Mary stared at her apron and shook her head.

‘I can’t help if you won’t tell me,’ Lou said. ‘And I’d like to help, if I can.’ Mary shifted. She twisted the handkerchief through her fingers, turning the white cotton grey with coal dust. ‘It’s my mother,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s poorly. Terribly poorly. Father hasn’t been able to find work in months. And … and …’

‘Go on,’ Lou coaxed.

‘I’m the oldest, so he had to take me out of school to work. But my wages aren’t enough, not with the doctor’s bills and having to feed my brothers and sisters. Father thinks the things I take home are gifts for good work. He sells them for what he can get. He’ll be so ashamed when he finds out I’m a thief.’ Mary’s chin crumpled. She let out a sob and hid her face in the handkerchief.

Lou’s heart went out to this painfully young girl, shouldering the burden of responsibility for her entire family. ‘Please don’t cry, Mary. I won’t tell anybody. How old are you?’

‘Thirteen,’ Mary answered, another sob catching in her throat.

‘And did you like school?’

‘More than anything.’

In spite of her burgeoning hangover, Lou’s brain dredged up an idea. ‘Mary, if I help your family, will you promise to go back to school and work as hard as you can?’

Mary let the handkerchief drop. ‘Father’s a proud man. He would never accept charity.’

‘Then, let’s not call it charity. When’s your next afternoon off?’

‘Today, m’lady.’

Lou smiled. She was nobody’s m’lady. ‘In that case, there’s no time to lose. Meet me behind the stable block at noon. Nobody will see us there. I’ll have something for you.’

‘I couldn’t accept. It’s not right, not after …’ Mary glanced at the open wardrobe door.

‘Mary, your mother needs medicine more than I need a few silly feathers for my hair. Besides, I always think they look better on birds. And I’m certain that the last time I looked in the mirror, I had a nose, not a beak.’

A small smile creased the dirt around Mary’s eyes. Obviously feeling a little braver, she made eye contact with Lou. ‘Why are you being so kind? You don’t even know me.’

‘We all need a helping hand from time to time.’ Lou took the handkerchief and wiped Mary’s cheeks. ‘Now, you should go, before anybody notices you’re missing.’ She got up and opened the door. Finding the corridor clear, she beckoned. Mary collected her coalscuttle from the hearth and crept out.

‘Thank you, m’lady,’ she mouthed and bobbed a curtsey before disappearing into the darkness, struggling with the weight of the scuttle.

Alone again, Lou crawled beneath the covers, her hangover banging with a vengeance. She picked up the handkerchief and was about to chuck it into the wastepaper basket, when her thumbnail snagged the stitches of a monogram sewn in blue thread into one corner – TM. A memory rushed from the deepest coils of her brain. She was pressing her face into Tom’s shirt, his woody cologne, his warmth … Oh God … She switched off the lamp and pulled the covers over her head, still clutching the grubby square of cotton.