“I’m to come with you and help carry,” the youth said. He was pale with fright at having to serve a wisewoman. Alinor was known on East Beach to be a mistress of unknown arts. The fishermen of East Beach had drunk with Zachary when he had boasted about his wife’s strange powers. And then Zachary was gone, and his ship was gone, for no reason, on a clear day, and one or two said that she had sent him down with his ship and her faerie lover had danced like St. Elmo’s fire, in the rigging.

“We’ll walk across the mire to St. Wilfrid’s and then to East Beach,” Alinor decided.

He gaped. “Through the waters?”

“It’s low tide. I know the paths.”

The boy gulped down his fear and followed in her footsteps as she closed the door on the malting floor, shouted an explanation to Ned, who was plaiting a new rope for the ferry on the pier, and headed along the bank to her own cottage to collect the herbs and oils that she would need, putting them in the bag that she always took for childbirth. Alinor walked ahead of the boy along the bank, down to the white shingle shore, and then deep into the harbor, following the hidden paths, hearing him pattering along behind her, sometimes splashing in the puddles left by the receding tide.

They cut the corner by the church, crossing through the churchyard, and went past the big iron gates of the Priory. Alinor, glancing down the drive, saw Rob and Walter riding up the broad sweep. She waved at them but did not check her stride, and was pleased when Rob clicked to his horse and rode up to catch her up.

“Ma!”

“God bless you, my son.”

“Are you called out?” he asked, recognizing her sack of goods and her determined march.

“Yes, to East Beach.”

“We can take you up,” he said at once. He looked at Walter. “Can’t we? We can take my mother and this lad to wherever they need to go?”

“Why not?” said Walter easily. “Here, Mrs. Reekie, will you come up with me?”

Alinor was reluctant to ride with Walter, but her son was already pulling up his horse and putting a hand down to the boy.

“I don’t know that I can get up there,” she said, looking at Walter’s hunter.

“I’ll come over to this wall here,” he said. “And if you will climb up to the top, then you can step on. He’s a good horse, he won’t shy.”

Alinor could not say that she did not want to jolt the child in her belly. “I’ve got my bag of physic. Is he steady?”

“I promise you he has smooth paces. You can come behind me and hold tight to me.”

Alinor clambered up and then balanced on the top of the knapped flint wall as Walter brought his horse alongside. She stepped into the dangling stirrup and swung a leg over, to ride astride behind him.

“All aboard?” Walter asked as Alinor gripped his waist, the precious sack of oils held tightly between them.

“Yes.”

“And now we can go onward,” he said, and put the horse into a gentle walk.

“Do you want to go faster?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Not too fast,” Alinor said nervously.

Walter put the horse into a smooth controlled canter. Alinor clung on as the big-boned hunter plowed up the lane, onto the track to Sealsea, and then turned a sharp left down a sandy stony path to the hamlet of East Beach.

“You can put me down here,” she said breathlessly. “The lad’ll guide me to the cottage.”

Walter pulled up his horse, jumped down, received her into his arms, and set her on her feet.

“Shall I come with you and see if you need me to fetch anything?” Rob offered.

“If Master Walter can spare you,” she said.

“Oh, we do nothing but amuse ourselves now,” Walter said. “Our tutor, Mr. Summer, has gone away and will come back to take me to Cambridge in the Lent term.”

“Gone?” Alinor asked with painful interest. “Is he not coming back before then?”

She realized that she was looking earnestly from one boy to another, that she was far too eager for the reply. Lent was dangerously late for her. She would be nearly six months pregnant by then.

“No,” Walter said lightly. “Not till February.”

“Are you all right, Ma?” Rob asked, looking at her pale face. “Are you ill again?”

“Oh, I have a touch of tertian fever,” she said carelessly. “But I’m well enough to care for a good woman in her time. Will you wait here, Rob, and I’ll send . . .”

“Jem,” he volunteered reluctantly as if he did not want this strange woman and these horsemen, who had appeared from nowhere, to know his name.

“I’ll send Jem back to you, if I need anything. If he doesn’t come within minutes you can go on with your ride.”

“Can we come out in your boat again?” Walter asked. “That was a merry day, wasn’t it?”

She felt her pale face flush warm at the memory. “It was a good day,” she said, keeping her voice level. “But we can’t go out now till the spring. The wind is up, and most days the harbor is too rough for me. And it’s cold. We’ll go again when it is sunny and calm.”

The two young men waited on their horses, as Jem guided Alinor through the narrow ways between the fishermen’s cottages. Each little home had a net shed attached, some had huts thrown up as sail lofts, some of them had lean-to hovels where a man might smoke his catch, or salt down fish in a barrel. Every now and then a straight track served as a rope walk, filled with cords snaking up and down, tied to a post at each end, being woven into three-strand or five-strand ropes. It was a jumble of dwellings. The houses were walled with driftwood and clay, the roofs a patchwork of old sails and nets thatched with dried bladder wrack. The smell of old rotting fish, the brine of the nets and the occasional foul breeze of a burning midden filled the air. Not even the wind from the sea could clear it. Jem led her to one of the better houses, set sideways to the sea, the waves sucking on the pebble beach below, with a little garden hedged with driftwood. It had a good slate roof and a chimney built of brick, and sturdy white-painted walls made from ship’s timbers and mortar.

“Goody Auster,” he said. “In there,” and pointed to the front door.

Alinor went in. The house had two downstairs rooms at the front, one for eating and all the household work, and the other one, divided from it by a wall of thick decking planks, was the bedroom. A lean-to room at the back was the scullery and a ladder led up to the upper story where other members of the family slept in the storeroom. Coming down the ladder was Mrs. Grace.

“You’re here very quick,” she said approvingly.

“My son brought me on his horse,” Alinor said. “He’s waiting to fetch anything extra that I need.”

“You’ll want to see her,” the older woman said, and opened the little door so that Alinor could go into the downstairs bedroom.

The young woman was leaning against the wall, her hands over her face, her big belly straining against her nightgown. She did not turn her head as Alinor came in, but she winced at the creak of the door. “I want Joshua,” she whispered.

“Here’s Mrs. Reekie come to help you in your time.”

“I want Joshua,” was all the young woman said. “Ma, I feel sick as a dog.”