The Sin Eater goes to the bed and looks the man over. He’s got a velvet dressing gown and cap. Velvet, heavy as it is, is one of the hardest to wash. Was. I guess I’m not a washerwoman any more.

The maid fetches a stool, placing it near the Sin Eater, and then ducks away with the goodwife, closing the door behind them. It clicks like there’s a lock on it. I don’t know why you’d need a lock on a bedchamber.

‘The Unseen is now seen.’ After her muteness it’s uncanny to hear the Sin Eater’s voice. It’s rough and low, like you’d expect from her looks. With a start I see a sliver of black in her mouth. Her S brand, like a snake in the mouth. Like mine. She goes on. ‘The Unheard is now heard. The sins of your flesh become the sins of mine to be borne to my grave in silence. Speak.’

The man breathes very shallowly. He struggles side to side as if speaking hurts him. A word passes his lips. Nothing I can grasp, but she nods along.

‘Lying for gain or for protection?’

He says another half word.

‘Mmm, mustard seed,’ she answers.

His speaking gets better. I start to hear more. Placing wealth before faith. Disobeying his da. Pride in his wealth.

‘Lamb shank, pickled herring, pigeon’s egg,’ the Sin Eater lists off the foods she will eat for those sins. I recognize some, but not the wealth ones. They’re very particular and not the kinds of sins poor folk like me have the chance to fret much over.

Then the man gets quiet. I wonder if he’s died. Then there’s a small squeak. ‘Barrenness,’ he whispers. ‘I blamed my wife. I turned from her. I sought a lady. A . . . ’ He doesn’t want to say the word. Mayhap ashamed.

‘One who was not your wife,’ the Sin Eater helps him. He’s done adultery. I don’t think she should make it easier.

‘For years,’ he goes on. ‘But she, too, never conceived. I had blamed my wife. It drove me from her bed. But I fear . . . I fear all that time it was me.’ He’s talking quicker now.

‘Barrenness is not a sin,’ she tells him. ‘But holding a grudge and faithlessness, yes. Oat porridge and dried raisins.’

He lies back, looking smaller than he did before.

‘Last words for she who will take your sins?’

‘I have no heir,’ he says like it follows on her question. ‘I have a cousin who will gladly inherit. But no heir of my body. I would even claim a bastard had I one to claim.’

Folk’ll do all sorts of things for an heir, I think.

There’s a long silence that comes up between him and us.