“With child?” Mr. Miller asked, disbelievingly. “Alinor Reekie?”

Everyone was stunned into silence and stillness. Alinor turned to face shocked and hostile gazes. Rob was looking at his mother in complete bewilderment. “What? Ma?”

“Whose child?” Mrs. Miller demanded, her voice sharp with renewed fear. “That’s what I want to know? Who’s the father? What’s the father? What has she done now?”

In the frightened silence, they heard Sir William ride into the yard and the clatter as he dismounted and came to the kitchen door.

He took in the scene in one swift glance: Alinor held between her brother and James Summer, her cap off, her hair falling down, her apron torn, and her rounded belly straining against her gown. Nobody said anything.

“Mr. Summer,” said his lordship icily. “Come out here, and tell me what the devil is going on.”

Everyone spoke at once, but Sir William threw up a hand to silence them. “Mr. Summer, if you please.”

James threw one anguished look at Alinor, released her, and went out, the crowd silently parting to let him go. Ned stood between his sister and their neighbors but now there was no need to protect her; nobody wanted to touch her. Nobody moved, or even spoke. They were all straining their ears to hear the low-voiced conversation between the two men on the threshold, and then the snap of Sir William’s fingers summoning the miller’s lad, and the clip-clop of Sir William’s horse being led away to a stable. Alinor fixed her gaze on the floor. Long moments passed, an unseasonal bee buzzed against the parlor window. Alinor, distracted by the noise, turned her head and made a little gesture as if she would release it.

“Leave it,” Ned ordered tersely.

Sir William appeared in the doorway. “Good people, don’t crush yourselves, now. No need to be all squashed in here. You’d better all come out into the yard,” he said generally.

Everyone jostled out into the harsh winter sunshine of the yard. The tide was on the ebb and seagulls were crying over the mire. The millpond gates were bumping closed, pushed together by the deep water in the millpond. There was a trickle of water, overflowing the top of the gates.

“Mrs. Reekie, these good women will have to examine you, you know that,” Sir William ruled.

Alinor bowed her head to her landlord.

“Mrs. Wheatley, would you choose three women to take Mrs. Reekie into the house privately, and examine her closely for witch’s marks, ask her to name the father of her child, and when she expects to be confined.”

Mrs. Wheatley, her lips compressed, looked around the crowd of neighbors, old friends, and some old enemies. Mrs. Stoney flinched back against their wagon. Blandly, Mrs. Wheatley ignored her. “Mrs. Jaden, Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Huntley,” she said, naming her cousin, her friend, and a woman who worked as a midwife in the south of the island. Sir William waved them towards the house, and the four women went back inside with Alinor walking slowly between them.