‘Look at you, capering like a constipated hog,’ she said, and Gabriel skidded to a stop, flushing.

‘You know ’tis the one day you can shake off that frown, shan’t break you to do it,’ he said.

Molly pushed past Bett, ignoring the glare she earned, pulling out her petticoats and twirling.

‘Pretty,’ Gabriel said.

‘Did I not tell you I’d have new clothes, Daniel?’ she asked.

He glanced at the three faces surrounding him. Bett wore an expression of amusement, Gabriel one of confused irritation and Molly one of – admiration. Could it be?

‘Well,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

Her eyes shone, only for him, and he was a confused brew of unease and pleasure that was strengthened by the knowledge that she ignored Gabriel and chose to speak to him.

‘It’s – it’s …’ The cloth was light, in both colour and substance, unlike the grey woollen petticoats usually worn. He understood her pleasure in it. ‘Very nice.’

Bett laughed and he flushed, aware that his response was insufficient. Molly did not seem to mind, dipping her head and looking up at him. She began to speak but was distracted by the call for those girls hoping to be picked as May Queen to gather.

‘Wish me luck,’ she said, grasping his arm briefly before running to join the others.

‘Good luck,’ he called, catching Gabriel’s eye and allowing himself, just once, to enjoy his sour expression.

‘Ah,’ Bett said, a playful ring to her voice. ‘May Day and love blossoms already.’

Daniel basked in both her words and Gabriel’s scowl as they all turned to watch the choosing of the May Queen. The girls lined up in front of the ribboned well, giggling and jostling, licking their lips and slapping their cheeks. Young Phyllis Ross, old enough this year to be included for the first time, clapped her hands in excitement and pulled faces to make her little cousins laugh. Molly waved. Through the pocket of his breeches, Daniel felt the stone Sarah had given him.

Magistrate Thompson had flowers threaded into the band of his hat, as always for the judging of the May parade. One of the rare tasks he showed eagerness for, walking up and down the line of girls, stopping to flick a curl or caress a cheek, asking whether they were in need of a position in service, for he had an opening for a maid. Again.

The magistrate made a show of inspecting every girl, tipping the chin to observe each face, commanding them to twirl and display the sweep of breast, waist and hip. It was a difficult task to choose a winner, he declared. This year as every other. But a decision was made.