‘Oh, Will, no . . .’ she began, then she remembered. Only three days ago Matthew had eyed the money in the box as she took out a few precious coins to buy herself a mourning dress for her Aunt Hannah.

Surely, surely he would not . . . ?

‘Oh, Will, no!’ she moaned again, and let her head fall forward.

By the time she had done the milking and Will was long gone, there was still no sign of Matthew or of Kate, though Esther had a shrewd idea her daughter would be at the Harrises.

She went to the gate of the farmyard and stood looking up the lane towards the town, watching through the gathering dusk, her mouth set in a grim hard line. The lane was silent and empty.

She sighed and set off towards the Point to fetch Kate home to bed.

‘There you are then, lass,’ Ma Harris’s kindly round face greeted her. ‘Kate’s with the bairns. They’ve gone shrimping in the pools on the beach. Our Enid’s with ’em, they’ll come to no harm. I know it’s past the young un’s bedtime, but I thought you wouldn’t mind this once.’

Esther nodded and, suddenly weary, sat herself down at Ma’s scrubbed kitchen table and dropped her head into her hands.

‘Not been an easy day for you, I ’spect,’ Ma said gently, and the sympathetic tone threatened to overwhelm Esther.

She felt the tears prickle and a lump come into her throat. ‘Oh Ma. It’s just – everything.’

‘I know, lass, I know.’ Ma’s fat hand patted Esther’s shoulder. ‘Funerals aren’t easy at the best of times, and, well, if you ain’t seen yar family – for whatever reason – for a long time, then there’s bound to be – well, awkwardness.’

Esther raised her head and looked up at Ma. How strangely perceptive and wise this simple country woman was, Esther thought. ‘She left me her sewing machine, Ma. Me aunt left me her precious sewing machine.’ Esther shook her head, still uncomprehending.

‘She must have thought summat about ya, then, lass.’

‘To be honest, I can’t take it in yet.’ Esther sighed heavily and added, ‘Then when I get back home, Matthew’s gone . . .’

‘Oh, he’ll be all right, Esther lass. He went off this afternoon as usual with the squire.’

‘Of course,’ Esther murmured, ‘I’d forgotten,’ and added cynically, ‘It’s Friday and nothing – not even doing the milking while I go to me aunt’s funeral – must stand in the way of his Friday jaunts into town with the squire!’

‘Eh, lass, ain’t the milkin’ been done?’

‘It has now, Ma,’ Esther replied grimly.

‘I’m sorry, if we’d known, we could have . . .’

‘No, Ma, it’s not right. Matthew’s quite capable now of doing a bit of milking. He does little enough . . .’

‘Aw but, Esther, he’s a sick man.’