‘Where’s Alice?’ asked Mary as Mrs Hall dished up the hotpot. She’d seen them whispering to one another after she’d come down.

‘I’ve given her the night off.’

Mary didn’t reply. She knew why. It was so that when Mr Starkie came in he wouldn’t be able to go upstairs with Alice. He would have to choose her instead.

‘I’ve been savin’ summat for thee,’ said Mrs Hall when they’d finished eating. She took a small brown paper package out of her pocket and put it down on the table. ‘Go on, open it!’

Wondering what it could be and what she’d done to merit a gift, Mary carefully unwrapped it. She stared at the small sponge with a ribbon attached, wondering what it was.

‘This ’ere’s white vitriol,’ Mrs Hall told her, laying a small paper envelope beside it. ‘Dissolve six grains in an ounce of water and then soak t’ sponge in it before puttin’ it up thy Mrs Fubbs. Once t’gentleman’s finished tha can pull it out and it’ll wash everything away. It keeps thee clean and prevents a babe. Wash it out after. Don’t go usin’ it again without washin’ it and hangin’ it up to dry. Dost tha understand?’

‘Aye,’ said Mary, staring at the object. It made her decision real. This was what she was expected to do. This was her job.

‘Now,’ said Mrs Hall, ‘go and lift the sneck and let’s see who comes in tonight.’

There was already a queue at the door. The mills were closing and it was pay day and the men who rushed in to put their pennies down on the bar were mostly the regulars who always said they’d come in for a quick drink on their way home, but who stayed for hours until they were too drunk to know any better or until their wives sent one of their children to find them and fetch them home.

Mary served up the pints of beer and tried to chat as if there was nothing wrong, but inside her stomach was churning. Every time the door opened her innards leaped as she looked up to see if it was Mr Starkie. She was just beginning to think that he wouldn’t come and that she would have a reprieve for tonight at least when a draught blew across the parlour and there he was, framed in the doorway, his wavy hair tossed about by the breeze. He smiled when he saw her and made his way to the seat beside the fire.

‘Evenin’, Mary. Tha’s lookin’ pretty tonight.’

‘Ta very much. What can I get for thee?’

‘Pour me a pint.’

‘Owt else?’ she asked. Mrs Hall was insistent that she always try to sell a portion of the hotpot as well.

‘What’s tha got?’ He grinned up at her.

‘Hotpot.’

‘Nowt else?’ His eyes locked with hers and she felt a blush rising to her cheeks. ‘Aye, well, get me a bowl of hotpot to be going on with then. Where’s Alice tonight?’ he asked, glancing around.