The following morning, as soon as she and Sam had breakfasted and the latter was away out on the farm, Esther went into the back scullery. She sighed as she stood surveying the scene of neglect. It was the same in the wash-house. A mangle stood in the far corner festooned with cobwebs, and tubs and dolly pegs and washboards had been pushed into an untidy heap. On a shelf above stood four irons, a line of cobwebs linking one to another. In the corner opposite the door was the large brick copper with its wooden lid covering the deep bowl. There was evidence that Sam – or someone – had washed a shirt and a sheet which were hanging on a piece of rope strung between two hooks across the room. But in the copper lay a mound of mouldering, dirty clothes.

‘Well, Mester Brumby, there’s enough work to keep me here a while yet,’ she murmured aloud and bent down to rake out the dead cinders from under the copper. Suddenly she felt a smart smack on her rump which was sticking immodestly in the air as she bent double to her task.

‘Ouch!’ she cried and, coming up suddenly, banged her head on the fire door of the copper. She turned and saw Matthew standing over her, grinning.

‘Oh, its you again, is it, boy? I might’ve known!’ And she turned back to her chore.

‘Aw, come on, Esther, ’ow about a little kiss for a feller in a morning?’

‘I got better things to do wi’ me time,’ she snapped and raked vigorously at the ashes, sending up clouds of grey dust so that she coughed and spluttered as it prickled her throat and stung her eyes. She was forced to draw back and stand up.

Matthew only laughed. ‘Serves you right for being so unfriendly.’ But he pulled out a spotted kerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘Don’t cry, sweet Esther,’ he said mockingly. At his words she slapped his ministering hand away.

‘Cry? Me? You’ll never see me cry, Matthew Hilton, I’ll promise you that!’ They gazed into each other’s eyes, hers intense with anger, his fascinated by her loveliness.

‘You’ve got beautiful eyes, Esther. Green, they are. I ain’t never seen such lovely eyes . . .’ Now the playful, teasing tone was gone from his voice and with surprisingly gentle fingers, he touched her cheek. For once Esther was startled into silence.

The moment was broken by a clatter in the yard. Swiftly Matthew turned away and shot out of the door. ‘God, he’s back,’ he muttered as he went, and Esther was left staring after him with smut on her face and grime on her hands.