On Saturday morning, after Annie had gone to do her cleaning at Masters, Hogg & Co., Margaret was in the office as usual with her aunt and uncle, and Susan and Bridget. Their employees were also in the workshop, cleaning. There was no particular rush on this week and at dinner time they were all going to knock off for the weekend.

All was quiet and industrious in the office. Margaret was writing envelopes for invoices. The only sounds came from the street or from Aunt Hatt’s scratchy pen, Bridget spiking a completed order form or Susan’s occasional sniffing – except when Uncle Eb, wearing his overall, came billowing in like a small tornado before disappearing again.

On his next appearance, Aunt Hatt looked up at him with an expression that dared him to disturb them as he started picking up and laying down some of the post received that morning. Margaret continued writing on an envelope.

‘Ah,’ she heard her uncle say. ‘Germany, eh? Well, well. Not somewhere Georgie’s been lately, is it?’

‘That’s unusual,’ Aunt Hatt murmured, head still bent over her work, not wanting to encourage him. A moment later, the fragile peace was broken by a snort.

‘Feller called von Titz – with a z!’ Eb let out a bellow of laughter which set Susan giggling. Aunt Hatt looked disapprovingly at her husband over her spectacles, though her mouth was twitching.

‘Ebenezer Watts, you should be ashamed, in front of your niece,’ she said.

Margaret, having no idea what this was all about, looked at them, bewildered.

‘Oh-ho – von Titz! That’s a good one . . . Now . . . Hmmm . . . What does he want?’ Uncle Eb’s laughter subsided as he got caught up in the correspondence, stroking his beard. ‘Well, I’m blowed – two of them. There’s two orders in here – this is from . . .’ He read slowly, his eyes widening. ‘Ah – they’re related. A Mr Friedrich Schmale. Says he’s in London . . . South coast . . . blah blah . . . Coming to visit – in a couple of weeks’ time! Well, I’m . . .’

‘What does he want?’ Aunt Hatt looked up at last. But Eb was already in a flurry of action.

‘Margaret, young wench,’ he said, arms waving. ‘Go next door, will yer, and see if Caleb Turner’s still knocking about. Get him in here, soon as ’e can . . .’

‘Of course,’ Margaret said. She made a mental note to ask Aunt Hatt later what was so funny about the name von Titz.

She stepped out into a golden morning, squinting in the slanting, smoky light. Sure enough, Daisy Tallis was perched on the step next door. The moment Margaret greeted her, the young girl raised her head eagerly.

‘Are you watching life go by again, Daisy?’ Margaret said kindly. Her uncle was in a hurry as ever, but she did not want to push past without a word. After all, the Germans were not on the doorstep at this moment.