Alinor bobbed a curtsey to Walter. “How are you, sir?” she asked him. “You look a deal better than in the spring.”

“I’m well,” he said. “Father says I’m as strong as a bullock.”

Alinor made a little curtsey to Father James, but he stepped forward and took her hand and bowed over it as if she were an equal. “I am pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard much of you from your son, and I have admired your work in the Priory stillroom.”

“Oh, it’s very neglected,” Alinor said. “We’ve done very little there since Lady Peachey’s death.” She glanced towards Walter as she mentioned the death of his mother, but he and Rob were already heading down the little pier to where the skiff was bobbing on the deep water of the channel, nudging the rotting stanchions of wood as the tide pushed it inward.

“Have you been out in the boat? Did you find the courage?” Father James asked her quietly.

“My brother took me the first time. I’d not been on the water since Zachary went missing.”

“Your husband?”

“I used to row for him when he was lobster potting.”

“And do you think you will manage it alone?”

“I can,” she said, swallowing her fear so that her voice was steady. “As long as the water’s not too deep, or the tide running too fast.”

He nearly laughed at her determined expression. “Ah, Mrs. Reekie, even I can see you’re not a natural waterwoman.”

“I’m not.” She smiled back at him. “But I know I can take the boat out with a line and troll for mackerel, and I can use a net, and I can row to the islands where the gulls nest, and take the eggs, so already I’m set to make a better living than before. I have to be brave. This is a great chance for me, for my children. I’ll never go out of the harbor, I’ll never put out to sea, but this is our trade. Everyone on this island is a fisherman. I have to do it too! And if I were to be so lucky as to catch a salmon and sell it to Sir William—well, then I would have paid for the boat with one day’s work.”

“I thought that you bought the boat with the money from one day’s work?” he teased her.

At once her eyes danced. “That was a very fat fish,” she said mischievously, and made him laugh.

They were at the step up to the pier and, without thinking, he put his hand under her arm to help her, as if she were a lady and he were courting her. She felt the warmth of his hand on her arm and she did not draw away but they both looked studiously at their feet until she had stepped up and he released his grip.

“The lines are in the boat,” she told the boys. “And the bait.”

Rob stepped easily from the rickety pier into the boat, and then held it for Walter, as it rocked against the pier. James hesitated and looked at Alinor. “Will you get in next?” he asked her, offering her his hand.

She sat down on the timbers of the pier so that she could lower herself into the boat without assistance, settling herself on the central seat. James untied the rope, stepped down into the boat, and seated himself beside Alinor, taking one of the oars. “Shall we row together as the boys fish?” he suggested.

She agreed and turned her face away from him, but he could see her color rising as they were shoulder to shoulder, moving together, each placing the oar and heaving gently, moving in rhythm as the boat eased away from the land and into the channel. The water inside the harbor was calm, though they could hear the seethe of the hushing well in the center of the deep waters. The tide was flowing in, the current moving fast, but they rowed easily out into midchannel and then held the boat still, as the boys baited their hooks with earthworms and dropped them over the side.

“Disgusting!” Walter exclaimed delightedly. “Where d’you get worms from?”

“I dug them for you.” Alinor smiled at him. “And if you want to catch fish again, you can dig your own. However disgusting.”

The little boat bobbed as the tide pushed it inland, and Alinor and James held it steady. “Is that the ferry-house?” James asked her, nodding to the low cottage at the far end of the harbor.

“Yes, my family home, where my brother lives now as ferryman. There’s the pier before it, and the ferry is moored on the other side. And see? Just across the rife, on the mainland, that’s the granary store on the quay, and the tide mill and the miller’s house.”

“Will he be milling today?”

“No, he mills when the tide goes out. The tide comes in and fills up the millpond and when it ebbs he opens the sluice, the water pours into the millrace, and turns the wheel. He was milling on the afternoon ebb. I was in their dairy today, churning butter. Alys, my daughter, is there every day, she works in the house, and mill, and farm.”

“I’ve got a bite!” Rob said suddenly. He pulled up his line and there was a writhing shiny-scaled mackerel. Confidently, he unhooked it and dropped it into the woven reed basket in the bottom of the boat.

“Is that what they look like?” Walter demanded, peering in. “I’ve only ever seen them cooked.”

“There’s bound to be more,” Alinor assured him. “They travel together, like scoundrels. Bob your line up and down, Master Walter.”

James watched her as she feathered her oar to keep the boat steady, copying her, so the push of the inflowing water did not force them into the deep channel that ran towards the ferry-house.

“Now you can see my brother’s ferry,” she said, nodding towards the channel before them and the big raft moored before the ferry-house. “And farther up the channel, inland, is the wadeway. It’s underwater now so you can only see the cobbled bank that runs down to it.”

He saw the swirl and rush as the river flowing out past the ferry-house met the incoming sea.

“Is it very deep?”

“It rises more than six feet, and it’s fast. Everyone can cross at the lowest point, and people drive or ride. But everyone takes the ferry at high tide, or goes all the way round inland. You have to take the horses from the traces and take them across on the ferry and then take the coach across separately, so it’s a lot of work.”

“I’m surprised his lordship does not build a bridge.”

She shook her head and a lock of golden hair fell from the modest cap. “There’s no good ground for building,” she said. “It’s all sand till you get to the tide mill quay. And the mire moves in every storm. The wadeway gets washed away every spring tide, or in the winter storms. Master Walter’s father spends all his time rebuilding it, doesn’t he, sir? We’d never keep a bridge up. It’s all sand and silt.”

“So your brother is the gatekeeper to the entrance to the island?” James remarked. “Like a porter on a drawbridge to a castle.”

She smiled. “Yes. And our father before him, and his father before him.”

“Since when?”

“Since the Flood, I suppose,” she said irreverently, and then exclaimed: “Oh! Excuse me . . .”

“You don’t offend me,” he laughed. “I’m honored to be rowed by a daughter of Noah.”

“I think I’ve got one!” Walter exclaimed. “Like a pull?”