Eventually, after a few attempts, I sewed Mrs Baxter’s new lace trim onto her best cape. It took a long while, for I would go to bed exhausted each night – a new exhaustion that threatened to sink me to the floor. The baby whirred and buzzed inside me, on and off, but I felt no great love or bond, only fear. My stomach grew and I was sure I would be found out any day. I counted the days and months, back and forth, and calculated that I must leave Kelso by the end of July or the beginning of August, for I would be due to give birth around the second or third week of September.

My sewing was as haphazard as my thoughts. Mrs Baxter did not like the way the cape sat on her shoulders when she tried it on. It was a Saturday morning and she was keen to look her best at kirk the following day, as she and Mr Baxter were hosting a Sunday lunch. The parlour was to be closed to anyone but those invited. The guest list included the minister and his wife and some of the finer folks of Kelso. The Baxters were always keen to show everyone that the River Inn was a place of good repute. We were in my room.

‘Unpick this lace,’ she said, scowling at herself in my looking glass. ‘It’s too frilly. I can’t go to kirk like this.’ Then, alas, she spied my rouge pot. ‘What whoreish ointment is this?’ she cried. She towered over me, grasping my face and looking for traces of whoreish ointment. Mercifully there were none, as I had not been out that day.

‘It’s not mine, it was left by Mrs Rose,’ I replied truthfully.

‘Have you ever entertained a patron in this room?’ she demanded, looking about her as if there might be more traces of whoreishness.

‘Never,’ I declared. ‘And I never will, Mrs Baxter. For my ma always said men bring nothing but trouble.’

She gave a tight little nod of her head and ran her eyes up and down the length of me. I clenched everything, hoping she would not notice the swelling around my middle. Her eyes lingered there, but she said nothing.

‘Men do bring trouble,’ she went on. ‘But only if you let them. Practise your psalms. You will find all the teachings there that you need. And unpick that lace.’

Kirk was dull and I knew all the psalms. Fisher folk are God-fearing folk. There is not much that will put the fear of death into you more than watching a tide swell under a black sky, waiting for your menfolk to come home safe. So there are not many psalms I’m unfamiliar with, and Mrs Baxter seemed appeased by that.