“Ah, God keep her,” Alinor whispered, high above her in the gallery. “To shame her so!”

“Isabel Whiting, you are brought before your neighbors and this congregation to expunge your disgrace. Do you repent?”

“I do,” she said, her voice very low.

“Do you swear to be neither lustful nor violent in future?”

“I do.”

“And obey God, and your husband, who was set by God Himself above you to be your master and guide?”

Almost, they heard her sigh at the weary drudgery that he would exact. “I do.”

“Then you must stand here, inside the church till sunset, when the church wardens will come to release you. Stand barefoot and shamed, as your candle burns down, while anyone may come to reproach you, but you may not reply or speak any word. Look into your heart, sister, and do not offend God or your neighbors again.”

The minister turned to the congregation, spread his arms, and gabbled the bidding prayer. The woman stood before him, facing the neighbors who had denounced her, her face set and bitter, the light trembling in her hand, while somewhere in the church her husband, who had beaten her, and the man who had taken her behind the hedge shuffled their feet and waited for when they might leave.

After church Sir William paused in the churchyard as his tenants came up and bowed or curtseyed. Alinor and Alys followed Ned to pay their respects and Sir William waved Rob to step aside to kneel for his mother’s blessing and rise up for her kiss on his forehead. Alinor was pale and distracted, thinking of the woman, named as an adulteress left to do penance barefoot in the church behind them, wearing only her shift, holding her candle in a shaking hand. Alinor was well aware of the power of the Millers and the community when they moved as one, and she knew that they moved as the mood took them, against whoever they despised, and a woman could not speak for herself.

“We’re going to go sailing!” Rob announced to his mother. “Across the sea.”

She could not stop herself looking towards James, but she turned her eyes quickly on the steward, Mr. Tudeley.

“Sailing?”

“Mr. Summer is taking the boys for a visit to the island next week,” he announced. “Sailing to the Isle of Wight.”

“Oh.” Alinor turned back to her son, who was bobbing with excitement.

“We’re going first to Newport,” Rob exulted. “We’ll stay the night. Maybe two nights.”

“But why?” Alinor asked. “What for?”

“Geography,” Rob said grandly. “And mapmaking. Mr. Summer says we might even see the king! Wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Sir William knows him, but Walter has never been presented. We can’t speak to him, of course. But we might see him in the streets. Mr. Summer says that he walks out.”

“I thought he was at the castle at Carisbrooke,” Alinor remarked, fixing her gaze on her son’s bright face and looking neither at her brother nor at James Summer, knowing that both of them were listening intently. “I thought he was imprisoned.”