Matthew laughed. He was by now none too steady on his feet, for he had been partaking liberally of the ale set aside at the far end of the barn. He pulled her away from the other dancers and with his arm about her waist, led her out of the barn and away from the light. Behind them the music and laughter continued but around them now was the black stillness of the night. He pulled her round a corner and towards a straw stack looming in the darkness.

‘Oh, just let me sit down. Me feet are fair aching.’ Esther giggled and fell into the straw. Matthew stumbled and fell on top of her and in a moment they were rolling and shrieking about in the straw. Then suddenly he was on top of her, his mouth finding hers as he kissed her roughly and his hand was tugging at her skirt. Then she felt his hand hot upon her thigh and felt his fingers working frantically upwards, upwards . . .

She struggled. ‘Stop it, Matthew. I won’t—’

‘Aw, come on, Esther. You’d like it. I know you would. You’re ripe as a plum . . .’

‘No!’ she almost shouted, and then she heard an ominous tearing sound near her shoulder as the fragile material of her dress tore.

Her sudden anger giving her extra strength, Esther shoved him off her and tried to scramble up. The straw caught at her skirt and hampered her escape, so that he caught her by the legs and tackled her to the ground once more. Now she was fighting him in earnest, fighting for her purity.

‘Not ’til I’m wed,’ she panted. ‘I won’t.’

Suddenly he stopped and rolled away from her. ‘Huh, you’re a prude, Esther Everatt. You’ll die an old maid and never know what it was like.’

Finding herself free, she struggled to her feet and moved a little way away from him. Then she turned and with a parting flourish shouted, ‘I’d rather that than bring your bastard into the world, Matthew Hilton!’

She turned and fled back to the safety of the throng of dancers. She found herself a drink and sat in a corner. She was hot and dishevelled, but hoped that everyone was too busy enjoying themselves to notice.

She felt at the back of her shoulder. The tear didn’t seem too bad. She had been thrilled to find the dress and had so looked forward to this evening, but now, what with the contempt of Mrs Willoughby and Miss Flo, Beth’s angry eyes, and now Matthew’s drunken attempt on her virtue – her pleasure was spoilt. She sighed heavily. His behaviour had soured what she had thought had been a friendship. She had liked being with him, quite enjoyed his harmless flirting if she were honest. But no more than that, she vowed to herself, not until I’m married.