The stares coming his way were merely curious, and he dismounted. He recognised no one. They could be from Swaffham, but he saw the tents, the many fires. These people were living here in the dead of winter on her family’s land.
From the staples she had brought, from the questions and answers she gave, he concluded that she was assisting them.
All the years he’d stayed away from her, from Swaffham, this was what he’d dreamed of when he had dared think of her. Her and her beloved projects; her helping others. Her care and kindness.
Seeing it gave him no ease, only more questions. As did the industry here.
He began a tour of the grounds. He had been gone many years, and none of this was recognisable. No sheep in sight, the landscape was dominated by what had once been a decrepit barn and at least one hundred people.
The barn was larger than he remembered it, even with the roof and one wall completely torn down. Not for long. Men were already measuring and cutting wood for posts and braces. Older children and women were weaving branches for the wattle. Large barrels nearby were full of the daub mixture that would be made into large balls to fill in the walls.
Numerous fire pits surrounded everything to provide warmth for the workers and to cook their food. Whenever he got close to one he reached out his hands, as all the others were doing. Large pots of soup, bread, onions and potatoes were being passed around. Not cooking, but keeping warm. Ready for when it was time to rest.
Whatever he had been expecting here, this wasn’t it. Alice had said she wanted to visit Mitchell, but this wasn’t Mitchell’s land and building barns wasn’t his industry.
It wasn’t the usual kind of project for Alice either. Her past endeavours had been focused on more intimate care.
At first it had been patching up injured animals, then small children. Then bringing food for families in need, or tending someone who had fallen sick.
That Alice could be seen here, as she crouched, circled by dozens of children with eager hands, reaching for the bits of fruit she’d brought. Her smiles were at ease now, her brows arched in gentle warning. She was handing out apples to the younger children. No doubt to share with the older ones. Giving them power when they usually had none.
Handing over the last treat, she stood and wiped her hands on her skirts. As the last of her supplies were carted away, and the last child left her heels, he walked over to her.
‘Whatisall this?’
Alice looked around her. Despite the weather, the work was going faster than she’d expected. Her talking to the women and children had helped greatly to ease her other concerns, but not all.
Regardless of his demand to accompany her, she had brought Hugh here. His presence in Swaffham only complicated her tasks, but since he insisted on being here she would use him for her own purposes.
‘I’m working with Mitchell to help the spinners here.’
‘How?’
‘He’s travelled recently to Italy. Seen the making of the Great Spinning Wheels—have you seen them?’ At his nod, she continued. ‘He knows how to improve them, with tables so a spinner can sit and produce more thread, but they need space. The foundations of this building are still good, and most of the walls. It seemed a solution.’
Hugh’s brows were drawn, but she didn’t know what to make of that.
‘It’s more than a solution,’ he said.
Was it? She’d never concerned herself with the family wool business—not as her sister, Mary, had—but Alice realised she could love it too. Because it helped people. And in that Alice understood how she could contribute. After all, there were many spinners in Swaffham who would gain more income with Mitchell’s tables if they had the space to put them.
‘Who are these people?’
‘Mostly from Swaffham, but a few are from other towns. They were staying in the barn until we had to take off the roof.’
‘All this inwinter?’
‘Shearing season is in the spring. In order to be ready, we needed to move quickly. It’ll be too cold soon, and they will return to their homes, but I’d hoped we’d get the roof on.’
It would be a slow process. ‘Many of these people aren’t builders.’
‘The women are spinners. With Mitchell’s tables and chairs these women would be able to share work and help each other as they worked.’
‘Where did you get this idea?’
‘I’ve been forced to sit in circles and do needlework. Talking passes the time more quickly. Spinning requires space, and Great Spinning Wheels even more. This will allow them to be more comfortable.’
Hugh went silent again, looking over her shoulder, watching the chaos.
