‘My God, Mrs Black!’ Isobel had clearly been ready and willing to use the weapon, in both terror and self-defence. ‘I’m sorry for cursing, but you did give me a fright.’

‘I apologise,’ replied Ursula. ‘I had hoped to get in without any fuss. What time is it?’

‘It’s just before six.’

‘I’m so tired, it’s no wonder I’m feeling the cold.’ Ursula moved into the kitchen and loosened her headscarf. She draped her heavy woollen coat across one of the chairs before sitting down. ‘I think I’ll just stay here for five minutes and get warm before I go upstairs. Maybe I should take my shoes off here; I don’t want to leave dirty footprints on the stair carpet as I go up.’ She took a breath to allow for the tightness of her corset, and bent forward to undo her shoelaces.

‘The kettle’s almost boiled, will I make you a pot of tea?’

‘Or cocoa? It feels like bedtime to me; I’ve been awake for most of the night.’

‘Mmmm?’ Isobel didn’t want to ask the obvious question, and busied herself with a pan and a bottle of yesterday’s milk from the cold store.

‘That was quite the most rule-breaking thing I have done since I was about nine years old, but it was worth it.’ Ursula yawned and stretched. ‘I’ve been at a protest to try to get us the vote.’

‘The vote? You mean Votes for Women?’

‘That’s right. Do you think you would vote, Isobel, if you had the chance?’

‘I think so. Not sure it’s ever going to happen, mind.’

‘Well, in this life, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. That’s what my father used to say.’

Isobel went to the scullery briefly to rinse out the milk bottle. ‘Where was your protest? If you’ve been out walking the streets since you left last night then it’s small wonder you’re exhausted.’