‘Do you believe that?’ asks Lisbet, because something in Agnethe’s tone suggests insincerity, even humour.

‘I must believe it, or it was seven years for naught.’

They fall back to their silence until the cage is out of sight over the hill behind them.

‘It was a shock, to see how the skep yard has grown,’ says Agnethe. ‘Henne did well, to marry you.’

Lisbet flushes with pleasure. ‘I enjoy my duties.’

Agnethe gives her a sideways glance, and Lisbet flushes harder at her misunderstanding. ‘With the bees.’

Agnethe lets out a hoot of laughter, an unguarded sound. ‘How did you meet?’

‘A dance,’ says Lisbet. She has not had cause to recount their meeting since Ida asked many years ago. She is surprised to find the memory unfaded, full colour in her mind. ‘Near my father’s fields. Henne was in town to trade.’

‘Which town?’

‘Eninsheim.’

‘Of the comet?’

Lisbet’s throat tightens. ‘Yes.’

Agnethe doesn’t press. ‘I hope he is a good husband to you.’

‘He is.’ Lisbet answers without consideration, and in the ensuing silence she thinks again, thinks deeper. Next to Plater, Henne seems a saint. But he has grown so cold to her, careless of her feelings. He does not hide that he thought her, with her broad hips and field-fed complexion, a good carrier. He does not hide that he is dismayed to be wrong.

They pass the Metz mill and reach the forest road. The shadows slide over them, and in the dimness Agnethe seems to find courage. ‘What have they said about me?’

‘Nothing,’ says Lisbet, startled. ‘You mean Sophey, Henne?’

‘All of them,’ says Agnethe, her light tone failing to belie her urgency. ‘What have they told you?’

‘That you have been at the abbey at Mont Sainte-Odile.’

‘Did they tell you why I was sent there?’

‘No,’ says Lisbet truthfully. ‘They spoke of you hardly at all.’

As soon as the words are out she wishes she could reel them back in, but it is too late. Agnethe lets out a small exhale.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s all right,’ she says.

‘They missed you.’

‘You are not a skilled liar,’ says Agnethe gently. ‘And nor should you be. It’s all right,’ she says, glancing again at Lisbet’s stricken face. ‘I expected as much.’

‘Ida sometimes spoke of you,’ says Lisbet, but it has the opposite effect to what she’d hoped.

‘She should not,’ says Agnethe sharply. ‘I doubt her husband tolerates talk of sinners.’

‘I don’t think her husband tolerates much at all.’

Agnethe snorts. ‘I think you are right.’

There follows another silence. It feels to Lisbet that she skirts a chasm, a darkness that draws her nauseatingly closer. To fall in would be fatal, and irresistible. The question is formed fully in her mind, but again it is Agnethe who breaks the quiet.

‘And what of you, sister?’

‘Me?’

Agnethe nods at her belly. ‘Has it been a safe carrying?’

Lisbet feels her throat close. ‘Thus far.’

‘I pray for a safe birth, too,’ says Agnethe. ‘Though I doubt you need my prayers. You look strong. I am sure you will be a good mother.’