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country practice and not much adhered to in cities and towns where the watchful eye of the Church was constantly upon one.
    â€˜Better not let too many people catch you at it, then,’ I advised. ‘You know how many churches and parish priests there are in Bristol.’
    â€˜We’m not fools, you know,’ the second boy snorted, his contempt for me increasing. He waved a branch in my face. ‘Pretty leaves t’ decorate your home, sir? Take some home t’ your goody. Look lovely in a pot, they will.’
    I laughed. ‘The priests aren’t fools, either,’ I warned, ‘so be careful. You don’t want to find yourselves in the stocks.’
    â€˜My da’s a carrier,’ Harry said, ‘and he says in Lunnon they don’t care. The priests turn a blind eye. Do you want a sprig? It don’t have t’ be a crown.’
    I thanked him but refused. Hercules was growing restless, anxious now to be home, an anxiety that communicated itself to me. I said goodbye to the two lads, striding out and soon leaving them trailing in our wake until, glancing over my shoulder, I could see them no longer.
    Half an hour later, I was at the Frome Gate and, having exchanged a few words with the gatekeeper, was about to pass under the arch when I saw Elizabeth waiting for me, on the opposite side. My heart lurched. Something was wrong.
    â€˜What is it?’ I asked, gripping her shoulder and hushing the dog who was barking ecstatically in welcome.
    Elizabeth lifted her face to mine.
    â€˜That man’s here again,’ she announced accusingly.

THREE
    My heart gave a great lurch and sank into my boots. I had no need to ask whom she meant by ‘that man’, but nevertheless I stalled for time, staving off the actual moment of acknowledgement.
    â€˜What man?’
    My daughter made no answer, simply staring at me with the large blue eyes that were so like my own. Indeed, she bore such a strong resemblance to me, fair-haired and big-boned with the promise of height to come, that I could see nothing in her of her small, dark Celtic-looking mother. I had often noticed my former mother-in-law, Margaret Walker, searching for some likeness of feature between Elizabeth and Lillis but failing to find one; and I often reflected that it must be a source of great disappointment to her that her one true grandchild had not a single feature to remind her of her long-dead daughter.
    We were joined by my stepson, Nicholas, who arrived from the direction of Small Street closely shadowed by his little half-brother, Adela’s and my son, Adam. The latter would be five years old at the end of the month and was now of an age to want his siblings’ company, a fact which they resented. From the moment Adela and I had married, six years previously, Elizabeth and Nick had been inseparable and had needed no other companions than each other. Now, a persistent little serpent was invading their Eden.
    â€˜That man’s here,’ Nicholas said, unconsciously echoing his stepsister.
    â€˜Man,’ Adam repeated, his expression hostile. He added, ‘You going ’way again, isn’t you?’
    â€˜No,’ I told him firmly. I turned back to Elizabeth. ‘I suppose you mean Master Plummer?’
    She nodded, her lips set in a thin, inimical line.
    â€˜He says you must go back to London with him,’ Nicholas said. ‘I heard him telling Mother.’
    â€˜Well, this time I’m not going.’ I took a deep breath and braced my shoulders for the coming tussle of wills. ‘I promise you.’
    My daughter looked sceptical. ‘You always say that, but you always do. Go, I mean.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,’ my stepson reproved me. He had known me long enough, and had so little recollection of his real father, to accept me as his true parent and to treat me with the easy, affectionate lack of respect that my own children