She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. “Okay.
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