‘It’s about Eileen - I think it’s about time she went back home.’

He watched with satisfaction as Paddy Cavanagh’s face dropped.

‘What... I mean ... Well, what’s wrong, sir?’

His mind was reeling. How the hell were they to manage without Eileen’s money? Even Molly had had to put up with the situation. For all her high falutin talk, she wasn’t backward at taking her cut from it every week.

‘I feel a yen for something different, Paddy. You know how it is.’

He stayed silent. No, he did not know how it was, little bits of children had never interested him.

‘Briony now, there’s a beautiful child. She was at the house last night and she made it quite clear ...’ He raised a hand as if Paddy was going to stop him talking. ‘She made it quite clear that she would not be averse to - how shall we say? - taking over where Eileen left off.’

Paddy licked his lips. Every instinct in his body was telling him to take back his fist and slam it into this man’s face. Into his teeth. Into his very bones. But he knew he wouldn’t even as he thought it. This man was gentry, whatever the hell that was. He owned factories and part of the docks. He was looked up to, made substantial contributions to all sorts of charitable causes. His wife’s father was a lord. Paddy knew he was trapped. He also knew that Mr Henry high and mighty Dumas was not getting his Briony for a paltry two pounds a week.

‘I thought we could maybe settle for two pounds ten this time,’ said Henry persuasively.

‘Three pounds.’ Paddy’s voice was clipped, and surprised both himself and his listener with its forcefulness.

‘Three pounds?’

‘That’s right, sir. My Briony is worth that.’

Dumas bit his top lip and screwed up his eyes.

‘It would ease the pain of her mother, sir, because she’ll have a fit this night when she knows what’s going on. She was bad enough about Eileen, but Briony, her Briony, she’ll be like a madwoman. She was all for going for Mrs Prosser Evans over Eileen.’

Paddy had the satisfaction of seeing Dumas pale at the words. Mrs Prosser Evans was a force to be reckoned with in Barking and Dagenham, fighting for justice for the lower classes with a vigour that surprised everyone who came in contact with the tiny woman.

Paddy watched the man battle it out with himself.

Mrs Prosser Evans and a scandal, or a little red-headed child just on ten for a paltry weekly sum. It was no contest.

‘Three pounds a week it is then. Bring her round to me at six this evening and you can take the other ...’ He waved his hand as he tried to think of the child’s name.

‘Eileen, I can collect my Eileen.’