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wet head. “You did everything you could, Jess.”
    He was shouting instructions to the two farmhands before he was properly out of the house.
    “I want to go with them,” said Jess, rousing suddenly. “I can show them where to look.”
    “No,” said Martha firmly. “No, Jess. Leave this to your father. There’s nothing more you can do. Come on, let’s get you dry and warm.”
    Despite Jess’s protests her mother led her upstairs and changed her wet clothes for a nightgown, towelled her hair dry and made her get into bed. She couldn’t stop shivering, and Martha brought a hot bottle for her feet, and an extra quilt.
    “They’ll find her,” said her mother, but Jess knew she was wrong.
     
    When she woke, at first she couldn’t remember why she was in bed in the middle of the day. Her grandmother smiled at her from the chair near the window.
    And she remembered.
    Jess sat bolt upright with a gasp.
    “Freya! I have to go and help them look. How long have I been asleep?” She was already halfway out of bed.
    Ellen rose and, coming over to the bed, gently pushed Jess back down.
    “But…”
    “There are plenty of people out there already. You’ll only distract them – they’ll worry about you if you go into the woods. You’re to stay in the house.” Her tone of voice suggested that there was no point in arguing.
    “Can I at least get up?”
    “Of course. You’re not ill.” Her grandmother gave her a searching look. “How clearly do you remember what happened?”
    Jess shuddered. “I’ll never forget.”
    She told Ellen her story. The old woman listened intently without interrupting.
    “Freya’s dead, isn’t she?” Jess said finally.
    “We don’t know that,” said Ellen. She sighed. “Up you get. The men will be hungry when they get back. I’m sure your mother could do with some help.” She kissed Jess on the brow and went out of the room.
    As she dressed, Jess paused often to look out of the window for any sign that the searchers were returning, but there was nothing. She went downstairs, following the sound of voices to the kitchen.
    “It’s happening again,” Ellen’s voice said. “Why will no one listen?”
    “Leave it be, Ellen,” said Martha in a strained voice. “Ian and the others are searching. There’s nothing else to be done. You swore you would never mention all this… rubbish abouthorses in front of Jess and Ashe. Now Jess is spouting the same nonsense.”
    “I didn’t speak of it to her,” Ellen sounded angry. “I made a promise to you and I’ve kept it.”
    “What are you talking about?” Jess said, coming unseen into the room.
    Guilty silence enveloped the kitchen.
    “Never mind,” said Martha, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. How are you feeling?”
    “I’m fine. But I want to know what you were saying.”
    “It was nothing that concerns you.” Martha came across to where her daughter stood. “Jess, Arnor will want to talk to you. We’ve told him what we know, but he’ll want to hear it again from you.”
    Jess nodded. “Is he here now?”
    Martha shook her head. “He’s out searching with the others. Oh, Jess, you can imagine the state he’s in. Freya was all he had.”
    “You’re talking as though you already know she’s dead.”
    “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. We don’t know that.” Martha pointed to a number of jars and bowls on the table. “Come on, it’s better if we keep busy. The men will all need to be fed when they get back. Can you make some dumplings to go in the stew?”
    Jess nodded and rolled up her sleeves, glad of the distraction.
     
    It was dark before the men came back. They’d searched the pond and the surrounding woods as best they could, but all they had found were the girls’ abandoned baskets of brambles and mushrooms, now sitting sadly in a corner of the kitchen.
    Arnor stared blankly at them, as though they might hold some clue to what had happened to Freya, dismissing offers of food and drink with a