The inner workings of the old mill lay uselessly on the grass beside the Water. The entire thing had been laid flat; wheels, bricks, beams, tiles and a number of other things Tiger Lily had no way of identifying. In the middle of this detritus, a number of Men were building something. Tiger Lily, Sango and Sango's cousin Balbus were watching from a little distance away, sat on their ponies. Technically Balbus was one of Tiger Lily's cousins too, but she knew little of him and was finding it difficult to speak in his presence.

"I wonder what they're doing," Balbus said in his slow, deliberate way. He was one of those odd, thoughtful children had started behaving like a Hobbit in his sixties before he was even in his tweens.

"A new mill, perhaps?" Sango said.

"What would be the point of that after it took so long to take the old one apart?"

"I don't know," Sango said. "But I do know there are going to be a lot of patches of dead grass if they don't move those wheels soon."

Posy started to step back and forth on her hooves uncertainly. Tiger Lily bent down and shushed her, running her hand up and down her neck.

"How many Men do you think there are?" Balbus said.

"Here?" Sango looked over his shoulder at the Hill, which loomed up behind them, casting a great shadow over the village. Even from here a number of Men could be seen around its crest. "At least a dozen. There are four in Overhill. How many in Bywater, Tills?"

"Uh… five, I think. But another wagon arrived yesterday, so I'm not sure…"

"I wonder where they got the pipe-weed from," Balbus mused, looking over at a couple of Men who were having a break to smoke.

One of the Men realised they were being watched and removed the pipe from his mouth. "You and the wenchling finished gawping?"

Tiger Lily's stomach twisted and she looked down at the reins in her hands.

Sango drew himself up indignantly. "I beg your pardon!"

"Don't, Rowley, let's go," she mumbled, guiding Posy to turn around.

Sango scowled. "Did you not here what he said?"

Tiger Lily flushed in indignation. "I don't care. Just leave it be."

She urged Posy into a trot, taking her down the road from which they'd arrived. Sango brought his pony to a steady plod alongside, with a confused Balbus following him.

"Are you all right?" he said.

"Yes."

He was watching her expression very carefully and after a brief pause said, "No, you're not."

She glowered at him. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? "Yes, I am."

"You can't pretend you're fine," he said. "Not to me. I know you too well for that."

Tiger Lily rubbed Posy's neck. "Sango's being silly, isn't he?" she cooed.

He rolled his eyes. "Sango was just trying to defend your honour. And furthermore he doesn't appreciate being talked over like that."

Tiger Lily glared at him. "Sango should know that referring to himself by his first name makes him sound like an arrogant ass."

"Tiger Lily is wilfully avoiding the issue."

"What are you doing?" Balbus said.

Sango gave Balbus a quick glance before looking back at Tiger Lily and grinning wickedly. "Balbus wants to know what Tiger Lily and Sango are doing. Should they let Balbus join in or should they continue on as they were?"

Tiger Lily wanted to join in with this pointless, mischievous game. But she couldn't do it in front of Balbus, and she was still reeling from 'wenchling', so she just smiled and said, "I don't mind."

Sango's expression relaxed into his usual soppy smile. "You've ruined it now. We'll have to start talking like real people again."

Balbus huffed and clicked his tongue irritably. "I'm never chaperoning you again."

Meg had always liked the bustle of market but the usual friendly energy that filled it on a Friday afternoon as muted today. It had been getting gradually worse over the last few weeks. She smiled at every Hobbit she passed and they smiled back, but no one seemed to feel like talking today. What conversations were happening were about only one thing: the Men.

They had made camp by the side of the East Road and they seemed so at home that it was almost as though they'd always been there.

Meg quickened her pace as she spotted the twins and their mother, who was in the process of apologising to Mr Yardley.

"It's good of you to be so understanding. What do you say, Aldan?" she said, looking pointedly at Danny.

"Sorry, Mr Yardley," Danny said, looking down at the ground in a begrudging show of humility.

"What happened?" Meg said when she reached them, watching as Mr Yardley led his pony off down the road.

"This one," Mrs Delver said, glaring at Danny, "decided it would be a good idea to start teasing Mr Yardley's pony, like a ninny."

"I said I was sorry!" Danny said. "Can I go and play with the other lads now?"

"I don't think you can, seeing as I can't take my eyes off you for five minutes."

He groaned. "Aw, Mum—"

"Don't you talk to me in that tone, young mister." She saw that Fastad had closed his eyes and screwed his face up in distress. "Oh, lad." She went and put her arms around his shoulders. "I'm not angry with you. No need to get upset."

"How can I help?" Meg said.

"You can tell me how you got on at the baker's," Mrs Delver said.

Meg swallowed. "I got a loaf, but they're making 'em smaller than they used to." She pulled back the cloth that covered her basket to reveal the cob loaf she had just bought. "I din't have the money for two… I'm really sorry, Mum, I know—"

"Hush, lass, it's not your doing."

"But how'll we—?"

"We'll manage. We might just have to do a few more favours around the village, that's all. People are kind, if you let them be."

"Dad won't like that."

"Dad'll just have to put up with it, won't 'e? At least you had better luck than I did at the butcher's," she said, giving Meg a meaningful glance.

"Nothing?"

"No. But Hetty's stopped laying, so I'll have one of the lads slaughter her. That'll do us for this week."

Meg looked out over the market. This was very not good. "What's going on, Mum?"

"Don't know what you're asking me for," Mrs Delver said with a scoff. "I don't know any better than you. Now." She looked back down at Fastad. He had managed to calm down now but his eyes were still watery. "Why don't you go with Meg while she gets me some more cotton thread?"

Meg smiled and held a hand out to him. "Come on, lad." Fastad silently went to stand next to her. Meg placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at their mother. "How much to you need?"

"A couple of skeins. Brown if you can, or a dark green. An' I also need a dozen or so buttons. Here." She pushed a few copper coins into Meg's hand.

Fastad kept close to her as they made their way to the haberdashery. Meg still couldn't shake the feeling that, in some way, the smaller size of the loaf had been her fault.

"Meg!"

She snapped to attention at the sound of her name.

"Hello, Miss Lavender," Fastad said as the lass fell into step with the Delvers.

Lavender grinned. "And hello to you, young master. You going to Button's?"

"Aye."

"Me too. We need more wool."

"How are things your end?" Meg said. "Any better?"

"A bit. We've started making wheels for the Men." She scowled at the road ahead. "It's awful, ain't it? But we've got no choice, Dad says, 'cus they've got their own iron for the tyres an' the smith's been short of late."

Meg shrugged. "Don't know. I know folks aren't happy about 'em being here, but I don't know that they've done anything to earn our bad opinion. Our Jack says Men must be about as decent as Hobbits, an' he's always been cleverer than me."

Lavender sniffed as they stepped into the haberdashery. "Dad said something similar. But their wheels are so much harder to make—our tools aren't big enough to do 'em properly."

The haberdashery was empty, save a red-haired lad sweeping the floor. The rhythmic whir of a spinning wheel could be heard coming from somewhere in the back. Lavender went to a basket of wool while Meg went to the tray of buttons, Fastad trailing after her. The tray was divided into small, square compartments, each of which contained a different type of button.

"They've all gotten mixed up," Fastad said.

"Mmm…" Meg hummed, looking over the contents of the tray. Their mother wasn't usually too fussy about the buttons on clothes matching—there were too many to bother. She picked out some cheap wooden ones. "You'd better sort 'em out, then," she said absentmindedly.

"Don't you have any more yellow?" Lavender said, a ball of wool in each hand.

"No. Sorry," the red-haired lad said nervously. "It's a popular colour."

"When will you have more?"

"Not today, I'm afraid."

Lavender huffed and put the balls of wool back in the basket.

"Be nice," Meg said, moving towards a basket of threads.

"I needed yellow."

"It should teach you to be more patient." When she looked up she saw Lavender had moved on to ribbons, and was comparing them against her plait. "Come into some money, have you?"

"Aye. The Men might be brutes but they pay well enough. But do you know, our Nick asked if he could have a bit of leaf, an' they said…" She glanced at Fastad. "Something I can't repeat in front of the lad. I reckon this one'd suit you better than me," she said, taking an indigo ribbon and comparing it to Meg's hair.

"Leave off," Meg said.

"It's a nice contrast to the reddish-ness," Lavender said, pulling her hair up and tying a bow. She looked around the room. "There's no mirror." She took Meg by the shoulders and spun her to face the red-haired lad. "What do you think?"

The lad made a murmuring noise and shrugged before turning away to continue his sweeping in a different corner of the shop.

Meg pulled the ribbon from her hair and started to wind it around her fingers. "He has better things to do, an' I don't reckon he appreciates you testing out his wares like that." She hesitated. "Do you think Nick would like it?"

Lavender took the ribbon back with a short, irritated sigh. "I don't know, you'll have to ask him."

"It's just that he han't been to see me since we…" She had been going to say 'kissed', but stopped herself. "…Went picking nettles."

Lavender froze. "Do you mean actually picking nettles, or do you mean something else?"

The red-haired lad suddenly changed the direction of his sweeping to move as far away from the conversation as possible. Thankfully Fastad didn't seem to have noticed. Meg scowled at Lavender.

"I meant actually picking actual, real nettles."

She went to approach the lad while Lavender muttered about how people use all sorts of euphemisms. She held out the thread and buttons. "How much for these?"

"Uh…" He pushed through the buttons to count them. He was visibly flustered and the tips of his ears were pink. "That'd be ninepence."

"You done, Lavender?" Meg said as she handed the coins over.

"Aye. Reckon so."

Meg glanced around. "Fastad?" She found he had moved away from the tray of buttons. He was now stood by the rack of fabrics and was rubbing some material between his thumb and forefinger. "We're going now, lad."

"It's soft, Meg," he said.

She went to stand by his side. It was a smooth material, a far cry from the rough-but-hardy wools and flax that the Delvers' clothes were made of. "It's satin. We can't afford it. Come on, Mum'll be waiting for us."

Fastad drew his hand away reluctantly.

"I, uh, think we might have some off-cuts," the red-haired lad said, going behind the counter.

"No, don't trouble yourself," Meg said, putting one of her hands on Fastad's shoulder in preparation to shepherd him out of the shop.

"No trouble," he said and handed her a small rectangle of the satin. "No charge either."

Meg hesitated in taking the material, not sure if it counted as charity or not. It only took a moment more for her to decide that Fastad was more important than charity. "Thank'ee, master. Come along, Fastad."

She and the others went back out onto the street. Meg waited until Fastad had wondered far enough ahead that he wouldn't hear her before she turned back to Lavender. "Has Nick asked after me?"

"By Elbereth, Meg…" Lavender muttered. "There's Big Folk in the village an' all you care about is our Nick."

She scowled. "Mayhap I'm weary of talking about the Men. We can't just stop everything 'cus they're here."

"He's not mentioned you." Lavender gave an irritable sigh and looked up at the grey sky. "The weather's taken a turn."

"Could you talk to him?"

"I ain't getting mixed up in this. You want to talk to him, you do it yourself; like a grown-up."

"You're my friend," Meg said.

"I can tell 'im you're upset," she said. "But that's all I'll do. Can we talk about something else? How's Clover?"

"Not seen her much of late," Meg said, and frowned. "We'll see her today, though. She always drops her wages off with us on a Friday, an' Mum always insists she stays for dinner."

Ahead of her Meg could see that Fastad had found Danny, and bid a quick goodbye to Lavender before hurrying on to find her mother.

When Meg returned home with the others Jonson and Jack were playing dice at the kitchen table while Rob and Poppy were scrubbing potatoes.

"I hope you're not gambling," Mrs Delver said, putting her basket on the table before going to leave the room again. "Your father home with Martin yet?"

"No," Jonson muttered.

"Has anyone else been in?" Meg said as she put her own basket on the table. "Primrose or… anyone?"

"No. Should there've been?" Jonson said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Meg made a mumbling noise as she turned away to find an apron. "Where's Clover?"

"Not here," Jack said, rolling the dice with a clatter.

"What?"

"You listening? She's not here."

Mrs Delver returned, hefting an axe. "Now, which of you lads is going to slaughter Hetty for me?"

Jonson grimaced while Rob lumbered off, rubbing his hands on his breeches and murmuring something about fixing a door for Widow Stabler.

"For goodness sake," Jack said, and took the axe with both hands. "If you can't stand to do it, just say so."

"Clover's not here," Meg said.

"Aye?" Mrs Delver said, raising an eyebrow at her. "You surprised by that?"

"She always comes by on a Friday."

"She also said she'd come by last Sunday," Poppy said. "And she din't come by for Maizey's birthday."

"That's enough, now," Mrs Delver said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"She'd've just been busy, won't she, Mum?" Meg said. "Or tired from work."

Mrs Delver smiled, but there was something odd about it. "Aye. Mayhap she's just running late."

As Meg helped with the dinner she kept an ear out for the door. Whenever someone did come into the smial she looked to the hallway, expecting it to be Clover. But Clover never arrived. By the time dinner was eaten and the washing up finished Meg had moved into a state of calm practicality. She left the kitchen silently in search of Maizey, and whatever other siblings were available. The solution was simple, really. If Clover was too busy to find the time for them, they would just have to find the time for her.

"I'm looking forward to having nieces and nephews," Abelia said. "And sisters-in-law."

"Mmm…" Clover murmured. She was only half listening. Most of her concentration was going towards trying to copy out the line Abelia had written at the top of the page.

"Not that I imagine I'll get along very well with Dalgo's wife. She'll probably be as horrid as he is. I hope he will get married soon, though. It might make him less of an ass."

"Answering that's above my pay, miss."

There was a knock at the front door and Clover reflexively rose from her chair.

"Someone else can get it," Abelia said.

Clover relaxed again, settling down and taking the pen back up. She had forgotten she had been dismissed for the day.

Young Mrs Grubb came into the kitchen a moment later, looking perplexed.

"Clover, there are some… individuals at the door asking to see you."

Clover's stomach lurched when she stepped into the corridor. Meg, Jonson, Jack and Maizey were there, looking out of place amongst the quiet finery of the Grubb's smial.

"Hello, Clover," Meg said, smiling. "What—"

"Outside," Clover mumbled, giving Jonson a shove to get them going.

"What—"

"We can talk outside," she said. She knew her face was flushing as she herded the confused group out of the smial. When they were all outside Clover kept her hands folded and her face straight. "What are you all doing here?"

"Here to see you, of course. What time d'you get off?" Jonson said.

Meg smiled at her. "Look at you in your fancy weeds." She made to touch Clover's sleeve, but her hand was batted away.

"Leave. All of you. Now."

Meg's face fell. "Clover…"

Jack sneered at her. "Right. You're too good for us, are you? You embarrassed to be seen with us?"

Meg looked agape at him. "Stop it, Jack."

Clover did her best not to rise to it, but clasped her hands tighter, her nails digging painfully into the back of her hand.

Maizey had been fishing her pocket and brought out a small package. "Here, catch. It'll be a bit soft now."

Clover caught the package in both hands. She peeled back the paper to reveal half a biscuit. She frowned and looked back up at Maizey.

"It was my birthday on Wednesday," she said simply.

Clover froze. "Oh." She slowly wrapped the biscuit back up and put it in her pocket as she tried to think of what the best thing to do would be. "I'm sorry I didn't drop by. I can't leave right this minute. But if you like we can go down the Dragon during the week."

Maizey shrugged. "All right. You're paying."

Clover nodded and started to edge her way back into the smial, watching them like they were a pack of hungry dogs. "You ever come here again you come by the back way, understand?"

Jonson stepped forward, fuming. "You little bloody—" He made a choking sound as Meg caught the back of his collar.

"Let's be going," she said quietly. She turned her sad, blue-green eyes to Clover. "We'll see you another day, then. Sorry."

Clover nodded, silently turned about and returned to the smial, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"What was that for?" Jonson said, rubbing his throat and glaring at Meg.

"You're not easy to stop once you get going," Meg said with a weary sigh as she walked back down the garden path.

"That don't mean you're allowed to throttle me."

"So what do we do now, then?" Maizey said.

"Nothing," Jack said, folding his arms. "Five bloody minutes in a fancy smial and she thinks she's outgrown us."

"That's all she's outgrown," Jonson said.

"Why'd you always do that, Jonson?" Meg said.

"I wouldn't do nothing if she weren't such a difficult little chit."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?" Jack said. "She obviously don't care a fig about what we think."

"She was embarrassed, that's all," Meg said. "Wouldn't you be?"

"I usually am. I've learned to cope with it."

"Push off," Jonson said, shoving him.

"Look," Maizey said in a hushed voice, smacking Jonson with the back of her hand. "It's that Took what's gone doe-y eyed over Rob."

Maizey started to drag Jonson away towards the top of North Bank Row, where Tiger Lily was leading her pony home.

Meg looked over at Jack. "Do you really get embarrassed?"

"Not often. Clover's too up herself."

Meg inhaled deeply. "This was stupid. I should've known coming here would upset her."

"You couldn't be expected to know that. If this is where she's living now, how else're we supposed to see her?"

She sighed. "What're you doing this afternoon?"

"Not much."

"You going to see Nickon Hobble?"

Jack's shoulders tensed. "Don't know."

She turned and started to walk back to East Warren Lane. There was probably something useful she could be doing at home. "If you do, try to mention me at some point."

Tiger Lily huffed as she set the full bucket before Posy. "There we are." The pony immediately bent down and started slurping up the water.

"Good girl," Tiger Lily said and sighed. She needed something to do to distract her from this restless, burning feeling. After she had groomed Posy she would need to clean her tack. What then? She turned to hide her head in Posy's side. "I'm not a wenchling," she muttered.

"Hello."

Tiger Lily's looked up sharply and froze. Two Hobbits—a lad and a lass—were stood on the other side of the fence, watching her and grinning. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't know what to say. She recognised the lass from somewhere…

"You walking out with our Rob, then?" the lass said.

Ah, yes, that was it. The sister she'd met at the Green Dragon. Tiger Lily rubbed Posy's side and avoided making eye contact. "We walk sometimes," she said quietly, and glanced nervously at the lad.

"This is our Jonson," Maizey said, apparently sensing what Tiger Lily was thinking.

"All right, lass?" Jonson said, and flicked his head to one side to get his inky hair out of his eyes.

"Rob sent us to invite you round ours tomorrow," Maizey said.

Tiger Lily frowned and wrapped the reins around her hand as Posy lifted her snout from the bucket. "Oh. He didn't say anything when I last saw him…"

"He forgot, an' he busy today, which is why he sent us," Jonson said without missing a beat. "He wants you to meet the rest of the family." A bright smile graced his features. "Can't say as I blame him. If he's not careful I might steal you for myself."

Tiger Lily's cheeks grew warm. She had no defence for that. "What, uh, what time?"

"Six-ish," Maizey said, grabbing Jonson's arm to tug him away. "See you then?"

"Nice to meet you," Jonson said.

Tiger Lily nodded, looking down. "And you," she mumbled. Something quite important occurred to her and she looked up as Jonson and Maizey were walking away. "Whereabouts do you live?"

"12 East Warren Lane," Maizey called over her shoulder.

"All right." Tiger Lily wrung her fingers. "Am I supposed to bring anything?"

"Don't know. Can if you like," Maizey said. And then they were gone.

Tiger Lily tried to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach as she led Posy to the stables. So far her and Rob's courtship had existed in isolation to everyone else in their lives. This hadn't been a deliberate choice on her part, just a consequence of her having no other friends to introduce him to. There was Sango, but he had already told her such a courtship would be a bad idea. Opal wouldn't be happy that he hadn't asked for permission. What would her mother say if she brought Rob home?

She shuddered.

"That was a bit much, Jon-lad," Maizey said.

"Don't call me that."

"We don't want you to steal her."

"I don't rightly know what you want, Maize. I ain't planning on stealing her, neither."

Maizey looked at him sceptically. "That so? You'd best tell her that."

"You wanted my help convincing her," Jonson said. "What did you expect me to do? Plain lasses are easy…"