The Blood List by Sarah Naughton

a moment.
    He was woken by someone shaking him by the shoulder.
    ‘Wha!’ he cried and promptly rolled off the bed.
    ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Naomi said.
    ‘Oh. Right. I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said, rubbing his elbow where it had struck the bed frame.
    ‘It’s on the table.’
    She stared at him evenly.
    He got up. ‘For future reference, Miss Waters, Juliet usually gives me a little more warning, to ease me into wakefulness a little less rudely.’
    ‘I didn’t expect you to be asleep at six o’clock in the evening, Master Barnaby.’
    He stared at her.
    ‘I sleep when I choose,’ he said.
    She held his gaze. ‘Evidently.’
    He pushed past her in the direction of the door. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, ‘no wonder they fired you.’
    ‘Enjoy your chicken,’ she said.
    The chicken was actually, though it pained him to admit it, considerably better than usual: moister, tastier, and with a crisp, browned skin flavoured with some herb he couldn’t
identify.
    They were careful not to compliment the meal when Juliet was in the room but she could not have helped noticing that they all asked for seconds. Unlike Juliet, who was always rushing about in a
panic at supper time, Naomi stayed to hear grace, bowing her neat little bonnet, from which a single curl had escaped, and clasping her red hands, to Abel’s obvious approval.
    ‘I thank the Lord for guiding your hands to produce such a fine meal,’ he said as she cleared the plates afterwards.
    ‘Oh, certainly,’ she said, smiling. ‘And may He breathe His spirit into the bread yeast too.’
    Barnaby noticed that Frances was hiding a smile behind her hand.
    The following morning he rose early and agreed to accompany his father to the cloth market in Grimston, to see how the merchants were faring with his imported wool and silk.
    The journey was a long one and the road was bad, and after attempting to listen to his father describing the differing qualities of the various fabrics and how you could tell the difference,
Barnaby finally vomited over the side of the cart and spent the remainder of the journey lying in the back with his jacket over his face.
    His father and the driver spent their time discussing the latest wild story to circulate Grimston: that an enormous sea monster had been put on display at the market the previous week.
‘Someone bought it and cooked it,’ the driver said in hushed tones. ‘And straightaway he were driven mad and drowned hisself in the river.’
    ‘Extraordinary,’ said his father, wide-eyed.
    Grimston market was noisy and bustling and filled with bright colours and strong smells. The produce on sale was far more varied than at the market at home, and seemed to have originated from
every corner of the globe. There were spices from India, silks from the East, China tea and fruit and vegetables Barnaby had never heard of including a bright scarlet fruit about the size of a
plum. It was called a ‘tomatoe’, but was there purely for display as it was poisonous to eat. His father bought a huge wheel of cheese from Amsterdam and a flagon of malmsey wine. They
paused at a stall selling trinkets and his father chose a silver locket for Frances. For a few pennies there were a selection of ribbons sewn with silver charms and Barnaby decided to buy one for
Flora. He selected a pale blue gingham one with a tiny silver hare dangling from it. His father winked and goaded him all the way back to the cart, but Barnaby would not admit who it was for.
    They lunched in one of the inns by the magistrate’s court and his father ended up in conversation with a fellow Grimston merchant. It turned out that the man dealt in relics and holy
charms. There was, the merchant claimed, a particularly good market for such items at the moment, with the witch fever that was gripping the county. The previous month he had made almost thirty
pounds profit at a mass hanging in Norwich. For a moment Barnaby thought his father would buy some of the