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rushed between them. She had an odd feeling that this shoregirl might just add something to the workings of Invercombe. A little grit in the mill, most likely, but perhaps that was what the place needed. Having to cope with a raw new undermaid would be a suitably awkward challenge for Steward Dunning.
    ‘How muck did you say you got paid for a bucket of boiled cockles?’
    ‘On a good day, three shilling.’
    ‘And how many of those sacks does it take to fill up a pot?’
    ‘Twelve or so.’
    ‘I’ll make sure you’re paid twice that much if you come and work at Invercombe.’
    Putting down her sack, the shoregirl wiped her hand on the side of her coat and stuck it out. Alice, as the tide drowned the rockpool and raced over their feet, was too surprised not to shake it.

III
    O N NOSHIFTDAY MORNING Steward Dunning sent word that she wished to see Marion Price. Outside the office door at the far end of a low whitewashed corridor, Marion corrected the straightness of her starched linen cap.
    ‘Come in! You are out there, aren’t you?’
    She entered a small, cluttered room.
    ‘Shut the door. Chairs are for sitting on, you know.’
    Marion, who was certain she’d clanged one bucket too many or unwittingly ignored one or another of the endless instructions and prohibitions which were framed on the walls of the servants’ halls, was determined to take her dismissal from Invercombe with some dignity and good grace. Things which she’d always taken for granted—the judging of each day by the smell and the feel of the dawn, the seasonal interlocking of tasks and trades, the coming and the going of catches and tides—were already starting to seem remote and bizarre. Here at this house, everything was so devoted to making each day the same, and she’d never been so well fed, or kept so warm, or realised that her existence counted for so little. Still, she tried to keep what she hoped was an appropriately solemn expression on her face as the steward sighed and her coppery, silver-threaded hair bobbed as she shook her head.
    ‘It’s possible,’ she was saying, ‘that I’ve been a little hard on you, girl. Of course, I didn’t ask to have you taken on. My guess is that you had no particular desire to work here, either.’
    ‘I’ve done my best, Mistress. I’m sorry that hasn’t been good enough.’
    ‘Now, now. Wait. You’re not here so I can tell you off.’
    ‘Mistress … ?’
    ‘Being shorefolk, I don’t suppose you’ve given much thought to a life in service. For me, it was what I always expected. The Dunnings have been in service in the big houses since my great-great-grandfather came here as a bondsman. Does that surprise you?’
    ‘I’d never thought, Mistress.’
    ‘There are still people who think us Negroes shouldn’t be working as guildsfolk. In places like London they’ll even preach it from the pulpits of churches.’ Her round lips thinned. ‘But anyway, you seem bright and capable enough. Fact is, I need all the help I can get to keep this place going …’
    Marion’s gaze strayed around the room as Steward Dunning talked about this and that aspect of Invercombe. The walls were covered with the usual framed needlepoint injunctions—A WELL RUN HOUSE SCARCELY NEEDS TENDING. DO NOTHING SLIPSHOD—and the steward’s desk was awash with notepads and inkblocks and unspiked invoices, and a bean-shaped object of a kind which Marion had occasionally found in her wanderings along the shore. The children called them kidney beans, although they obviously weren’t.
    ‘You’re not listening!’
    ‘What? I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s just—’
    ‘Never mind. Maybe one day you’ll rise to cook or steward. If that’s what you want—and if you learn to say pardon instead of what.’ She smiled. ‘Fact is—and this isn’t to go past these walls—the greatgrandmistress and her lad make an odd pair. Coming here out of nowhere and with no other staff and so little warning. So much money, all