Mary turned and tried to push her way back through the crowds, who were chanting, ‘Bowring! Bowring!’ But for every step she took she seemed to be pushed two backwards. She tried to stay calm, but the urge to weep was strong. Her legs began to feel weak again and she wanted to sit down but she knew it would mean certain death if she didn’t stay on her feet.

The bugles sounded again, just around the corner, and the crowd split as the first of the horsemen galloped through, slashing right and left with his sword. Mary saw a man lose part of his ear and the blood streamed down his face as he clutched at his head in surprise. She turned a full circle, searching for a way to escape, and found none. Her face felt wet and she wiped it with her fingers and glanced at them, expecting to see blood, but realising that she was sobbing.

‘Mary!’ She looked desperately around to see who was calling her name. ‘Mary! This way!’

The unmistakeable figure of William Hart forced his way towards her and she allowed him to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her into the protection of his body.

‘What’s tha doing out here? Tha shouldn’t be out in this lot,’ he said.

‘I were trying to get back.’

‘Aye. It’s all right now. Tha’s safe with me.’

He forced a way through the mob, holding her close to him, until they reached Shorrock Fold.

‘I’ll be all right now,’ she told him.

‘No. I’ll see thee safely inside,’ he said.

Mrs Hall had barred the door and although William kept on banging it with his fist, it was some time before an upper window was thrust up and her voice shouted at them to go away.

‘It’s William Hart,’ he shouted back. ‘I’ve got Mary, and she’s in a bad way!’

The window slammed and moments later the bolts were drawn and the door opened a crack.

‘Get in,’ said Mrs Hall, glancing at the melee behind them. ‘And be quick about it.’

Mary stumbled over the doorstep and collapsed on to the nearest chair. She could feel her whole body trembling from her chattering teeth to her useless legs and she could hear her own sharp intakes of breath as the uncontrolled sobs shook her.

‘Mary! Mary!’ Mrs Hall was pushing a cup against her lips. ‘Drink this.’ She swallowed and the liquid hit the back of her throat, hot and fierce, making her gasp and cough before the warmth spread from her gullet to her extremities, but still she couldn’t control the shaking.

‘Fetch her through to t’ kitchen,’ she said and Mary felt herself lifted and carried to the chair in front of the range. Mrs Hall added more coal. ‘She looks like she’s been wet through an’ all,’ she said as she unfastened the spoiled bonnet. ‘What was she thinking of? Especially when she’s been so poorly. It’s like she has no care for herself.’