Ma turned and waddled back through Esther’s kitchen. ‘Eh, but you’ve worked wonders with this place. It’s spotless. I ain’t never seen old Sam’s place look so clean. He’s a lucky young feller, that Matthew Hilton. Fallen right on his feet, ’ee has, what wi’ you gettin’ the farm, an’ all.’ Again she shot Esther a knowing glance. Nothing, it appeared, got past Ma Harris’s astute understanding. With what sounded like a note of disapproval, she added, ‘But I don’t expect he realizes it. Same with all the fellers, lass, they don’t know a good thing when they’ve got it!’ She chuckled at her own philosophy. ‘But they know when they’ve lost it.’

As Esther closed the back door behind Ma Harris, she was wondering how Matthew would take the news of Beth’s marriage to the man he had always disliked. Would he start to think about what he, Matthew, had lost?

Esther could not bring herself to speak of Beth to her husband, yet the black-haired girl lay like a shadow over any chance of happiness that their marriage might have had. She guessed Matthew must have heard of Beth’s marriage, for the same night that Ma Harris had imparted the news to Esther, Matthew ate his meal in silence and left the farmhouse without a word to her. He had still not returned when Esther banked down the range, took her candle and went upstairs to bed.

She awoke with a start.

A loud crash had disturbed her. Her heart pounded. She heard someone moving through the kitchen, as if they were lurching from side to side, colliding with the table, knocking over a chair. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached with fingers that trembled to light her candle. Her mouth was dry with fear as she reached the top of the stairs and heard the door from the living room into the small hall smash open, thrown back against the wall. She held the candle high to see who had dared to invade her home.

‘Matthew! Whatever—?’

‘Hello, Esh-ter, my beeootiful darlin’. Your husband’s come home to hish lovely wife . . .’ He hiccupped and reeled backwards falling against the front door behind him. He slithered down into an untidy heap on the floor. In the flickering candlelight, she could see the silly grin on his face.

‘You’re drunk!’ she accused, rather unnecessarily.

Matthew giggled. ‘I think I musht be.’

She turned and carried the candle back into the bedroom, leaving him in total darkness. She climbed into bed, blew out the light and lay there shaking with anger as she listened to every blundering step he made, pulling himself slowly up the stairs, muttering to himself then giggling foolishly.

‘Esh-ter, bring the candle back here, woman. I can’t see a thing. I’ll fall down and break me – me neck.’