I see it as a failure in my writing skills that I just don't seem to provoke any sort of protest from my readers as to the way I treat some of my characters.  Take poor Annie for instance:  A woman in her late twenties, which in her social strata makes her about halfway through her expected life, if she's lucky.

I have her wandering about in the woods, living off her wits and what she can beg, borrow or steal; not particularly in control of her mind, but with no real harm in her character, just desperation; then I involve her in a situation where she suddenly finds herself mothering a beautiful (at least to her and its mother) baby; is chased all round the villages, then has the baby snatched away again by the very woman she thought was going to provide a few coins and endorse her motherhood by painting an official portrait.

Of course, I do get helpful and constructive emails from a small number of regular supporters, for which I am eternally grateful, and I suppose the rest of you could all be tut-tutting away in private, but it would be nice if more readers would share their reactions by adding a comment.  I guarantee that I shall read and take notice of everything said.  Look at it as an opportunity to influence the course of the saga and help me bring out the sort of detail that you want to see.

I suppose many people were happy enough to see the kidnapped child returned, without wondering how that might effect poor Annie.  After all, she didn't intend to abduct the child, it was somewhat thrust upon her.  Nor has everyone considered the point of view of the baby, who it must be said from the evidence, was actually as happy with Annie as with its own mother.  In fact, as it was having to share its mother with a twin, getting somebody's full attention was probably a welcome change, not to mention acquiring a taste for goats milk.

By way of a preview of an early event happening in Mardlingham Book Three, I can disclose that the following illustration is of a fraught moment when the Romanies descend on Low Common, which is close enough to the Mardlingham watermill to make a meeting between Foxy Annie and the miller's prissy daughter absolutly inevitable:

FoxyAnnieMeetsMissPratt

Annie, by trade, if you can call it that, is a peggler.  Pegs, like those in the picture below are made of poplar, dogwood or guelder-rose.  Young wood, about as thick as your thumb, is first cut to length and the bark removed, then later when other work is not convenient, each piece is split and with two deft strokes of the knife the curved inner faces are formed and a small band of iron bent round to reunite the halves.

Clothes Pegs

The ones shown here obviously have hoops of smithed iron, but later pegs used the thinner metal from food tins, cut into strips and wound round in a spiral then fixed with a small tack.  I remember my mother buying these at the door back in the 1950s, when Gypsy peg sellers called.  By then the craftsmanship had gone, and buying a few overpriced badly made pegs was a small price to pay to be left alone as they passed through on their way to the harvest or fruit-picking.