‘He wasn’t alone, Harry. He was with his mother, and I think probably Benny was there too.’

Another question was formed, but he couldn’t speak and his eyes brimmed with tears. ‘You were there?’ he said huskily.

‘Yes,’ she answered softly. ‘I think he was content.’

‘I love you, Ellen,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t tell you how much.’

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, murmuring that she loved him too, and then there was really nothing more to say, except that the children had sent big kisses and hoped he’d soon be back home with them.

A ward nurse came with cups of tea for them both and carefully manoeuvred the screen round Jim’s bed across to shield them instead, saying brightly that they could chat in private, but both knew that they were being protected from what was happening in the ward beyond.

When Ellen stood up to leave, explaining that she would have to get back because Anna was looking after the children, she suddenly said, ‘Don’t let them give him a pauper’s funeral, Harry. Ask them to speak to Mr Tannerson first. There’s ’graveyard near St Mary’s, remember, where we saw him and Benny on Christmas Day? We could lay flowers on ’grave.’

She saw a smile on his lips and he nodded. ‘I’ll tell them, my darling wife,’ he whispered, and he reached out to touch the chestnut braid he loved so much.

When she left his bedside there was an empty space where Jim’s bed had been, and she saw that it had been moved to the bottom end of the ward and stripped down to the metal rails and springs.

Mr Tannerson’s trap was still parked outside the building in Albion Street and the horse tied to a lamppost so she walked on to the top of the street, coming towards Mason Street where there were terraces of fine houses with courts, alleyways and arches built in between them, and other houses set close to one another with narrow paths dividing them. A public house standing on a corner appeared to be thriving.

She crossed over to look at the terraces and saw that they were not quite as grand as they appeared to be from a distance, and the courts set between the rows were dark and squalid, with steps leading down into undrained areas which looked wet underfoot.

She turned on to another road, hoping she was going in the right direction, and came to a busy street full of shops with boxes of potatoes, root vegetables and greens stacked outside their doors. A plaque set high above one of the buildings informed her this was Charles Street.