Isobel was scrubbing a saucepan at the scullery sink, almost up to her elbows in hot water. She turned at the sound of the door opening. ‘Are you looking for something, Miss Ann?’

Ann sat down at the table. The smell of biscuits seeped out from the oven in the black range behind her, and the heat warmed her back. ‘This must be a nice room to work in,’ she said, ‘it’s always so warm and cosy.’ She began to doodle with her finger in the scattering of flour that had been left behind on the table. The swirls and loops she created made channels which she dusted over, before starting again with a fresh pattern.

Isobel pointed upwards to the small room above the scullery. ‘You should be here in the morning when you’ve just come down from up there and it’s still dark. It’s not so cosy when the fire’s almost out and Jack Frost has tried to poke his long fingers under the back door.’ It was said without any malice, but it was the truth, nonetheless. ‘Better watch out or you’ll be getting flour in those long plaits of yours and they’ll go hard and crusty. You’ll not be happy when it has to be brushed out. You’d better come over here and put your hands in the sink for a moment; we don’t want you getting into trouble.’

Ann swished her fingers in the soapy water and looked around for something to dry her hands with. She didn’t see the blue kitchen towel which hung on a nail right beside the scullery sink. Instead, she walked back into the warm kitchen and picked up a tea towel from the neat pile of freshly ironed laundry on the big table. Isobel watched as her just-completed work was undone, but said nothing.

Ann dried her hands carefully. ‘Father has been talking to Finlay.’

‘I expect he had something important to say, Miss Ann.’ Isobel lifted the heavy pan out of the washing-up water and put it on the wooden drainer.

‘He said that there were two things that would get Finlay into trouble.’

‘And what would those be, miss?’

‘Your stick and your signature,’ Ann checked her fingernails for bits of flour she might have missed, ‘which I don’t really understand. I thought that perhaps you might be able to tell me?’

Isobel’s face seemed to be stuck. She coughed and guddled about in her pocket for a handkerchief while she worked out how to answer. ‘I’m not sure I know, Miss Ann,’ she said at last.