“Visiting who?” the wife asked curiously.

“Stoney Farm,” Alinor replied.

“Aha!” The goodwife was thrilled at finally extracting a nugget of gossip. “I saw the two of them dancing at harvest home. They made a lovely pair. Am I to listen for the banns?”

“Yes,” Alinor conceded. “Yes. Alys and Richard are to be married.”

“In our church at Birdham?”

“Ours. St. Wilfrid’s.”

“Well, what a catch for you!” she said with unintentional rudeness. “The Stoney boy! And that beautiful farm. Just as well she inherits your looks, as you’ve got nothing else to offer.”

“I think they’ll be very happy,” Alinor said repressively. “It’s a love match.”

“Best sort,” the man said.

“I daresay Mrs. Stoney’s not too pleased. She’s had a rich match in mind for her boy from the day he was born.”

“She was very welcoming,” Alinor said, praying that Alys, in the back among the sheep fleeces, could hear none of this. “We’re all very happy.”

They got to Chichester within the hour and jumped down from the wagon with thanks.

“Ridiculous old woman!” Alys said, smiling and waving as the wagon rumbled away from them on the cobbles. “And now I stink of sheep.”

“Hush,” Alinor said.

Alys laughed. “Who cares what she thinks? Shall we buy lace first?”

“No, first I’ll sell my oils.”

Alinor led the way to a stall specializing in dried herbs, crystal stones, oils, ointments, and charms. She knew the stallholder well and he greeted her with a leering smile. “Ah, Mrs. Reekie, I was hoping to see you today. Have you brought me something good?”

“A dozen bottles of mixed oils,” Alinor said.

She put her basket on the stall and looked at his stock while he lifted out each bottle and read the handwritten label. “Very good, very good. I didn’t know that you had wolfsbane? You’ve never brought me any before.”

“I found some growing wild,” Alinor said. “And I thought I’d make some oil. It’s a useful physic, but I doubt that there’s much call for preventing wolves on Tidelands!”

“It’s a very potent poison,” he remarked. “Strange to see a wisewoman selling poison in the broad light of day!”

“It’s a cure for fever too. One drop in a big beaker of ale is a mild treatment against fever. And you can use it on a scorpion bite.”

“We don’t suffer from many scorpions in Chichester,” the man said sarcastically.

Alinor shrugged. “I’ll take it back home if you don’t want it. I can use it for treating fevers.”

“No, no, I’ll buy it. It’s good to have it in stock, even if there is little call for it. What shall I give you for the water of aconite and the other oils?”

“Six shillings,” Alinor said boldly.

“Now, now, I have to pay rent on my shop, and a servant to keep the shop. I can’t spare that. But I will give you four shillings for them all.”