Clem spoke straight into her ear, making her shiver and clap a hand there. ‘Tell Matthias that Alice can’t come today because the twins have gone down with the measles.’

‘Why tell him now? Surely it can wait till after? And why can’t you tell him yourself? You’re acting very strangely these days towards Preacher Renfree. Anyone would think you’ve had words with him the way you always get me to speak to him for you.’ Rosie impatiently pushed her one long plait of fine golden hair from the front of her shoulder to fall in a straight line down her back.

Clem let out an exasperated sigh and swung round to apologise to the woman he had just kicked with the toe of his boot.

‘’Tes all right, Clem, didn’t ’urt none,’ Lou Hunken said good-naturedly, ‘but pushing’ ’er through like that towards un went ’elp ’em along, boy. They went see what’s in front of their own eyes ’less ’ee comes right out with it an’ tell ’em what’s what yerself.’

Shrugging his shoulders at Lou Hunken, Clem persisted in badgering his younger sister. ‘Tell Matthias that Alice wants him to say a prayer for Philip and David before the class begins. You know how poorly they are.’

‘All right, Clem, don’t go on so,’ Rosie said crossly.

She was standing directly in front of Matthias Renfree, the stockily built, gentle-eyed young man responsible for holding the Bible classes. He led the people who crowded into the cottage with warmth, sincerity and understanding and was known locally as Preacher Renfree or Young Preacher, although he had never taken holy orders. He had come under some opposition from Sir Martin Beswetherick, the main owner of the Wheal Ember mine where many of the gathering worked. But Matthias had pointed out to the fat baronet that the mine, still producing good-quality ore when most at its age would have been worked out, would be wise to indulge a trouble-free work force rather than risk many of the miners going off to work at a mine sympathetic to Methodism and have them replaced with a bunch of irreligious rabble.

Matthias was standing in front of the hearth, at a distance that offered no harm to Faith Bray’s cheap plaster ornaments and her ‘pride’, a set of matching ‘real’ brass poker and tongs. His head of nondescript brown hair was bent between his clasped hands and he was making sounds as though he was mumbling to himself.

‘He’s praying, Clem,’ Rosie whispered. ‘He could go on for ages and I’m beginning to feel quite daft stuck out here like a sore thumb.’

‘Oh, find a place and sit down then,’ Clem said irritably.

The other occupants in the cramped room were beginning to follow Matthias Renfree’s lead, bowing their heads in prayer, and silence quickly replaced the hum of many voices.