It was Finn who knocked. The next moment they were staring at the woman who opened the door. Dressed in a black frock, she wore a stained white pinafore.

She was tall, thin, and had faded fair hair and blue eyes. But her face was lined, and she had a dejected air about her. Her eyes were dead and seemed empty of life.

‘Are you Finn, then?’ she asked, and looked at him keenly. ‘Come to fetch Moira?’

‘Yes, that’s me, Finn Ryan, Mrs.’

‘I am Mrs Walton. Come in, then. I’m Tommy’s cousin, well, cousin by marriage.’

They all entered the small room and introduced themselves.

‘Seems ter me yer’ve come in ter the Ham Shank like a bloody posse.’ She half-smiled. ‘Smart of yer, though, it’s not particularly safe. Every bloody man that lives here will start a brawl for no reason—’

‘Good morning, lads,’ a male voice said, and added, ‘I’m Stephen Walton, Jane’s husband.’ A thin, grey-haired man came downstairs and into the room, and went around shaking their hands. He, too, had a careworn face, but his demeanour was pleasant, even welcoming. ‘And ye are a posse, that’s a fact.’

Patrick said, ‘We wanted to come with Finn because we’d heard the Ham Shank was dangerous.’

‘Aye, it is that,’ the man agreed, nodding his head vehemently. ‘That’s why we haven’t let her go outside since she got here.’

‘Because of the way she looks,’ Jane Walton cut in, grimacing. ‘What a face she’s got. There’s no telling what men out there might do to her. They’re easily roused up around the Ham Shank.’

Jack, frowning, asked, ‘She’s different, is she?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Stephen Walton muttered. ‘Just different ter most women we see every day.’

‘Ye are goin’ ter take her away with yer today, I hope. Whisk her off to Upper Armley, like Tommy said in his message,’ Mrs Walton said, sounding anxious.

‘Yes, that’s what I want to do,’ Patrick said, deciding to take charge, wishing to leave swiftly, get away from the Ham Shank more than ever.

‘We’ll go and get her,’ Stephen Walton said and, taking his wife’s arm, he led her out of the room and back up the rickety stairs.

Blackie said under his breath, ‘This room is clean, and the window and the white lace curtains are pristine, sure and they are. As for the Waltons, they seem like nice folk, friendly.’ The house was little more than one room above another but scrubbed and neatly kept.

‘I think so, too,’ Finn agreed. ‘And mebbe younger than we think. Mrs Walton is Tommy’s cousin of some kind, so he said.’