The boy vanished back inside the house and returned quickly with a heavy galvanised bucket, bashed about the rim.

The injured lad was silent now. He had been set back onto his feet and stood shivering, his head soaking wet, water dribbling down onto his shirt. The man rinsed the grey bucket out three times and then filled it with fresh water.

‘Sit there,’ he instructed. The lad did as he was told and sat down on a stack of planks. Beside him was a heap of long larch poles and coiled ropes; last week these had been the scaffolding for the house. ‘You need to take handfuls of water from the pail, like this,’ the man demonstrated, ‘and then hold your hand against your eye and tip your head back. I want you to use the whole pail of water. And when you’ve done that there will be another pail. Over and over again. Have you got that? Do you understand?’ The lad nodded.

All this activity unfurled in front of John Black, who was standing on a rutted path that would soon be the pavement. He unbuttoned his overcoat. ‘Here,’ he said, stepping forward, ‘he’s freezing cold. Put this around him.’

The plasterer looked up, taking in the smart hat and formal suit. ‘That’s kind of you, sir, but your coat will be ruined.’

‘This is going to be my house, and I think a few marks on a coat is a small price to pay for looking after one of the young men who is building it for me.’ He held the heavy wool coat out, its satin lining catching the low afternoon sunlight. ‘Please, take it.’

The plasterer took the coat. ‘Thank you. He’s chilled, that’s for sure.’

‘And his face? What happened?’

‘A dod of lime plaster in his eye. It’s caustic. It will have burned.’

‘In his eye? My God.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine after a few days. We got it rinsed out very quickly. You really can’t delay with this kind of thing.’

‘What age is he? He looks so young.’ John frowned. ‘Is it safe for him to be here?’

‘He’s fourteen,’ the man lied. ‘He’s not missing any school. I pay him, and he takes the wage home to his mother. She’s a widow. It all helps a little.’

John listened, but was unconvinced. ‘Very well. I’ll leave you to get on. I need to get home now.’ He crossed his red woollen scarf over his chest, tucked the ends under his arms and fastened the buttons on his suit jacket. ‘It’s been rather a day.’

The plasterer hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond.