Mr Starkie was taking her to the theatre on Market Street Lane. It had been closed during the worst of the cholera outbreak, but now that the infection seemed to be passing, it was reopening again. Mary was looking forward to it. There were compensations, she admitted to herself, to being Mr Starkie’s friend.

He gave a low whistle of appreciation when she came down the stairs.

‘Tha looks a real treat tonight,’ he told her as he offered her his arm. She wished that he could always be such a gentleman.

They set off walking and Mary pulled her shawl tighter around herself with her free hand. It was chilly now that the heat wave had passed. Mr Starkie greeted people as they walked along, raising his hat and bestowing his best smile on them. Some returned his greeting; others simply looked anxious and hurried by – the ones who hated to be indebted to him and who had no idea how they would ever afford to get their belongings back. Mary hoped that none of them would recognise the clothes she was wearing as their own. Although it was nice to receive gifts, she knew that Mr Starkie picked the garments out from his shop and everything she was given had once belonged to someone else in the town who had pawned it when they’d fallen on hard times.

As they walked, Mary caught sight of a familiar figure with a cloth-covered basket on her arm. It was Hannah. Mary recalled that the last time she’d been to the theatre, she’d gone with Hannah, back before they went to work for Mr Sudell. She wished that she was going with Hannah tonight and that they’d never fallen out. How they would have enjoyed themselves and they would have gone for a drink later and then walked home by different routes so that their families wouldn’t know they’d been together. She missed Hannah’s friendship, but still couldn’t find it in herself to forgive her. She watched as the other girl disappeared down Clayton Street.

‘Someone tha knows?’ asked Mr Starkie, following her gaze.

‘I used to work with her at Woodfold,’ Mary told him.

The theatre smelled of new paint and limewash, but there was also an underlying hint of dampness, rising from the river, after its closure. They found their seats; Mr Starkie had paid for the front row although Mary was disappointed he hadn’t taken a box. That would have really made her feel like a lady. As they waited for the curtains to open and the play to commence, Mary glanced around to see if she recognised anyone. Unlike her previous visit, she noticed that the audience tonight was scant and wondered if it was because people were still afraid of the cholera, or if they simply didn’t have the money for such diversions.