She put on a plain bonnet and a little jacket. Both were old-fashioned now that the new London styles had reached the north, but it didn’t matter. The thing was to look clean and respectable. She picked up her little reticule and hung it over her wrist and then went down the stairs to the parlour. He was already there, waiting for her.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘I think so.’ Her stomach was dancing a jig and she thought she’d never been so afraid of anything in her life.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘Tha looks lovely and I’m sure they’ll like thee.’

Out on Shorrock Fold he gave her his arm and after a glance towards the pawnbroker’s to check that there was no sign of Mr Starkie, she took it and they walked down Church Street to his parents’ house. The shops were all closed up and it was quiet. No one was allowed to work on a Sunday although there were a few who were out and about, looking furtive as they carried tools in their hands.

The Harts’ house was larger than the workers’ cottages but not on such a grand scale as the houses of the gentry. William opened the door himself rather than knocking and waiting for the maid to let them in. They entered a small flagged hallway. Beyond it was a staircase and a couple of closed doors. He led the way upstairs to a room at the front of the house where the door was ajar.

‘We’re here,’ he said and pushed it wider for her to go in.

Mr and Mrs Hart were sitting on either side of the fireplace. It was an open fire, not a range like the ones in the cottages. They would have an oven downstairs for cooking, she thought, and a servant to clean and blacklead it. They both looked at her curiously. Mr Hart, with his thinning hairline and neatly trimmed beard, had been reading a book and he closed it and put it down on a side table to study her. His wife had some embroidery on her lap and she too scrutinised her.

‘This is Mary Sharples,’ said William.

‘How do you do,’ said Mary and gave a slight curtsey.

‘Come and sit down,’ said Mrs Hart. She was a fierce-looking woman with sharp eyes and angular features. William clearly took after his father in looks. ‘William, call down to Mrs Threlfall and ask her to bring up some tea.’

Mary went forward and perched on the edge of the horsehair sofa. She could feel it prickling her legs through the cloth of her skirt.

‘William hasn’t told us much about you,’ said Mrs Hart. ‘Are you a Blackburn lass?’

‘Not originally,’ she said. ‘I came here when my parents moved to work in the mill. I was in the Dandy Mill myself for a while, then at Woodfold House until Mr Sudell went away.’

‘And what’s tha been doin’ since then?’ asked Mr Hart.