‘Don’t be afraid, Emma. It’s just a lot of bricks and mortar. The house can’t hurt ye.’ As he spoke, he suddenly thought, but those who occupy it can. He shivered inside at the idea of the Fairleys or their servants hurting this lovely young girl.

The warmth of the kitchen, the sight of a roaring fire in the huge hearth, and the delicious smells of bacon frying and chicken broth bubbling, changed Blackie’s dour mood immediately, his spirits lifting.

Following Emma into the large kitchen filled with sparkling copper pots and utensils, bunches of herbs, onions and sausages hanging on a big rack dangling from the ceiling, gave him an unexpected feeling of well-being.

Standing next to a huge black pot, holding a wooden spoon, was a little plump dumpling of a woman. She was apple-cheeked and had a bunch of greying hair piled on top of her head; she wore a dark blue dress covered with a huge blue-and-white pinafore.

‘Late again, Lady Emma, I see,’ the cook said. ‘Best hurry and change, pet, afore Murgatroyd sees yer.’

‘Right now, Mrs Turner,’ Emma answered and dashed over to a large cupboard.

‘And what’s this the cat’s dragged in?’ Mrs Turner asked, her beady black eyes settling on Blackie, hovering near the doorway.

‘He’s the navvy come ter do the repairs,’ Emma shouted from behind the cupboard door. ‘I met him on the moors. He was lost.’

‘Got a name have yer, lad?’ Cook asked, still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.

‘I do indeed, Mrs Turner. Shane O’Neill’s me name, but the whole world calls me Blackie. And I’m pleased to meet ye, Cook.’

‘So don’t stand there gawping like a sucking duck in a storm. Take yer coat and cap off, and come ter the fireplace. Nay, lad, yer looks right nithered. A cup of hot broth is what yer need. And yer, too, Emma. Come on yer ladyship, get a move on.’

‘I’m dressed, just about,’ Emma called, and a moment later emerged from the big cupboard.

Blackie stood gaping at her, totally surprised by the change in her appearance. She now wore a navy-blue dress like Cook’s, a starched white pinafore, and a white cap perched on top of her head. Her hair had been covered in a scarf until a moment ago, and now its gorgeous, vivid auburn colour, shot through with gold, was visible. Her hairline came to a widow’s peak in the middle of her broad forehead. Her hair was wound into a bun at the back. The effect, in general, was elegant. Her emerald-green eyes shone in the morning light.

Why, she’s already a beauty, Blackie thought to himself, filled with amazement. Rousing himself, he went to the cupboard, hung up his jacket, scarf and cap, and joined Emma at the hearth.