‘I’d be grateful,’ said Molly. ‘The other two don’t seem as bad. They’re poorly, but not like little Annie here.’ She shifted the child on her lap. ‘Is that someone knockin’ on thy door?’

‘Aye. It’ll be someone else wanting help with their washing,’ sighed Jennet, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to send them away even though she had a pile of shirts waiting to be starched. ‘Shout out if tha needs me,’ she told Molly.

She came out of the door to find a woman with a basket of wet washing waiting on her doorstep. ‘I heard tha has a mangle that tha’s lettin’ folk use.’

‘Aye,’ said Jennet. ‘Come through.’ It wouldn’t take long, she thought and she couldn’t find the words to tell this desperate-looking woman to take her sodden bedding home again.

‘I’ve three of ’em ill,’ she told Jennet as she wrung out the sheets. ‘I’m exhausted with it.’ She looked it too, thought Jennet as she watched her place the folded sheets back in her basket. ‘I just hope it stays fine long enough to get them dry.’

The congregation in church on Sunday morning was sparse. There were so many folk poorly and the gentry who lived on the outer edges of the town were keeping their distance for fear of falling ill themselves. Jennet probably wouldn’t have gone to the service herself she was that tired, but she was determined to try to do something about providing folk with washing facilities and she knew that Mrs Whittaker was the best person to approach, although she found that her stomach was fluttering with anxiety as she lingered at the church door.

‘Good morning, Jennet,’ said the vicar’s wife when she saw that she was waiting to speak to her. ‘I hope you’re well – and the children?’

‘We’re all well, thank you, Mrs Whittaker. But there’s many that isn’t.’

‘Yes. The cholera is quite a concern,’ she said. ‘Mr Whittaker is busy with burials every day. He says he’s never seen anything like it. But God works in mysterious ways and he must have his reasons.’

‘Aye,’ said Jennet. ‘Mr Livesey’s preaching that it’s drink to blame.’

‘He may be right, though the disease is taking the Godly as well as the sinners.’

‘I were wondering …’ Jennet began.

‘Yes?’

‘I were wondering if it would be possible to make some provision for folk to do their washing. I’ve been lending out my boiler and mangle to a few neighbours, but it’s not enough. I’ve my own work to do and there’s that many coming now that I’m going to have to turn them away. There needs to be somewhere people can go, with hot water and soap and suchlike so’s they can keep themselves clean.’

‘It’s an interesting idea,’ said Mrs Whittaker.

‘It’s bad enough now when sheets can be pegged out to dry,’ Jennet went on, ‘but it’ll be worse when the weather breaks and folk are stuck with sopping wet sheets and blankets in their houses.’