‘Baste that leg of lamb, will thee,’ said Cook and Hannah took a thick cloth to pull the meat-laden tray towards her whilst she spooned its own juices over it. It smelled so good that she felt her mouth begin to water and she hoped that there would be enough left for it to come back down to the servants’ table after the family had eaten.

Mr Horrocks came down to the kitchen. ‘I hear that the voting is over,’ he told them.

‘Did Mr Feilden win then?’ asked Cook as she put the lid back on the simmering soup pot.

‘They’re still counting,’ he said. ‘I’ve promised a lad sixpence to run back with the result as soon as it’s announced.’

He sat down at the table and Cook poured tea. Mrs Feilden and her daughters had gone to the theatre to be with Mr Feilden for the result and the house was quiet.

Then they were disturbed by a frantic knocking at the back door. Mr Horrocks went to open it and Hannah caught sight of a scrawny little boy with a dirty face and a missing front tooth, hopping from one leg to the other.

‘Tha promised me sixpence,’ he said.

Mr Horrocks felt in his pocket and took out the silver coin, which the lad eyed greedily.

‘Well?’

‘Turner,’ he said.

‘What? No. Tell me who won the seats!’

‘Turner,’ repeated the boy, holding out his hand.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Mr Horrocks. ‘Tha’s never been to get the real result. On thy way!’

The boy let out a howl after he tried to grab the coin and Mr Horrocks dealt him a slap around the head. ‘It were true!’ he protested. ‘They’re all saying as the winner is Turner!’

Mr Horrocks shut the door on him and turned to Cook. He looked shaken. ‘That can’t be right,’ he said as the lad continued to protest outside.

Moments later they heard the carriage stop at the front of the house and the grim-faced butler hurried up the stairs to open the door. Cook sighed. ‘I hope they still want their supper, even if Mr Feilden has lost,’ she said.

When it was announced that the seats had gone to Mr Feilden and Mr Turner there was a deafening roar of ‘No!’ that nearly raised the roof right off the theatre. Men jumped to their feet and stared at one another in disbelief, asking if what they’d heard was true. Others were demanding that Mr Fleming count the votes again. There was only one vote in it between Dr Bowring and Mr Turner and surely he’d made a mistake. But Mr Fleming shook his head and told them that he’d checked the numbers twice. Mr Turner had won one of the seats and there was nothing more he could do.

On the stage, Mr Turner was grinning and shaking hands with his supporters as they offered their congratulations. Dr Bowring sat very still and never spoke, even though several men were trying to offer him condolences.