He was smiling fondly and shaking his head, running his hand over the smooth wood of the lid of the machine. ‘She used to say – after you’d gone, Esther – “She’s to have my sewing machine, George, you hear me?” And I’d nod and say, “I hear you, love, I hear you.” But I never – ’ his voice broke a little but he carried on – ‘never thought she’d go afore me, Esther.’

Now Esther, feeling embarrassed by the generous gift, leaned forward and spoke softly. ‘What about her own daughters, Uncle? Surely . . . ?’

Now he was laughing openly. ‘She always said they were all thumbs when it came to sewing. “Esthers the only one with my gift for needlework and dressmaking,” she used to say. Oh, she meant for you to have it, Esther, and no mistake.’

Esther sighed and stood back, looking down at the machine. With tentative fingers, she too reached out and touched the wooden lid. She looked up again at her uncle. ‘Then, if you’re sure, thank you, Uncle George. I’m real glad to have it.’

As Will’s cart rattled its way back to Fleethaven Point, she heard him chuckling softly to himself.

‘She’s heaping coals on yar head still from the grave, Esther lass,’ Will said.

Even Esther had to smile.

Thirty-nine

WHEN Will Benson pulled his carrier’s cart into the yard and Esther climbed down, she thought at once that the farm seemed unnaturally quiet. No sound of children’s laughter, even though by now Kate should have been home from school. There was no sign of Matthew, nor sounds of the cows being milked in the byre.

Esther clicked her tongue against her teeth in exasperation. She went to the cowshed and swung back the door. The building was empty. Esther frowned. Had Matthew done the milking early and gone down to the Seagull already?

She went to the end of the barn. There in the meadow the cows were clustered near the gate dolefully watching for someone to come and open it and bring them to the farmyard. Even from this distance, Esther could see their unmilked udders bursting for relief. A pitiful lowing reached her ears.

‘Where on earth is he?’ Esther muttered crossly to herself.

‘What is it, lass?’ Will was shouting, lifting down the sewing machine and carrying it into the kitchen. ‘Is owt amiss?’

Esther marched back across the yard and followed him into the house, pulling off her gloves and struggling to unpin her hat as she went.

‘Matthew’s not done the milking. I’ll ’ave to get them cows in, Will, but make ya’sen a cup of tea afore you set off back. And Will . . .’

‘Aye, lass?’

‘Thanks – thanks for everything, for – for taking me and bringing me back – and that . . .’