He watches her go, then fills a bucket from the pump and sluices down the wall, before returning to the milking parlour to do the work of two.

She has surfaced again by the time he goes in late for breakfast. Jim is already seated at the table, an empty plate smeared with egg yolk before him, a half-drunk mug of tea at his elbow.

‘Finished at last, eh?’

‘Aye.’

‘Sit down, I’ve got your breakfast here.’ Muriel sets a laden plate in his place as he takes off his boots. His eyes stray to Gwen as she pours his tea.

‘Sorry to dump you in it.’ Her voice is soft as she sets the mug down beside him.

‘It’s nee bother.’ He is unsure whether he should enquire about her health in front of the others.

‘Clean overslept!’ she says brightly, as if reading his mind. She holds his gaze for a moment before turning away. ‘Haven’t done that in a while.’

‘You should have knocked on the door, lad, rather than plough on single-handed,’ Jim says.

‘Oh, it was no bother. I got into my rhythm and time flew by.’ He takes a sip of tea.

‘I think I’ll go back to setting my alarm clock.’ Gwen smiles brightly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

But the following morning, it does.

She makes it to the privy. Jack follows her out, leaving the cows restless in their stalls. He waits a discreet distance away. When she finally emerges she looks drained, but there is something else festering beneath the surface. He sees it immediately, though she stalks past without acknowledging him. She makes her way to the pump in the yard and cranks the handle with angry vigour, scooping the water with her free hand, splashing it into her face. She dries her dripping cheeks on her sleeve.

‘We should get back to milking,’ she says.

‘How far gone are you, Gwen?’

The flare of her eyes betrays her, though she blusters with indignant denials.

‘Don’t take me for a fool, lass. Green-gilled every morning? What else do you think it is?’

‘An upset tummy, nothing more.’

‘Aye, you keep telling yourself that.’

‘How dare you.’

She walks away from him, but he catches her easily and, though she protests with the vehement outrage of a manhandled suffragette, he marches her through the open mouth of the barn.

‘You said there were things I didn’t know …’ he fights to keep his voice even, ‘… when Gordon announced his engagement – things that you said would change everything. You thought the fact you were carrying his child would bring him round, didn’t you?’

She is breathing hard. Her limbs quiver.

‘Does he know?’ Jack demands, standing before her, hands on his hips. ‘Allingham? Did you tell him?’

‘Yes, he knows!’

He absorbs the blow of her anger. ‘And what did he say?’