‘Well, I’m sorry for that,’ she replied, determined to remain polite under the woman’s provocation. It would be her loss anyway. She’d soon realise that when her petticoats came back greyed and creased.

‘Show her out,’ Mrs Pickering told the maid and turned her back on Jennet to return to her parlour.

Jennet was tempted to make a face and stick out her tongue at the retreating figure but she resisted.

‘So tha’s Hannah’s sister?’ whispered the maid as she pulled open the door.

‘Aye, that’s right.’

‘Hannah were good to me when I were at Woodfold,’ said Sally. ‘And if that new blouse were made by her it’s bound to be better than the old one. She’s lucky to have summat stitched by Hannah.’

‘I’ll tell her tha said so next time I see her,’ said Jennet as she stepped out.

She walked home feeling worried. The interview with Mrs Pickering had gone much as she’d expected and even if the woman did try to ruin her business for her, she doubted she’d succeed. She had a lot of loyal customers and this was the one and only time that she’d spoiled an item she was laundering. And even though she’d cursed herself time and again for her moment of inattention, she hoped that most folk would see reason and know that accidents occasionally happened.

What worried her more was the talk of Hannah and how she’d got her job. There was something odd about it and she knew that she’d have to have it out with her sister the next time she saw her. She just hoped to goodness that there was an explanation and that Hannah hadn’t done something dishonest.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Election Day greeted the candidates and voters with a fine drizzle that was barely visible in the air, but soon soaked through the clothing of anyone who stood out in it for more than a few minutes. The hustings stood empty and abandoned. The few flags and colours that hadn’t been cleared away hung limp and still, and puddles formed in the hollows where so many feet had trodden the Sunday before.

The sound of the engines in the mills filled the air with a steady beat and Mary thought that there would be plenty whose heads were thumping along in unison after the amount of free beer that had been drunk in the past few days.

Mrs Hall was morose. Beershops had been told that they must close by eight and as she sat drinking her morning tea, Mary could see her mentally calculating how much the restriction would cost her.

‘Dost tha need anything doing?’ she asked her, noticing that she hadn’t made a start on the potatoes.

‘Leave ’em,’ replied Mrs Hall. ‘Nobody’ll come in tonight. It’s not worth it.’

‘Is it all right if I go out for a bit then?’ she asked.

‘Aye. Do what tha pleases.’

Mary went upstairs for her bonnet and the little jacket that Mr Starkie had given her. She’d earned them, she thought – more than earned them.