Mary had passed the Feildens’ house many times and she walked past it now before pausing and then walking back to the gate. She’d seen Mrs Feilden going out in the carriage so she knew the family weren’t home at the moment. Would it do any harm to knock on the back door and ask if Hannah would see her for a moment?

She pushed open the gate and made her way around the side path. She knocked and it was opened by a man with a sour expression.

‘Is Hannah here?’ she asked.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘I’m Mary Sharples. I’m her friend.’

‘Hannah is working. She has no time to be chatting with the likes of thee. Tha can see her when it’s her afternoon off.’

The man closed the door in her face. Mary wondered whether she should knock again, but she knew she’d only get the same answer. She trailed back to the gate, glancing up at the windows where she thought she saw someone twitching at a blind. Maybe it was Hannah and she’d seen her coming up the path and told the man to send her away. Mary closed the gate behind her with a click of the latch. She had no idea when it was Hannah’s afternoon off. She’d just have to wait and hope that she came down to the Star again. And if she didn’t want to be friends then Mary could hardly blame her. What she’d said was cruel and unnecessary. She’d been angry and disappointed, but she could understand why Hannah had wanted the job for herself, and she had to admit that in her place she would probably have done the same.

Chapter Twenty

There was to be yet another supper party and Hannah was kept busy running up and down the stairs preparing the table. Every time she went up, she peeped out of the dining room into the hallway to see if she could catch sight of any visitors so she could go back down to tell Cook who had arrived. It was satisfying to see the disbelief on her face every time she related a name.

‘Mr Swarbrick, the shopkeeper? Mr Pilkington, the joiner?’ gasped Cook in disbelief when Hannah told her who Mr Horrocks had answered the door to. ‘Tradesmen!’ she muttered as she stirred her sauce. ‘I never thought I’d be cooking for tradesmen. They’ll be getting above themselves, mark my words. They’ll be thinking they can come and ring the front doorbell every time they arrive instead of coming round to the back door.’

Hannah laughed to herself at the image of Mr Horrocks having to welcome Mr Duckworth, the butcher, at the front door when he’d been more used to making him stand at the back entrance whilst Cook sniffed at the meat he’d brought to check that it was as fresh as he claimed. But these were the people Mr Feilden had to impress if he wanted to take his seat in Parliament.