She put out her hand and gripped Ernie’s shoulder. ‘Tell me, what is it? What’s happened?’

The boy looked up again, the words coming out in a rush. ‘Yar man’s roaring drunk, missus. An’ he’s standing outside the boat – Eland’s boat – shouting and carrying on. There’ll be a fight, missus, if ya don’t come. Me dad and some of the other men at the Point have tried to pull ’im away, but . . .’ the boy shrugged. ‘He’s fighting mad, missus. Do come.’

Esther turned back into the house and took down her cape from behind the door and pulled on her boots. Taking the lamp, she snecked the door behind her and bending her head against the sleeting wind, she trudged out into the snow.

Luckily, there had been no further heavy snowfalls so she was able to follow the path trodden by the comings and goings earlier in the day. She followed Ernie’s wiry form as he leapt and bounded through the snow. Long before they reached the Point, she could hear Matthew’s voice.

Then, as Ernie helped her clamber up the slippery Hump, she saw him.

A small group of people from the Point cottages were standing in a huddled semi-circle behind him, holding lanterns high as if to light the drama going on before them.

Matthew was at the foot of the wooden jetty leading up to Robert Eland’s boat. At the top of the gangway stood Robert Eland, shaking his fist at Matthew below.

‘Come down here, Eland, and fight like a man – if ya call ya’sen a man. That bairn’s mine. There’s a cuckoo in ya nest, man . . .’

‘Go home, you fool, to your own wife and let mine be,’ Eland shouted back.

‘Beth’s mine. Her bairn’s mine, an’ ya know it, Eland. I’ll not have my son live on a rotten boat that might get swept out to sea wi’ the next tide.’

Esther drew in a breath to shout his name, but before she could utter a sound, Robert Eland had run down the gangway and from about half-way up had leapt down upon Matthew, falling on top of him and tumbling him to the ground. They rolled in the snow, grappling to get a hold, trading punch for punch. They staggered to their feet, holding on to each other in the effort to rise. Then they swayed back momentarily and came at each other again, fists swinging. Matthew caught Robert Eland high on the side of the head, whilst in the same second Eland’s knuckles found Matthew’s nose, and blood, black in the fitful light from the lanterns, spattered the snow.

Esther pushed the lantern she carried into Ernie’s hands and ran forward. ‘Stop it – stop it, Matthew. You have no right. Robert – please . . .’