Matthew swung his arm back to aim a punch at Eland, but caught Esther full in the chest, knocking her into the snow. She lay there winded, but her attempt at intervention galvanized the other men amongst the onlookers to take action. They moved forward as a body, some to take hold of Matthew, others to grasp Eland. The women amongst the group rushed to help Esther.

‘Ee, lass, what a to-do.’ She heard Ma Harris’s warm voice in her ear.

‘I’m – fine,’ Esther gasped, not quite truthfully, as they helped her upright. ‘Just help me – get him away from here – home.’

She looked across at her husband. He was slumped forward, only held up from falling into the snow by the other men. He was sobbing now, a wretched, distraught figure.

‘Beth – oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Ya should have told me . . .’ He talked to the empty air because, of course, Beth was not out there in the snow to hear his anguish.

Esther moved forward, resolutely pushing away the memory of Beth’s stricken face asking to see Matthew, of her distress at hearing of his marriage. Now Esther put her shoulder under her husband’s arm and felt his weight sag against her. She swayed a moment and then straightened.

‘Thanks, Mester Harris. I’ve got him now.’ Esther braced her shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried her husband up the lane towards their home.

As soon as they were some distance up the lane, Esther said firmly, ‘Shut up now, Matthew. What’s done is done. Ya mekin’ a right fool of ya’sen.’

He lifted his head briefly. ‘Ya made the fool o’ me, Esther Everatt. I hopes ya satisfied.’

Still, she thought, he thinks of me by my maiden name and not by the one he has given me in marriage. More than anything, this seemed to accentuate the bitterness he felt towards her.

They stumbled their way through the snow, Matthew still rambling about Beth and his son, and venting his anger upon his wife. By the time they reached the back door of the farmhouse, Esther was exhausted. There was a pain in her chest from Matthew’s blow and his weight seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Inside, she pushed him thankfully into the chair by the range and sank down on to the rug herself. The coals still glowed with a little welcome warmth. It was several minutes before she could drag herself upright and move towards the kitchen to fetch a rag to wipe away the blood still trickling from his nose. Two dark shadows were swelling beneath his eyes.

She fetched a bowl and spoon. ‘There’s some broth here still warm.’ Her tone was sharp. ‘Come on, Matthew. Stir ya’sen. It’ll do ya good.’

There was no response. Matthew leant his head back against the wooden chair and closed his eyes.