She waited, sick with excitement, until darkness fell. She felt invincible in the disguise. She pulled the worn cap down over her brow and banged the door of her lodgings. Affecting a mannish swagger, she strode back to the street where she had encountered Joseph. At least, this time, she was prepared.

She hesitated at the door of the White Hart. Did she dare go in? This was the best place to find Joseph, but she had never entered a public house before. She sniffed. The smells of ale and tobacco seemed strangely enticing. She would never dare to enter such a place in her own clothes, but today she was not Philomena, the dressmaker, but Phil, the labourer. She could do anything a man could.

Plucking up every ounce of courage, Philomena lifted her chin, pulled her shoulders back, pushed the door open and strode inside. No one even glanced at her. She found a seat on a wooden settle in a dark corner and sat, watchful, not sure how to behave.

She need not have worried. A girl a few years younger than herself arrived with a tray, shoving greasy locks of hair behind one ear with a grimy hand. “What can I do for you?” she asked, grinning. There were sores round her mouth and her eyes watered.

Philomena gulped. “Get me a pint,” she growled, imitating the calls of the nearby drinkers.

“Anyfink else?” The girl leered. She was looking for more business than waitressing. Philomena waved her hand, dismissively. “Get a move on about it,” she barked.

The girl wandered away, grumbling. “All right, all right, keep your ’air on mister.” She brought the pint soon enough. “That’s tuppence.”

Philomena threw the coins on to the girl’s wooden tray. “Here’s a farthing for you.”

She sat in silence, feeling safely invisible in the gloom. So, this was what the male population did? Curious, she watched the other drinkers in the room from the corner of her eyes. Three working men at the nearest table, caps discarded on the table, clicked dominoes. A group in a far corner flipped greasy cards on the tabletop while one or two loners sat quietly, like herself, watching the world. An aged man with a long grey beard settled nearby and nodded at Philomena when she glanced in his direction. Nobody else acknowledged her presence at all.

There was no sign of Joseph. Philomena took a small sip of her beer. Lord, what a taste! She’d known nothing like it. There was no need to take the disguise that far, surely. She wondered what to do. She could not sit for hours with a full glass, and there was no knowing whether Joseph would even turn up tonight.