It’s her belly that’s brought Tilly Howe to bed, something painful that comes in waves. A woman of an age with Tilly, perhaps forty years, sits nearby. ‘Tilly, to think, you were right as rain not one day ago.’

‘Oh, Meg,’ Tilly says to the friend, ‘I never felt the like. You must send word to my father. He’s only a day’s walk away.’

‘Let me call the Queen’s physician,’ Meg offers. That must be the Willow Tree.

‘He’s a conjuror,’ spits Tilly.

‘He’s not your father,’ Meg says. ‘But he’s learned.’

‘A sham, the belly knows,’ Tilly mutters. The belly knows. My mother would say that sometimes. It’s for when you know something deep, deep in your guts, even if reason says it’s wrong.

‘The Queen sent lemon balm,’ Meg says, I think to cheer Tilly.

Tilly smiles a small smile. Then a wave of pain comes, and it’s almost like a fit the way Tilly’s body seizes. Her breath quickens, ‘Has the . . . has she come?’

Meg looks my way. ‘Yes, she’s here.’

Tilly looks over, and her head jerks back. ‘Not her! The Queen. I had hoped she might . . .’ Tilly braces for another wave. When it passes, her face’s gone slack, like a sheet dunked in water. ‘Is it time for the sin eater, then?’

Meg says nothing.

‘Don’t leave my side.’

‘Won’t never, Tilly. Won’t never.’

I bring a stool to Tilly’s bed. Meg clutches her hand. ‘Think, you’ll soon join the Maker.’

‘I don’t know, Meg,’ Tilly pinches the bedsheet. ‘I’ve my sins.’ Tears well up in Tilly’s eyes, and another painful wave shakes them loose.

‘You helped bring enough souls into this world to balance whatever sins you carry,’ Meg clucks. Tilly nods, and then there’s silence.

‘The Unseen is now seen. The Unheard is now heard,’ I begin. ‘The sins of your flesh become the sins of mine to be borne to my grave in silence. Speak.’

Tilly turns her head. ‘Well, what have we got?’ Now that she can look at me, she assays me good and proper. ‘Just a young thing. What are you, fourteen? Of an age with the Queen when I first met her, oh, what a time!’ she says. Another wave of pain takes hold, and she waits for it to pass before sinking back into her memories. ‘My da worked for the Queen’s stepmother Katryna. He was her physician, my da. Katryna wasn’t queen any more by that point, of course. Katryna wasn’t royal blood, so when the old king died, the crown went to his daughter Maris. Bethany was just a girl, living in Katryna’s household.