Mary looked towards the door that led to the staircase and saw Mrs Hall nodding at her. If she refused she’d be on the street by morning. She knew that.

‘Aye. All right,’ she said.

Mr Starkie pushed the bowl away and stood up. ‘Lead the way,’ he said with a gesture that could have been mistaken for that of a gentleman.

Mary threaded through the crowd, telling the customers that their orders would be taken in a moment.

‘Can tha manage alone?’ she asked Mrs Hall at the kitchen door. ‘It’s very busy.’

‘I can cope,’ she told her. ‘Go on up. Mr Starkie’ll join thee in a moment.’

Mary climbed the stairs, carrying a candlestick. She picked up the sponge that was soaking in a bowl and put it inside her. After a few minutes Mr Starkie came in and closed the door. There was none of the laughing and giggling that she’d heard when he came upstairs with Alice.

She put the candle on the washstand although it wasn’t quite dark outside and if she’d been alone she would have managed without its light.

Mr Starkie sat down on her bed and patted the mattress. ‘Come and sit with me,’ he said. Mary sat down and allowed him to take her hand. ‘Tha’s a lovely little thing,’ he said. ‘Tha’s not afraid, is tha?’ Mary felt her heart begin to thud as she was reminded of her father. He stroked her face with his fingers. ‘Tha doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I’ll do nowt to hurt thee.’

He slid his fingers around the back of her neck and drew her face to his. He kissed her, gently for a while, then pushed her down and kissed her harder as his hand sought her breast and squeezed it hard. She tried to protest but his mouth was covering hers and she couldn’t cry out. The gentleman that he’d been moments before seemed lost to the frenzy that overcame him as he roughly pulled her blouse open and she heard some of the buttons scatter across the floor. She’d need to get down on her hands and knees to find them and stitch them back on once he’d gone, she thought.

He pinned her to the bed with his weight and pulled at her skirt and clawed at her drawers, dragging them down around her knees before getting on top of her and struggling to unfasten his trousers with one hand. She wanted to offer to help. She thought it might slow him down, but he was in no mood now for conversation and growled at her when she tried to speak. So she let him do as he wanted and tried not to clench up too tight because she knew that it was more painful that way. All she had to do was think of something else – something nice – until he was done.

At last he rolled away from her, gasping and panting and lay on his back staring at the beams that crossed the ceiling. On the washstand the candle guttered and went out and Mary didn’t dare move or say a word. When he regained his breath he reached out and grasped her wrist.