The boy, who had been watching them open-mouthed with astonishment, seemed suddenly to remember the urgency of his errand. He tugged at Matthew’s sleeve. ‘Mester – ya’ve got to fetch the doctor from town. Me mam can’t manage the birthing. The babby’s wrong road on.’

Matthew seemed to have forgotten young Ernie Harris’s presence. Suddenly he flung Esther away from him and turned back to the boy.

‘What? What d’ya mean?’

Patiently, seeming suddenly older than his fourteen years, Ernie explained to the uncomprehending man. ‘The babby’s coming feet first, like calves do sometimes, mester. Y’know.’

Matthew nodded grimly. Esther saw him close his eyes and heard him groan. She knew what he was thinking. She had seen him have to put his arm inside a cow and pull out her calf, with the animal in terrible pain and the man, fearing for the life of the unborn, heaving and sweating and covered in slimy birthing fluid. She could sense his agony. If it was anything like that – half as bad – for Beth . . .

Esther watched as Matthew pushed the lad aside and lumbered towards the back door, snatching his coat from the peg on the back door as he went. Ernie too, darting a glance at Esther’s face, scuttled outside after Matthew.

Slowly, Esther moved to the scullery window. She saw Matthew reach the farm gate and turn towards the town, wading his way through the knee-deep snow, his arms flailing from side to side in an effort to keep his balance as he went.

Out to the east, over the sea, the sky was low and heavy with more snow as Esther stood alone by the window watching her husband trudge determinedly towards the town to fetch the doctor for the woman who was about to give birth to his child.

It was almost twelve hours later, gone midnight, when Esther, still huddled over a dying fire in the range where she had sat for most of the day, just staring into the glowing coals, heard a loud rapping on the back door.

The sudden noise in the silence of the night made her start suddenly and her heart began to pound.

‘Matthew . . .’ She jumped up and, snatching the lamp from the table, hurried to the door to open it. But it was Ernie Harris standing there again.

‘Missus, me mam sent me to fetch ya.’

‘Why, whats wrong? Is it Beth? Mrs Eland?’

‘Naw, that’s all over.’ Even in the pale flickering light from the lamp, Esther could see the delight spread across the young boy’s face. ‘She had a lad, missus. Doctor were there. Yar man fetched him, but . . .’ The smile faded now. ‘’Ee’s bin in the pub ever since, an’ now . . .’ The voice faltered and the boy dropped his gaze as if embarrassed to look into Esther’s eyes.