She let herself out into the drizzle and began to walk briskly. She followed the gathering crowd towards the theatre, where the election was being held.

She was surprised by the number of people who thronged the outside of the building – men, women and children. They looked thin and their clothes were either patched or hung in tatters where there was no longer enough cloth to mend. They cheered when they saw Dr Bowring.

Mary watched, the drizzle soaking dark patches on the shoulders of her jacket, as the other candidates arrived. As well as Dr Bowring there was Mr Feilden and Mr Turner. And she recognised Mr Hargreaves from the Dandy Mill. Like many of the overlookers he’d been sworn in as a special constable for the day to help keep the peace.

The magistrates had forbidden the bands and the flag-waving, but even so there was a palpable excitement as the crowd watched the electors come, sometimes alone, or sometimes in a group, to say who they were voting for. Some came wearing their best clothes, others, like Mr Duckworth the butcher, whose striped apron was besmirched with blood where he’d wiped his hands, came straight from their shops or businesses.

Mary eased her way in through the open doorway to stand out of the rain and try to hear the votes that were being given to Mr Fleming, the returning officer, who sat at a table carried down from the furniture shop, with pens and ink in front of him to record the votes of each elector in his book.

As the votes were cast, the crowds of supporters cheered, trying to outdo one another as if those who made the most noise would garner the most votes for their candidate. The three potential members of parliament sat on the stage behind Mr Fleming and acknowledged their gratitude for each vote they were given – and gave black looks to those who had made them a promise they didn’t keep. Some of the men in the crowd were trying to keep a tally, but they soon lost count and began arguing amongst themselves about who was winning.

Mary sat down on one of the red plush seats. She thought that if she kept still and quiet no one would notice her and it was better than being out in the rain or going back to the Star.

‘Mary, isn’t it?’ A shudder ran through her as she recognised his voice. ‘Tha remembers me from t’Dandy Mill, doesn’t tha?’

‘Aye. I remember thee,’ she said, glancing up at Hargreaves’s leering face as he leaned over the back of her seat.

‘I thought tha’d gone off to work in one of them big country houses.’

‘Aye. It were for Sudell.’

‘Right. So tha’s back now. Is tha lookin’ for work?’

‘Is there owt going?’ she asked. It was the only mill where she hadn’t enquired so she doubted it.

‘I could always find summat for thee.’ Hargreaves winked at her and she knew that he would never take her back on at the Dandy without expecting her to do him a ‘favour’, as he referred to it. That’s why she’d never been to ask him. But had she ended up any better off? Mr Starkie, for all his charm and promises, had been no different.