They fired up the baking oven for those villagers who would bring their bread or homemade dinners to use the big oven at sunset, and Alys kneaded dough for their own breadmaking. They worked all day until the sun started to sink over the western mire and Alinor said with relief, “Time to go home.”

“Not without our wages,” Alys said. “I need them for tomorrow.”

“Alys, how much of your dowry do you have, exactly? Because we can’t be short tomorrow. They won’t call it off for the want of a shilling, but we don’t want to look like we’re robbing them on the church doorstep on the very day of your wedding.”

“Richard will give me whatever is missing. But I’d like to do as much as I can. I want my wages for today, since we’ve worked so hard. And Richard will give me his.”

Alinor was about to reply when they heard a shout from the gate and the rumble of wheels. Alys ran to open it and then she called to her mother: “Look who they’ve brought from Chichester!”

For a moment Alinor’s head bobbed up in the certainty that it was James Summer, come to claim her before them all. “Who?”

“It’s Rob!”

Alinor hurried out to the gate. “Oh, Rob! Oh, Rob!”

“Now then,” said Mr. Miller kindly. “You would think he’d been gone to Afric and back. He’s only been away a week.”

“But I didn’t think he’d come till tomorrow morning for his sister’s wedding!” Alinor exclaimed. “How are you, son? How was your first week?”

Rob, smartly dressed and grinning, bounded down from the mill wagon and hugged his mother, ducked down for her blessing, and kissed his sister. “Mrs. Miller came into the shop and bought some ratsbane, asked them if she could give me a lift home, and they were happy to let me go early,” he said. “I’m to be back at work Monday morning at eight o’clock, so I can stay for the wedding and overnight.”

“How kind of you.” Alinor turned to Mrs. Miller, her face glowing with happiness. “Neighborly indeed. I thank you.”

“Ah well,” the other woman said with unusual generosity. “He’s a fine young man and a credit to you. Is all well here?”

“Oh, yes,” Alinor said. “And we made a meat pie for your dinner. I didn’t know what you would get at market.”

“He dined well enough.” Mrs. Miller nodded towards her husband, whose red face and merry smile indicated a long stay in the market tavern while his wife and children were selling their cheeses, butter, and eggs. “But we shall be glad of something to eat.”

“I shall be glad of one of Mrs. Reekie’s pies,” Mr. Miller said cheerfully. “Nobody makes a meat pie like Mrs. Reekie.”

Alinor shook her head deprecatingly as Mrs. Miller surged past her into the kitchen. Alys and Alinor took the horse from the wagon, led him into the stable, hung up his heavy collar and bridle on the hook while Richard and the lad pushed the wagon into its place and unloaded the goods. Mrs. Miller had bought sacks of wool in the wagon for spinning, a new milking stool, some wooden bowls, and two feather pillows.