‘Everything will be ready,’ she said, ‘dun’t you worry. You just see to them cows.’

‘Huh, I was only trying to ’elp,’ Matthew muttered and stomped off.

Late that night as she climbed the stairs, her limbs heavy with weariness, she paused outside the closed door of Sam’s bedroom, her hand hovering towards the latch. Then she let it fall. Best not go in, she told herself, I shan’t sleep if I look at him again. The funeral people would be here tomorrow to put him in a coffin in the front room. It wouldn’t be so bad then. But she didn’t like to think of him still lying in his bed, cold and silent – and so close. Holding her breath, she scuttled through the neighbouring room where Matthew had slept, not daring to peer into the dark corners. Only when she was in her own small bedroom and leaning against the closed door behind her, did she breathe easily.

She almost wished she had agreed to Matthew staying another night or two.

Whatever’s the matter with you, Esther Everatt? she asked herself fiercely. You’re not usually so squeamish. But she had not had to deal with death before. It was not so easy to be rational and strong-minded alone in the darkness of the night with Sam’s corpse in the nearby room.

For a long time she lay in her bed listening to every sound; the wind whistling around the farmhouse and the old timbers creaking. She was just on the point of falling asleep when the click of the latch on her bedroom door startled her into wakefulness. She lay there breathing hard, her heart pounding, her scalp prickling with fear. Someone stepped into the room, closed the door behind them and began to move towards the bed.

Esther screamed – a loud, shrill noise piercing the blackness. The intruder fell against the end of her bed and she felt strong hands grasping at her legs kicking under the covers. ‘Esther, Esther – it’s only me.’

She stopped screaming, panting hard. Now she was angry.

‘Matthew! How dare you? What—’

‘Esther – please. I thought I’d stay another night or two – just till after the funeral. You dun’t want to be here on your own, do you?’

‘Well . . .’ she said, a little mollified. The memory of her apprehension was still fresh in her mind. Still, she did not trust his motives. ‘Mebbe not,’ she conceded, ‘but that dun’t mean I want you in me bedroom.’

‘Oh, Esther.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper and she felt him sliding along the bed towards her.

‘That’s quite far enough, Matthew Hilton.’ She snuggled further under the covers, pulling them up tightly under her chin.