Mary looked around as she heard footsteps coming down the cobbled street, hoping that whoever it was hadn’t seen her peering in through the window. The young lad who was walking towards her looked familiar, but it was a moment before she recognised him as her brother. John had grown much taller since she’d last seen him and he looked older too. He’d been little more than a child when he’d been sent away to the prison, but the person who warily approached her now seemed on the verge of adulthood.

‘John?’ She wasn’t sure if he’d recognised her and the thought made her feel bereft. He had been like a babe to her. She’d nursed him and brought him up almost single-handedly whilst their mother and her elder sisters had been at work. She’d carried him to the mill every dinnertime, baby in one arm and her mother’s dinner in a dish in the other, striving not to drop either, so that her mother could sit down and feed him whilst she ate.

‘Mary?’ His voice had deepened.

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think to see thee. I thought tha were still at Preston.’

‘They let me go a week back,’ he told her.

‘I’m glad to see thee.’ She wanted to hug him, but he looked so fragile and she wasn’t sure whether he would welcome such an open show of affection, so she just reached out and rubbed his arm with her hand. He was all bones.

‘They’re not in,’ he said, nodding towards the door.

‘I didn’t really want to see them.’

‘But tha’ll come in for a minute?’ he asked, taking a key from his pocket to unlock the door.

‘Aye. Of course.’

Mary followed him into the small parlour, breathing in its familiar smell. John took off his cap and she saw that his head had been shaved; the scar from where he’d once banged it on the fender was clearly visible. He sat down on their father’s chair, pulled off his dirty boots and rubbed at his feet.

‘They’re too small for me.’ He grimaced and she saw the weeping blisters on the backs of his heels and the red marks on his toes. ‘I need some new clogs.’

‘Aye. And socks,’ she told him. ‘Hast tha no money?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not earning much but they still expect me to pay the same for my keep as Susan and Esther do.’

‘That’s hardly fair. They both earn a good wage as weavers.’

‘Aye. But tha knows what Father’s like. He says it’s only right.’

‘Here.’ She fished a shilling from the savings she had in her purse and put it in his hand. ‘For thee,’ she said. ‘Not a word to Mam and Dad.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What was it like?’ she asked, sitting in the chair opposite. ‘I’ve worried about thee day and night.’

‘It were all right,’ he said. ‘We got fed.’

‘But did they treat thee well? What did they make thee do?’ His sentence had been hard labour and she’d spent many nights crying into her pillow and worrying about him. He’d always been such a slight little boy and she’d been terrified that the work would be too much for him.