On her next foray upstairs, Hannah recognised the lanky frame of William Hart, handing his hat and coat to Mr Horrocks. She was pretty sure he wasn’t a property owner, but his father was, so perhaps he’d come in his stead.

‘The ropemaker?’ asked Cook when Hannah reported it to her. She shook her head as if it was an affront too many.

‘He was talking to Mr Feilden in the hall,’ related Hannah. ‘They were deep in conversation – like old friends!’

‘Tha’s having me on now,’ declared Cook. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Go up and look for thyself!’

‘I’ve too much to do here,’ she complained. ‘Even though them as are going to eat it don’t know duck from goose. It’ll be wasted on ’em,’ she declared as she added the finishing touches of garnish to the roast bird.

The last thing to be carried up for the table was the soup tureen. It was heavy and hot. Hannah was afraid of it slipping from her grasp as she climbed the stairs with it clutched in a thick cloth. She pushed the door open with her hip and placed the tureen carefully, wiping away a slight spill as she heard Mr Horrocks announce supper. She slipped into the shadows of the stairwell to watch. The men were well dressed. Most had made an effort even if their clothes were not as fashionable as the usual guests. They looked satisfied, she thought, as their glances darted here and there as they took in the finery of the grand house.

Her stomach lurched as she caught sight of James Hindle. He was talking with William Hart. She stepped back, not wanting him to see her. She knew she would be in trouble with Mrs Feilden again if she was seen speaking to one of the guests.

‘No meeting tonight?’ Jennet asked as she folded laundry on the table ready to return it to her customers the next morning.

‘Not worth it,’ said Titus, settling at the fireside and packing his small pipe with a twist of tobacco. ‘Feilden’s got most of the voters I know at his house for a fancy supper. And as for the rest of ’em, Turner’ll be plying ’em with drinks down at the Old Bull until they’re so fuddled they’d agree to vote for t’ cat if it were puttin’ up.’

‘And what about Dr Bowring?’

‘No sign of him yet. They say he’s coming tomorrow, but he’s above that sort of common bribery. I just hope there’s enough upstanding folk to see what’s right and fair and vote for the chap.’

‘Aye,’ said Jennet. ‘Mrs Whittaker says there’s little chance of a washhouse if he doesn’t get in.’

‘Well, it would only take thy trade,’ said Titus as he watched her parcel the laundry.

‘That’s not the point though, is it? They say as cleanliness is next to Godliness, but whilst Mr Whittaker’s keen to preach his Godliness he doesn’t seem to care about how folks are keeping clean.’