Back outside she set off towards North Street. There were many tailoring factories in that area, and one of the girls from a dress shop she’d enquired in had suggested she might find a job in one of them, especially the smaller tailoring shops.

It was a boiling hot day, the heat rising from the dusty pavements in waves. Tram cars rumbled past, fine carriages carrying the gentry, carts with produce all filled the streets. Prosperity, that sense of self-help and independence, non-conformity, hard-headed Yorkshire shrewdness and industriousness were endemic. The rhythm and power of the city only served to buttress these very same characteristics so intrinsic in her. She was, without knowing it, the very embodiment of Leeds.

Emma opened the collar of her good cotton dress and fanned her face. She just needed enough money to support herself until the baby was born. After that she would work night and day if necessary, to get the money for the first shop. I’m going to have a shop. I’m going to have a shop … that thought rolled around in her head as she tramped the streets to York Road, where North Street was located. A lovely trickle of triumph made her stand up straighter, her head held high.

After walking around North Street and going into three different tailoring shops, Emma was ready to drop. She decided she had done enough for one day. She would go home to her attic. She had a heel of bread and some dripping for her supper. An early night would do her good. She would start again tomorrow.

Emma suddenly glanced around, as she heard shouting and running feet. A stone hit her shoulder. Great yelps and ugly words filled the air, and she was startled.

Turning a corner, she was horrified to see an older man hunched against a wall, covering his head with his arms.

He was protecting himself from two young ruffians, who were throwing stones at him and shouting nasty things, swearing at him angrily.

Filled with sudden fury, Emma ran towards them, shouting, ‘Stop that! Stop it! I shall fetch a bobby and he’ll arrest you at once. Stop it, I say!’

The boys looked at her, laughed in her face and continued to hound the man, hurling stones unrelentingly.

Emma picked up two stones and, running closer to the ruffians, she threw a stone at one of them which hit its mark. She then pitched the other at the taller boy. It struck him between the shoulder blades and made him cry out in pain.

Again Emma raised her voice, ‘There are more stones I can throw at you. Stop it, both of you. Get going!’

Without giving a thought to herself or the baby she was carrying, Emma ran across to the man, still hunched against the wall. Before speaking to him, she swung around and shook her fist at them.