‘Blankets and sheets are in here,’ said Mrs Hall, pulling open the cupboard door. ‘I’ll leave thee to make up t’ bed. Tha can come down about five and have summat t’ eat and then give a hand servin’ until we close at eleven.’

‘Aye. That’s all right.’

‘Lass in t’ other room is Alice. I think she might be having a nap now, but tha can knock and introduce thyself later. She’ll show thee t’ ropes.’

When Mrs Hall had gone, Mary sat down on the chair. Unexpectedly she found herself unable to hold back tears, though whether she was crying from relief or sadness or anger she wasn’t sure. It certainly wasn’t how she’d expected her day to turn out when she’d got up that morning.

After a while, she pulled herself together, wiped her eyes and made up the bed. Then she went back down the stairs to ask about the privy.

‘Bottom o’ the yard,’ said Mrs Hall. Mary hesitated. ‘What’s to do?’ asked the woman.

‘Canst lend me a rag?’ she asked. ‘I’ve started my monthlies and I forgot to pack mine, what wi’ leavin’ in such a rush an all …’

The landlady sighed. ‘Right. Wait there,’ she said before going upstairs and returning with a couple of cloths in her hand. ‘Keep ’em. I don’t want ’em back.’

Mary thanked her and went to find the privy. When she was done she went back inside and saw from the clock in the kitchen that she had a couple of hours to spare before five o’clock. She wondered if it was worth going to enquire about work at the mills. She supposed she might as well go and ask. The sooner she got a job, the sooner she would feel more secure.

Mary decided not to ask at the Dandy Mill on Paradise Lane. There was too much risk of running into her family there, and for another reason she’d been glad to get away from the groping hands of Mr Hargreaves, the overlooker. The man was a menace and all the lasses loathed him. He’d even tried it on with Hannah. She’d said that one night after all the other lasses had gone he’d had her pinned against a wall upstairs and would have forced her if she hadn’t screamed and Jennet hadn’t come running up the stairs and got him off her.

Mary walked down to the King Street Mill instead and went in the main door. She’d forgotten how noisy the mills were. The pounding of the looms seemed much worse than she remembered, though it may have been because the factory was running at full power. Nothing stood idle and the women were dashing between one loom and the next, changing the bobbins and mending the threads as the cloth pooled on to the floor.

‘Can I help thee?’ asked a man. He was wearing fustian britches and an open-neck shirt made from Blackburn Check.

‘I need work,’ she told him.