“It was the young lord’s tutor that was taken ill,” Alinor said. “Him that was at harvest home, Mr. Summer.”

Neither women referred to the jealous glance that Mrs. Miller had shot down the table at the beautiful younger woman, nor how the young lord’s tutor had gone to speak to Alinor as soon as the table was cleared, and she had stormed away from the harvest home, leaving Alys unsupervised, to dance all night with Richard Stoney.

“Is he sick?” Mrs. Miller asked. “Did he take sick in Newport? I wouldn’t be surprised. The island’s always feverish in summer.”

“Yes, he took a fever,” Alinor said. “Very sudden, very hot, but he’s better now.”

“You nursed him?”

“Sir William insisted. He sent for me at once, to make sure that it was not plague.”

“God save us!”

“Amen.”

“And it was not?”

“No. I wouldn’t be here if there was any danger. I wouldn’t bring sickness to your door, Mrs. Miller.”

“Don’t speak of it,” she said quickly, and knocked on the wooden table, as if Alinor could bring disease by naming it.

Alinor knocked too, a counterpoint to the rhythm of superstition. “No, of course not. I only came in to see if you wanted any of your garden herbs picked and distilled. I’m going to do a batch for myself, and some at Ferry-house. And to ask if Alys might have a day off tomorrow.”

“I could do with some basil oil and oil of comfrey,” Mrs. Miller said. “Of course Alys can have the day off. I don’t have enough work to keep her busy as it is. She’s always dawdling in the yard and talking with the men. I have to tell you, Mrs. Reekie, she’s running after that Richard Stoney every hour of the day.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Alinor resisted the temptation to defend her daughter. “I’ll speak with her. But I know she’s learning so much from you. In the dairy and bakery.”

“Well, of course, I can do more in a big kitchen than you can in your little cottage.” Mrs. Miller warmed to the flattery. “I daresay my kitchen is twice the size of even Ferry-house. Are you two going to Chichester market?”

“Yes. Can I buy anything for you?”

“Nothing, nothing. I can’t afford to waste my money on fripperies. But if you see a piece of lace, just enough to trim a collar and an apron, not too rich, not too fancy—you know the sort of thing I like—you can buy it for me, if it’s not too dear. And a piece for Jane, too. I can put it in her dowry drawer.”

“I will,” Alinor promised. “If I see anything pretty.”

“I’ll give you the money,” Mrs. Miller said. “You can bring it back, if there’s nothing nice.”

“Oh, I’ll take my own money, and you can just repay me, if I find anything.”

“No, it’d be too dear for you,” the older woman said smugly. “I’ll want something worth at least three shillings, and I know you won’t have that. Turn your back and I’ll get out my purse.”