Ellen had obtained permission from Julia Brown’s mother for her daughter to come and play with the children a few times a week, and once Ellen knew the girl was trustworthy and sensible she asked Mrs Brown if she would allow her to look after them occasionally whilst she was at the bakery and Harry at the mill. Mrs Brown hummed and hawed and said that Julia was ‘delicate’, and she wasn’t sure if she could manage to control three children.

At thirteen Julia was a strapping girl, and she had already told Ellen that as she assisted her mother with chores around the house and helped her brother with his studies in an evening, she hadn’t been able to work out how it was that she came to be considered delicate when she was never ill.

By judicious enquiry, Ellen discovered that it was the late Mr Brown who had laid down the rules. His son Robbie had been enrolled as a junior clerk where Mr Brown had been employed since he too was a young man. Perhaps, Harry suggested to Ellen, Mr Brown senior had been disappointed that he was still only a clerk after thirty years, and thought that his son might have more success.

‘You could be right,’ Ellen declared, ‘and it seems that Mrs Brown is still obeying his directions whereas what Robbie would really like is to be an engineer and get his hands greasy with machine oil. Do you think that Filip might like an apprentice?’

As for Julia, her father had decreed that she must stay at home and be a genteel companion to her mother rather than start to earn a living and bring in much-needed funds, which is why they had been offered the cottage on his death two years before. She was much too hearty to be genteel, Ellen thought, and as she was jolly and willing to play children’s games would be a perfect companion for the children.

Mrs Brown agreed to allow Julia to come on two afternoons, and since it meant that she didn’t have to rush home from her assignation with a long-time male friend, it worked perfectly. Soon Julia was coming every day, receiving a small wage that made her feel worthwhile.

‘I must write to Ma,’ Ellen commented to Lizzie one Sunday. ‘She must wonder what we’re up to. Perhaps Billy will bring her and we can show her ’bakery.’

Lizzie nodded. ‘I was thinking ’same, and I’ll show her where I work. Or at least where I will work when ’mill is built.’