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  ‘Good. I’ll gut them for you. We can eat the bream tonight and put the perch in the salt barrel.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Bess has taken Agnes for a walk. I asked them to bring back some wild thyme if they can find it. I want to burn some bunches in the hut to sweeten the air. Perhaps it will help Sarah’s cough.’

  ‘Is she sleeping?’

  His troubled expression, caused Meg a pang of sorrow. She wished she could comfort him but they both knew Sarah was rapidly worsening.

  At harvest time, they had left the woods and found work helping a local farmer bring in his crops. The money they earned had paid for necessities they could not make or catch themselves – cloth, thread, needles, yeast and salt – but Sarah had been too weak to come with them. Bitterly, Meg often regretted she had not profited more from her mother’s knowledge of herbs and how they could be used to make healing poultices and infusions. If only she had done, she might have been able to lessen Sarah’s suffering, but it was too late now. Every day, she grew frailer.

  With a sniff, Andrew scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ll go and check my traps,’ he said.

  Sadly, Meg watched him disappear into the trees. She tossed the jointed rabbit into the pot and wiped the knife before making a slit along one side of the perch and scraping out its guts. For Andrew’s sake, she had tried to seem cheerful. No doubt he did the same for her, but underneath it, they both knew a long winter loomed ahead. With a shiver, Meg wondered what was in store for them all.

  *

  December came and the nights grew colder. In the mornings, the grass was stiff with frost. One day, when even by noon the watery sun had not burnt it all off, Andrew put more wood on the fire and sat staring into the flames. When she came out of the hut where she had been tending to Sarah, Meg smelt the comforting scent of wood smoke and went to join him. Her heart lurched when she saw his haggard expression.

  ‘I heard Mother coughing all night,’ he said dully. ‘She’s getting much worse, isn’t she?’

  ‘I fear so.’

  There was a scurrying of feet and she put her finger to her lips. ‘Hush, Agnes is coming.’ But it was too late. Barefoot and huddled in a patched woollen cloak, Agnes ran to them and buried her head in Meg’s lap. ‘I don’t want Mother to be ill,’ she mumbled. ‘Make her better.’

  Gently, Meg lifted her chin and smoothed the hair from her tear-stained face. ‘We all want her to be better, dearest, but it won’t help if you catch a chill running about with no boots on. Go back to Bess and she will help you dress properly.’

  Watching Agnes trail off, she sighed. ‘Poor child, it is so hard for her.’ She rubbed her hand over her forehead. ‘Andrew, I don’t think we should stay in the woods this winter. It’s getting colder every day. Soon we shan’t be able to keep the hut warm. I don’t know how we’ll manage with Sarah then.’

  ‘But where else can we go?’

  ‘We need to find work somewhere so we can make her comfortable.’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘Getting work at harvest time was one thing but in the winter? We tried before and it was no use.’

  Meg squared her shoulders. ‘We must try again.’

  The next day Andrew busied himself splitting lengths of wood and lashing the pieces together with strips of hide from the animal skins they had collected over the summer months to form a makeshift sledge. ‘As soon as the snow comes,’ he said, ‘we’ll harness Samson and he can pull it.’

  The first fall was a week later. With their few possessions in sacks slung like panniers over Samson’s broad back, the five of them set off. Before the little camp disappeared from sight, Meg turned for one last look. She hoped she had done the right thing persuading the others to leave it.

  They walked all day before coming to a road. Although fresh snow filled the troughs of rutted mud, it was still difficult for Samson to drag the sledge over such rough ground so Andrew led him across the deeper drifts along the side. By dusk, they reached a hamlet where lights glowed in the windows of the cottages, but Meg hesitated to knock on doors. People might be suspicious of travellers arriving so late in the day. Instead, they found a deserted barn and stayed there for the night.

  Two more days passed before they came to some cottages scattered along the road then they were in the centre of a village. Most of its houses looked prosperous. A church built of stone, surrounded by a graveyard, stood on a hill a little way off. A thatched inn with whitewashed, rough-cast walls had an inviting air, a plume of smoke rising from its chimney.

  Bess shivered. ‘I’m so cold. Do you think they will let us in?’

  ‘It looks like the only place we might find work,’ Andrew said gloomily.

  ‘We don’t want any beggars here,’ the woman who answered the door snapped. A gust of warm air and the smell of baking billowed out from the room behind her. She was dumpy with a crisply starched coif and a voluminous linen apron covering most of her brown, homespun dress.

  ‘We’re not beggars, we’ll work.’

  ‘I’ve no work for the likes of you,’ the woman said flatly.

  She saw Sarah and suddenly pulled her apron up over her face and backed away. ‘Thomas!’ she shouted. A moment later, a hefty, florid man emerged. His hands were as big as hams and he held a thick, knobbed stick. Behind him, a large black dog bared its teeth. Agnes shrank closer to Bess, whimpering.

  ‘Be off with you,’ he snarled, ‘and don’t come back.’

  Meg’s stomach tightened. ‘There’s no need to talk to us like that, we’re going.’

  The man stepped back inside and slammed the door in their faces. The inn sign creaked on its rusty chains like a mocking laugh.

  ‘Now what do we do?’ Bess asked miserably.

  ‘We keep on walking. Somewhere there must be someone who will help us,’ Meg said.

  She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. It was three days since they had left their encampment and almost all their store of food was gone. So far at night, they had been lucky in finding remote farm buildings to sleep in but they might not always be so fortunate. Sarah’s listless demeanour alarmed her, and the others, even Andrew, were close to exhaustion. If they did not find help soon, she feared the worst.

  That afternoon, the wind veered to the east, driving sleet in their faces. Samson’s breath turned to steam in the frosty air, settling again in tiny shards of ice on the long lashes fringing his mournful eyes.

  Meg’s fingers and toes throbbed. Earlier in the day, she and Bess had tried to keep Agnes’s spirits up by singing songs but now Agnes dozed on Andrew’s back as he struggled grimly through the snow, leading Samson. Meg scanned the white waste ahead: nothing but bare trees and hedgerows as far as the eye could see. They would hardly provide adequate shelter for the night that was fast approaching. In the gathering gloom, the road was slippery as glass. All at once, Bess’s feet shot from under her and she fell on her back. Meg reached for her and saw that the colour had drained from her face.

  ‘I can’t get up,’ she sobbed. ‘My leg hurts. I think it might be broken.’

  ‘You have to,’ Meg shouted over the wind. ‘If you don’t, you’ll freeze to death.’

  ‘I don’t care any more.’

  Another gust buffeted Meg. She blinked back tears. ‘Bess, this is hard for all of us, please be sensible. The others are already ahead now. We must catch them up.’

  ‘You go then. Leave me here.’

  ‘No, but I’ll run on and get Andrew. If I take Agnes for a while, he’ll come back for you. Samson isn’t carrying so much now that most of our food is gone. Maybe you could ride on his back.’

  Meg hurried ahead, stifling her anger. Bess probably hadn’t broken her leg but it was unfair to blame her for giving up. I am close to it myself, she thought.

  Suddenly, beneath the howl of the wind, she heard a different sound. Turning, she saw a sight that chilled her blood. On the road behind Bess, a bulky shape lumbered towards them, its outline growing gr
adually clearer until Meg realised it was a wagon. She broke into a run and reached Bess, seizing her by the shoulder.

  ‘Bess! Get up, you can’t stay there.’ Bess shook her head. She didn’t seem to have noticed the wagon.

  Frantic, Meg stood up and flailed her arms, screaming at the top of her voice, but the wind only flung her words back at her. The rumble of wheels filled her ears then the wagon was upon them. As the muddy ground seemed to rear up to meet her, Meg was dimly aware of voices shouting and the alarmed whinnies of horses, then there was darkness.

  When she recovered her wits, she hadn’t the strength to raise her head. She felt cold slush beneath her but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to lie down forever. Slowly, though, the dizziness receded and she became aware of someone beside her. With difficulty, she turned her head to see who it was but all she could discern were shadowy figures. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the ground once more.

  ‘Oh Richard, is she badly hurt?’ The voice was a woman’s.

  ‘I can’t tell in this light,’ a deeper one answered. ‘Martin! Fetch another lantern.’

  Meg blinked and tried to shield her eyes as the light grew brighter.

  ‘She moved.’ Relief flooded the woman’s voice. Meg smelt a faint perfume of lavender and felt warm breath on her cheek.

  ‘Can you stand?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Meg said shakily then all at once, she remembered the wagon. ‘Bess, where’s Bess?’ she cried.

  A hand stroked her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, she’s safe. Now let’s get you up off this cold ground. Richard! Martin! Help her to her feet.’

  Meg felt strong arms lift her. Tentatively, she shuffled forwards and stumbled.

  ‘You’re still too weak to walk,’ the woman said. ‘Martin, our groom, and my brother, Richard, will help you to the wagon. Martin can drive you to our house. It isn’t far away.’

  ‘My friends. . .’

  ‘Of course. Richard will look after them, and when you are safe, Martin will come back to help.’ She caught her hood as the wind tried to whip it back from her hair. ‘No one should be out of doors on a terrible night like this.’

  Still trembling with shock, Meg let herself be led to the back of the wagon. She was overjoyed to see Bess already there tucked between some trunks and boxes. The woman disappeared into the darkness and a few moments later, the wagon started to jolt along. Its progress was slow and Meg winced at every bump but eventually it lurched to the left and passed through a wide stone gateway. Bess, who had been very quiet, clutched Meg’s hand. ‘Oh madam, wherever are we going?’

  ‘I don’t much care,’ Meg replied, ‘as long as it’s somewhere dry and warm.’

  As Martin, the groom, helped them down from the wagon, a cloaked rider passed them and halted close by. By the light of the lanterns on either side of a great oak door, Meg had a dim impression of an imposing stone house with gabled roofs that boasted a forest of elaborate chimneys. They were in a walled courtyard and the wind had dropped a little.

  Martin hurried to help the rider dismount and as the hood of the cloak fell back, Meg saw it was a woman. Meg guessed she must be the same one who had helped them on the road. She was tall and moved very gracefully.

  ‘Martin, find Alice and tell her to unlock the door, then take my horse back and help Master Richard’ she said.

  But their arrival had already been noticed for the door creaked and a wedge of orange light spilt out. A plump woman stood there, her hands thrown up as if she were polishing the air.

  ‘Mistress Beatrice! We were not expecting you. The fires are not all lit. When I think you’ve travelled on such a terrible night as this! The coach might have been overturned or struck by falling trees.’

  ‘But it wasn’t. Dear Alice, as you see, I am safe, and Master Richard is not far behind.’ She pointed to Meg and Bess. ‘We found these travellers in difficulties on the road.’

  Alice looked Meg and Bess up and down with an expression that made Meg feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘They’ll need dry clothes,’ Beatrice went on. ‘And so will their companions, a lady, a young man and a little girl, so look out something ready for them too.’

  Alice’s disapproving expression deepened. ‘I don’t know we have anything suitable.’

  ‘What about in the old nursery? Surely you can find something for them there?’

  Alice’s grey dress strained over her ample bosom. ‘If you say so, Mistress Beatrice.’

  ‘After that they will all need some food. Is the fire in the kitchen still alight?’

  Alice nodded.

  ‘Excellent. Then it will be warm in there at least.’

  She turned to Bess and Meg. ‘Forgive me, I’ve not told you my name: it’s Beatrice Lacey. ‘May I know yours?’

  Meg’s mouth was dry. Bess shot her a worried look. She still wore her boy’s clothes, but the likelihood of keeping her sex a secret for long was slim. She thought of the shame of being found out by Beatrice Lacey’s brother or one of the menservants.

  Beatrice looked puzzled. ‘Is something the matter?’

  Resolutely, Meg drew a breath. ‘This is Bess, and my name is Meg.’

  A long silence ensued. Alice was first to break it. ‘Wickedness,’ she muttered, ‘that such wickedness should come under this roof.’

  Beatrice gave her a reproving glance. ‘There will be time for explanations later, Alice. Please take both of them upstairs and find some clothes.’

  When they came downstairs again, after a tight-lipped Alice had produced dry clothes for them to wear, Beatrice was in the hall with Sarah and Agnes. Sarah was on her feet but her face was grey with fatigue. There was no sign of Andrew.

  ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice gave them an encouraging smile. ‘Is there a room ready where this lady, Sarah, may rest?’ she asked Alice.

  Alice nodded stiffly.

  ‘Good.’

  Agnes ran to Bess.

  ‘May I help Sarah?’ Meg asked. ‘Bess will look after Agnes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Exuding disapproval, Alice led Meg and Sarah up a narrow flight of stairs to a small but pleasant room. She lit the candles on the mantelpiece and glanced at the grate.

  ‘Will you be wanting a fire?’ she asked in a curt tone.

  ‘We don’t want to be any trouble,’ Meg said meekly.

  ‘Then I won’t light it.’

  She took her candle and went to the door then paused. ‘I’ll fetch some nightclothes for you. I suppose you have none of your own.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah stammered.

  ‘You mustn’t mind her,’ Meg whispered, when Alice had left. ‘We have shelter for the night. That’s all that matters.’

  Sarah sank down on the bed. ‘What must they all think of us?’

  Meg shrugged. ‘At least Beatrice Lacey is kind, even if her servant is not.’ She put her arm around Sarah’s heaving shoulders. ‘Don’t cry,’ she begged. ‘Tomorrow when you’ve slept everything will seem better.’

  They sat there quietly until there was a peremptory knock at the door and Alice came in with an armful of linen. She put it down on the floor with the covered cup she also carried. ‘These nightclothes are the best we can offer, and Mistress Beatrice says you’re to have this posset to help you sleep,’ she said shortly. Without waiting to be thanked, she left the room.

  Meg helped Sarah to change and get into bed. Sarah leant back against the pillows with a deep sigh. ‘I don’t care so much what that woman thinks of me now,’ she smiled.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Meg crossed the room, brought back the covered cup and removed the lid. A sweet, spicy aroma rose from the contents.

  ‘I’ve never seen you in a dress,’ Sarah remarked when she had drunk a few sips. ‘It’s very becoming.’

  Meg laughed. ‘It feels strange. These skirts seem determined to trip me up at every opportunity.’

  ‘You’ll soon be used to them again.’

&nbs
p; Meg smoothed a finger down one of the side seams. There were tiny needle marks in the sage-green cloth. ‘I think the seams have been let out many times. Do you think Alice wore it in her slimmer days?’

  Sarah managed a weak chuckle. ‘I can’t imagine Alice being slim.’

  She held out the cup. ‘Will you have some too?’

  Meg shook her head. ‘No, you drink it all. I’m sure they will give me something later. Could you eat if I ask to bring some food up?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘This is enough.’ She drained the cup. ‘I feel as if I’m in a dream,’ she said sleepily. ‘I never thought a stranger would do so much for us.’

  ‘Most of them won’t,’ Meg said dryly. ‘Beatrice Lacey is unusual.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ Sarah mused.

  Meg took the empty cup. ‘Perhaps we shall find out tomorrow. Now sleep, I’ll ask if I can have a room nearby so I’ll hear you if you call in the night.’

  Sarah’s eyelids drooped. ‘Bless you, Meg,’ she murmured.

  Downstairs, the smell of food made Meg realise how hungry she was. She followed the sound of voices to the kitchen where she found Bess and Agnes. A tabby cat was curled up in the inglenook. ‘Her name’s Clover,’ Agnes said. ‘She’s very fat. The lady says she’s going to have kittens soon. I hope we’re here to see them,’ she added wistfully.

  Bess pointed to the food set out on a table nearby. ‘Mistress Beatrice says we can have what we like.’

  Meg sat down and ate. She had forgotten how good fresh cheese and white bread tasted. There were apples and a jug of ale as well.

  She had just finished when Beatrice came into the room. Meg and Bess rose quickly to their feet but she motioned them to sit again.

  ‘Andrew has already gone to the menservants’ quarters and Alice has made a room ready for you near to where your friend Sarah is sleeping. I hope she is more comfortable now.’

  Meg nodded. ‘Yes, and I don’t know how to thank you. Your kindness is far more than we deserve. We must not impose on it for long. We’ll travel on tomorrow.’

  Beatrice frowned. ‘I fear the bad weather may be set in for some time and it may be unwise, but let’s discuss it in the morning. If you have had enough to eat, Alice will show you to your room. I hope you will excuse me if I say goodnight. It was a tiring journey today.’