‘But tha knows I don’t like him.’

‘What’s likin’ him got to do with it?’ she demanded, her ample bosom heaving with indignation. ‘He’s just offered thee marriage, a nice home, food on the table, respectability …’ She counted off the reasons that Mary should agree on her fingers. ‘Tha’ll not find anyone else who’ll do the same. And it’ll be too late to consider whether tha might have grown to like him when tha’s toilin’ fourteen hours a day in the workhouse for a bowl of gruel! I could slap thee for being so stupid and stubborn!’

She gave a huff and wobbled off into the kitchen, muttering about lasses who had their heads filled with too many romantic notions and asking why they couldn’t recognise the chance of a lifetime when it was thrust underneath their noses. Mary was about to follow her and protest again that she didn’t like him, but instead she sat down by the fire and began to wonder whether it really was reason enough not to accept him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The morning after the election, Mr Horrocks came to the kitchen to tell Hannah that Mrs Feilden wanted to see her in the morning room.

‘Tha must have missed a bit when tha were dustin’,’ Cook teased as Hannah fiddled with her hair to make sure it was tidy. ‘There’s a mark on that apron. Put on a clean one. Tha can change back after.’

Hannah tugged off the offending pinny and put it over the back of a chair before pulling a fresh one over her head and fastening it into a neat bow at the back – all the time wondering what might make Mrs Feilden summon her upstairs in the middle of the morning. She hoped she wasn’t going to be told that she must pack her bags to go with them to London.

When Hannah got to the door her employer was sitting at her desk with some papers spread in front of her.

‘Come in, Hannah,’ she said. She didn’t sound pleased. ‘I’ve been looking at this letter,’ she said. ‘It’s the one you brought when you came about the job. You told me it was a character reference written by your former employer, Mr Sudell. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Mrs Feilden,’ Hannah said as a cold horror began to gnaw away at her. Had her employer somehow discovered that it wasn’t the real thing after all this time? It had been so long that Hannah had stopped worrying about it.

‘It’s come to my attention that when Mr Sudell left he neglected to provide characters for any of his maids.’ Hannah didn’t answer. What could she say? How had Mrs Feilden found out? ‘So I’m wondering how you came by this?’ she said, holding it out towards her.

The pattern on the Turkish rug seemed to be swirling as Hannah stared down at it, not knowing how to reply.

‘It isn’t Mr Sudell’s signature,’ went on Mrs Feilden. ‘When Mr Feilden repeated to me what he’d been told, I asked him to show me a document that did have Mr Sudell’s signature attached. He’d done business with him in the past so it was easily compared – and this one bears no resemblance.’