‘That were much better,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘Don’t use that again.’ He pointed at the sponge. She wanted to protest that she was frightened of getting with child, but she feared it would provoke another blow so she nodded, desperate to control her tears until he’d gone. ‘Come down when tha’s dressed,’ he said when he’d fastened himself up. ‘I’ll treat thee to a drink.’

So there was to be no sixpence this time. She was disappointed because it meant John would have to wait longer for his new shirt and she resolved to try to please Mr Starkie better in future. She knew that he paid Mrs Hall, which meant she could live rent free and eat as much as she wanted in return for her waiting-on work, but if she could save some money she’d not only be able to help John, she might be able to get away. As it was she was totally dependent on him, and although it was nice to have dresses and bonnets and shawls and shoes, she was trapped here and she could see no way of ever getting free.

She gave herself a good wash and hoped that it would suffice. She’d seen her mother produce bairn after bairn, some living and some not, and she didn’t want the same to happen to her, not when she wasn’t wed and had no means of supporting a child.

There were a few customers in the parlour when she went down. Although beershops weren’t permitted to open on a Sunday, Mrs Hall often opened her door to a few select friends who she trusted to say nothing. Mr Starkie was in his usual seat by the fire with his feet up on the fender and his pipe in the corner of his mouth. The others were sitting round a table talking about the elections. One of them was the young man who was always smiling at her, William Hart, whose family had a ropemaking business on Church Street.

‘My father says it’s a disgrace, that drunkenness in the churchyard,’ he was saying as she brought their bowls of hotpot to them. He smiled as he thanked her and held her gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. She wished he wouldn’t. She didn’t really like him and she wished he would stop coming on to her. She always found it awkward when she had to turn men down, but she’d promised Mr Starkie that she wouldn’t go with anyone else and she could see him glowering at them across the parlour.

‘All right, Mary?’ asked William. ‘Tha looks a bit flushed.’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, her hand going to the cheek, which was still sore and burning.

‘Bring another beer, will tha?’ He held up his pot to be refilled. ‘Anyone else?’

The others nodded enthusiastically at the offer and Mary wondered if they only befriended him because he had a bit of cash in his pocket. He wasn’t the usual type of regular that they got in the Star. He’d just come for the Reform meetings at first, but now he seemed to be in most nights.