‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘And he is still here, waiting for me to make a decision. He has abandoned his dream of travel unless I will go with him. But he has also said that he will live wherever I want to be; as man and wife, not only as a friend.’

‘Then he’s a good man,’ Ellen suggested. ‘Is it your religion that keeps you apart?’

Edyta shook her head. ‘I can still pray in my heart, as anyone can. It is my heritage, my tradition and culture, that parts us.’

‘Then you’re the onny one that can make the decision,’ Ellen maintained. ‘You don’t have to obey your brother, do you?’ She thought that although she might have taken advice from her older brothers, she would have made up her own mind in matters of the heart.

‘He is head of our family,’ Edyta murmured, ‘but,’ she lifted her head and contemplated, ‘I would obey my mother first.’

They were both startled by the knocking on the ceiling, and Edyta jumped up, slopping the remains of her coffee down her skirt. ‘Mutter! I told her I wouldn’t be long.’

‘Bring her down,’ Ellen said impulsively. ‘Bring her down! Let her sit here by the fire. Talk to her where it is warm and comfortable. I won’t listen, I promise.’

‘It won’t matter if you do listen.’ Edyta permitted herself a smile. ‘Do you speak German – or Yiddish?’ She stared at Ellen as if she were grasping a lifeline.

‘Hah! No!’ Ellen gave a small laugh. ‘Come on, I’ll help you.’ She glanced at the children. They were both still sleeping, Thomas emitting snuffly snores, and she thought that when he woke she would give him some honey and hot water in case he was harbouring a cold.

She put a few more pieces of coal on the fire and then waited on the upstairs landing whilst Edyta went inside their room to speak to her mother.

She came out in a few seconds. ‘She will come,’ she said. ‘Though she says we must not be a nuisance.’

‘How will we get her down?’ Ellen decided she would ignore the declaration; it was Mrs Johnson’s constant guilty refrain. What was important was getting her safely down the stairs.

In the end, Edyta stood by her mother’s side with her arm about her waist, and Mrs Johnson put her hands on Ellen’s shoulder and step by step they reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘That was easier than I expected,’ Ellen said, opening the door to her room.

‘I am just a sack of old bones,’ Mrs Johnson wheezed and followed her in, pausing for a moment when she saw the sleeping children and whispering something.

‘Come and sit by ’fire.’ Ellen plumped up a cushion and held a blanket to put over Mrs Johnson’s knees as she sat down.