“That was a good day’s work, Mrs. Reekie,” he said, pleased as Alinor came through the gate.
“Yes indeed,” Alinor said, smiling.
“I never thought you’d get the dowry together,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “You must have sold young Rob to Virginia, rather than an apprenticeship.”
Alinor tried to laugh. “She’s a good girl,” she said. “She’s been working every day, and spinning all night.”
“Even so,” he said. “I know that won’t have covered it. I hope you haven’t put yourselves in debt.”
“Alys had her father’s gift, and my brother helped,” Alinor said, concealing Richard’s part.
“Up you get then,” he said to her, giving a hand to help her into the wagon. “And here’s our little bride.”
Alys sat in the seat of honor, beside Mr. Stoney on the box seat. Mrs. Stoney squeezed in beside her, Alinor and Richard sat on the back, and a few of the Stoney neighbors climbed in to save the walk. Mrs. Wheatley came from the Priory with the footman, Stuart, carrying a great fruit cake, and was helped into the wagon and held the cake on her knees.
“All aboard?” Mr. Stoney said, and clicked to the horse to start. Alinor, looking back down the road, saw that James was mounted on horseback already, but someone had delayed Sir William. He was on his horse, speaking to one of his tenants, who was earnestly explaining something, his cap in his hand. The bend in the road hid them from sight. She hoped very much that Sir William and James would be delayed, and then decide against coming at all. She did not know how she would get through Alys’s wedding dinner if James were to be there, not looking at her, not speaking to her, not even a stranger to her; but worse than a stranger—a man who had chosen to be rid of her and showed no signs of regret.
The tide was ebbing at the wadeway, low enough for Mr. Stoney to drive the wagon through the water, and the people who were on foot crossed on the ferry, with Ned pulling on the rope. As it was Alys’s wedding day, he charged no one and there were many jokes that he would charge them double to get home again. Ned would stay with the ferry till all the guests had crossed the rife, and then he and Rob would follow the bridal party to the tide mill.
“See you later!” Alys called to him. “Don’t be late!”
Ned waved and pulled the ferry back to the island as the wagon went towards the mill. Mr. Miller was standing at the five-barred gate to the yard. “Come in! Come in! Toast to the bride!” he exclaimed. “And we have a ham to give you for your wedding feast.”
“I’m grateful,” Mr. Stoney said, turning the horses into the mill yard.
“We can’t stop long,” Mrs. Stoney cautioned him, stepping down from the box. “We have to get to Stoney Farm before Sir William. Sir William is coming to our house for the bridal dinner.”
“You’ll see him riding past,” Mr. Miller assured her. “He’ll stop for a glass of my ale too, I don’t doubt. I’ve never known him go past my door.”
Richard Stoney handed the reins of his father’s horses to the stable lad. Mrs. Wheatley carefully put her cake on the wagon floor and climbed down from the tailgate.
“I don’t know their ale is that fine,” she said quietly to Alinor. “I don’t think Sir William needs to leave home to drink good ale.”
“Course he doesn’t,” Alinor replied loyally, hardly knowing what she was saying. “But I’m glad Mrs. Miller is drinking a toast to Alys. She works her so hard!”
“A smoky kitchen,” Mrs. Wheatley whispered, using the old description of a shrewish housewife.
Alinor smiled. She could feel the child move in her belly and for a moment she leaned against the doorframe and thought how weary she was, and what a long day stretched before her.
“You all right?” Mrs. Wheatley asked.
“Oh, yes,” Alinor said brightly. “I’m happy for Alys; but it’s been a strain, you know?”
The two of them went into the kitchen and through to the parlor where previously Alinor had only been before to clean and polish. But today the parlor was open, and the wedding party were invited guests. The round wooden table was set with glasses and biscuits, and Mrs. Miller was wearing her best apron and white cap. Mr. Miller warmed the ale at the fireside and Jane poured a small cup for everyone. “Where is Peter?” Alinor asked Jane.
“Gone to play with the Smith boys,” she said.
“Here’s to the health of the bride, the new Mrs. Stoney!” Mr. Miller said, holding up his pewter mug. “And to the happiness of the young couple.”
“Here’s health!” everyone replied, raising their glasses. “Health and happiness!”
Alys, her hand resting on Richard’s arm, smiled at everyone. “Thank you,” she said.
“God bless us all,” Richard added.
Mr. Miller, excited at having the floor to himself, as Mrs. Miller went out to the kitchen, was about to say more. “I well recall my own wedding day . . . ,” he started when there was a sudden loud scream from the kitchen.
“Thieves, thieves,” Mrs. Miller was shouting. “Thieves in my—”
She burst into the parlor, Jane’s red leather dowry purse in her hand, her fingers sooty from the chimney bricks, her face blanched with shock.
“God save us,” Mrs. Wheatley said. “Sit down, Mrs. Miller. Sit down. What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Miller pushed her aside. “Look!” she said, holding out the purse. “Look!”
“What’s this, my dear?” Mr. Miller said. “Surely not . . .”
“My savings purse,” Mrs. Miller gabbled. “Jane’s dowry money. I got it out just now to give the girl a half crown for her wedding day. Not that I owe her a penny. But I meant to give her a gift, for her wedding day . . . and—”
“Never tell me you’ve been robbed!” her husband demanded.
In answer she shook the purse at him. There was a reassuring clink of coins, there was a weight to the purse. It was clearly full of coins.
“You’re not short,” he argued. He took it from her hand and weighed it. “There’ll be forty, perhaps fifty, pounds in there,” he said. “I can tell from the weight and the chink of the coins. You get to know—”
“I’ve not been robbed,” she said furiously. “Not robbed. I would rather have been robbed than this . . . I’ve been bewitched.”
There was a hiss of superstitious fear from everyone in the little parlor.
“What?” Mr. Miller asked.
“What?” Mrs. Wheatley echoed. “Here, Mrs. Miller, sit down. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Mrs. Wheatley helped Mrs. Miller into a chair. Alinor came forward and felt her forehead for the flush of fever, and caught a sideways glance from Alys. The bride was as white as if she had seen a ghost. Her lips parted, she turned as if to speak to her mother but she said nothing.
Alinor felt herself grow terribly cold. Her hand dropped from Mrs. Miller’s forehead. “What’s happened?” she said quietly. “What’s happened, Mrs. Miller?”
“Ma . . .” Alys whispered.
Without saying another word, Mrs. Miller snatched the purse from her husband’s hand and opened the neck of the purse. “See this? Look what’s in here! Look at it. I’ll show you!” She gestured towards Alinor, who unthinkingly cupped her hands and Mrs. Miller poured out the contents of the purse. The coins were hot from their hiding place, and strangely light. Alinor held two handfuls of faerie gold, the shaved and chipped coins that she liked to collect, the lost currency of the old ones, the ancient coins of the Saxon shore. Inside the purse they had chinked like coins, weighed like coins, but here, spilled into Alinor’s hands, they were clearly counterfeit. With her hands filled with her own collection of coins, Alinor looked across at the blank horror of her daughter’s face, and knew at once what she had done.
“Faerie gold,” Mrs. Miller said fearfully. “In my house. Changeling treasure. I had a purse here of good gold and silver, Jane’s dowry. I rarely touch it. I keep it safe in my chim—in my hiding place. And some witch has exchanged my savings for faerie gold. So that I wouldn’t know anything was missing! If I took it out and weighed it in my hands I would think all was well. I’ve been enchanted, and I didn’t even know. Some witch has taken it all. All my money!”