‘It makes a loud noise,’ said the butcher. ‘She is to have this dress. I will pay well for it, pay your fancy price.’ He put up his collar and left, closing the yard gate behind him.

‘Did you know about this?’ said Flora, turning to her brother.

The blacksmith nodded. ‘The whole village knows. When the shepherd didn’t return, Edith lost the power of speech and her hair went white overnight. Everyone says the butcher is bewitched and that the wedding dress is Edith’s doing.’

‘You should have told me. Do you know what happened to the shepherd?’

Her brother sighed. ‘I went up the mountain with Misha.’

‘The butcher’s grandson?’ said Flora.

‘He’s been helping me.’

‘I thought he was a fool,’ said Flora. ‘Are you sure it’s wise?’

‘He’s a good worker. No one takes the time to listen to him. But if you don’t fluster him, shout at him or raise your fist, he works hard.’

‘And no doubt rushes back and tells his grandfather all that goes on here.’

‘No,’ said the blacksmith. ‘He loves Edith and because she wants to know what happened to the shepherd, Misha searches the mountain in hope of finding him. He tells me he’s listening for his violin. It was Misha who found the remains of the shepherd’s dog and several of the sheep. They’d strayed far too high. We rounded up the rest of the flock and took them down to the farmer. There was no sign of the shepherd. The farmer told us that Demetrius would never have abandoned his animals.’

‘This is wrong.’

‘I know. But what can we do? We thought it best not to tell anyone. Edith hasn’t said a word since the snow came. She listens but she doesn’t speak.’

‘She can’t marry the butcher,’ said Flora. ‘He’s as old as her father. And a brute.’

‘We can’t stop it,’ said her brother. ‘I’m one of the few men round here who doesn’t owe the butcher – thanks to you. What he wants, he gets. And Flora, you must be careful when you go to confession. The priest isn’t to be trusted – he and the butcher are as thick as thieves.’

She nodded. ‘And what about the wedding gown? What do I do?’

‘I don’t know.’

Chapter Ten

The Angel of the House

Edith sat in the neat kitchen with its large scrubbed table, bread baking in the oven. She stared at the blue jug that her grandmother would leave out every evening filled with water. She would say it was for the angel of the house. Often as a child, Edith had woken at night certain that she saw the angel, tall and growing taller, casting a shadow over her bed.

Her grandmother had taken these dreams seriously.