Esther stepped back inside and slammed and bolted the door. She leant against it breathing hard. She closed her eyes and moaned aloud. They were ran-tan-tanning her! Her heart was pounding in her breast. Then a hot anger surged through her. She had not stayed outside long enough to see who was in the group, but now in comparative safety she looked out of the scullery window overlooking the yard. In the fitful light of the swinging lanterns, it was almost impossible to discern the faces, yet there were two figures which were recognizable by their shapes. The tall, looming bulk of Martha Willoughby and the stick-like thinness of her sister, Flo Jenkins, were in the forefront of the mocking group of ran-tan-tanners. Behind them, the other figures, laughing and chanting their crude verses, remained anonymous in the shadows, though she suspected there were one or two from the Point.

As the noise and shouting continued, echoing all around her farmhouse, she heard the frightened wail of her daughter from upstairs. She was about to turn away from the window to go up to Kate, when, for a brief instant as the lanterns swayed, she caught sight of a still, silent figure set apart from the rest, standing on the bank on the opposite side of the lane. Motionless, with her hand clutching a black shawl around her head, taking no part in the proceedings but just standing and watching – was Beth Eland.

For a long moment, Esther stood looking back at the woman, although she knew Beth couldn’t actually see her inside the darkness of her home.

Why was she there? Esther wondered. Had she thought up this escapade? Or had the Willoughby woman and her sister dragged Beth along to see her rival’s humiliation?

At that moment, Esther heard Kate’s sobs closer and turned to see her daughter standing in the doorway.

She went forward now and gently pushed Kate back into the kitchen. Closing the door behind them blotted out some of the noise.

‘What is it, Mamma? What’s that noise?’

‘Just some people had a mite too much to drink, and acting very silly. Tek no notice. Come . . .’ she offered, sitting down in the wooden chair and opening her arms to her daughter. ‘Come sit on me knee near the fire till they’ve gone.’

They sat together, their arms about each other, Esther’s tightly around her daughter’s shaking body, whilst Kate wound her sturdy, childish arms about Esther’s neck and leant her head against her shoulder.

‘I wish that nice man was still here with us,’ she murmured. ‘He’d make them stop. He’d make them go away.’

Esther stiffened and held her breath. ‘Who – who do ya mean, Katie?’