‘Please take a seat in my workroom. I need to take an apple pie out of the oven, I won’t be a minute.’

Clearly the maid is indisposed, thought Ursula, looking around the room. A black Singer sewing machine, unlike any she had seen before, dominated the space in front of the window where there was most daylight. There were no chairs, just an adjustable stool in front of the machine. Beside it lay an instruction book with ‘Model 29’ printed on the front. A large waist-high bench, about the size of the kitchen table at 25 Library Terrace, stood in the middle of the room, and on the opposite wall was a tall grid of shelves, at least a yard deep. A tantalising hint of colour poked out from each square section where the end of a roll of leather or fabric protruded, and the whole edifice was arranged like a vertical rainbow with a column of scarlet and claret, followed by another of rust and autumn leaves, and then ragwort and mustard, before shading into several sections containing any green she could possibly have thought of.

Elizabeth Forrester returned from the kitchen still wearing her apron and dispensed with formalities without being given permission. ‘So, Ursula, how can I help you today?’

‘I mentioned to Mrs Young, to Mary,’ Ursula didn’t know what name to use, ‘that it will be my husband’s daughter’s thirteenth birthday in a few weeks. I thought that perhaps it was time she had a bag of her own instead of relying on me or her sleeves to carry a handkerchief and other items. She seemed very sure that you would be able to advise me, or even sell me such an item.’

Elizabeth seemed delighted. She smiled broadly, reached for a large book with the word ‘ORDERS’ stamped on the cover, and opened a cupboard in the dresser behind her.

‘Oh yes. I am sure I can help with that. How exciting, a new bag.’

She pulled out a stack of boxes from inside the cupboard. ‘Let me show you a few of these; they are waiting to be collected. Please have a look and see if there is anything you like.’