more likely, Marion, she’s been rooting through – ’

Marion did not wait to hear more but she and Peter went quickly over the mound to their cottage. Tibtab was asleep on the log under the eaves and slowly stretched himself as they came. Several hens were having a dust bath nearby. The cottage door was still closed. Marion opened the upper half. All seemed peaceful inside.

‘I don’t think she’s been here,’ she told Peter. ‘I’ll just check the eggs.’ She went into the goat shed and felt along the straw in the laying nests. She counted eight eggs and went for a basket to collect them.

‘I’ll talk to Jack when I see him,’ Peter said, putting Alice down, ‘but what really can be done? That’s a nice basket of eggs. Will you give some to Molly and the old girls for their supper?’

‘I’ll take them some now,’ said Marion, though she had not thought of so doing. ‘After their loss it will be a bit of something.’

‘Do you think Molly does give the Plowright brats some food, like she said?’ he asked.

‘I’ve often seen her give them bits – and I have too – only two days ago, half a loaf and a drink of milk each. I’d more milk than I had buckets for – I could do with a new bucket when you have time. It’s only that slut I don’t want to help.’

‘She’s not really right in her mind,’ said Peter. ‘Probably hasn’t got a mind at all. I’ll talk to Jack, but what can he do? She’d be just as bad again if he beat her. He shouldn’t have married her. Everyone knew she wasn’t up to much and she’s only got worse over all those children. He’d have done better to marry Molly, she’s no worse looking than Small Sarah was, and a lot more sensible.’

He sighed heavily and rubbed his beard with his hand. ‘It’s cooling down now,’ he said, looking at the sky. ‘I’ll do a bit of digging down the garden. If Peterkin comes back send him down to help me.’

Marion turned indoors and took Alice with her. She gave the child a drink of milk and put her into the cradle. As she did so she saw that Alice’s feet were up against the end board even when her head was touching the top board. ‘She may have to sleep in the bed with the rest of us by next winter, she thought. Alice’s protests at being put to bed were ritual but brief, for as Marion guessed, the child was tired.

‘Want rocking,’ said Alice. Marion sat on the edge of the bed with one foot on the cradle’s rocker and pressed it rhythmically.

‘Sing ‘bout the rabbit,’ said Alice, so Marion began in the vaguely intoned sing-song considered appropriate to babies: