The door was unlocked, as always. Prue breathed in: island plum pie – she’d not smelt that in perhaps two years, when Dad had traded a whole casket of apples for twenty island plums. Mum had been mad at him for the whole week, but he had said it was worth it. Prue looked around at the kitchen – all the familiar objects were in their place: iron pans on shelves, baskets on hooks, utensils in painted jars, and on the table, a sky-blue ceramic saltcellar and mustard pot beside a neat pile of napkins delicately embroidered with a small oak tree in the corner. Suddenly she heard a clatter, and Mr Haywood’s great smiling face appeared around the corner.

“Dad!” Prue dropped her bag and ran to embrace him. They broke their hug and looked at each other. She’d missed his warm grin, but it also brought Francis straight back to her.

“Well, look at you! You’ve grown!”

“Dad, I haven’t been gone that long.”

“Then you’re walking taller, eh?”

Prue glanced at the stove. “Is that island plum pie I smell?”

He winked. “I met a trader passing through North Owlcot this week – I paid a fair sovereign or two, but don’t tell your mother. I may have distorted the cost just a little, between you and me.” He tapped his nose. “Our secret.”

Prue noticed the note she’d left was still on the dresser, now pinned beneath a ceramic owl salt pot.

“Better call your mother. She’s up in the top field. I’ll go and put the cart away and see you in a minute.”

Prue went out of the back door and called. Mrs Haywood looked over then changed the mechanimal horse’s direction and began trotting down the hill. It looked so clunky and old-fashioned compared to the technology in Medlock. Prue’s mind raced with the improvements she could make, with all that she had learned at the Guild. Perhaps she could use synthetic muscles for greater power, and grapheme to make the joints stronger?

Mrs Haywood switched off the horse, and jumped from it, her blonde hair neatly tied up as ever and her light blue blouse without a crease. Prue smiled awkwardly and Mrs Haywood embraced her.

“I missed you,” Mrs Haywood said, taking a clip from her hair and pinning back one of Prue’s curls. “What were you thinking, disappearing like that?”

“Mum, please.”

Mrs Haywood held up her hands. “All right. I understand you’ve just got back, but things need to be said. In person.”

They walked inside, and Prue sat at the table while Mrs Haywood put the kettle on the stove. Dad was still outside putting the cart away.