‘Yes.’ The girl nodded. Her head was bare today, the curtain of thick, honey-coloured hair down her back. A little smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

What a lovely child, Margaret thought. She often found herself wondering about Daisy’s mother. Aunt Hatt had told her that the woman’s name had been Florence and she had died giving birth to another child, which had also left this world before its life had even begun. Equally mysterious was Daisy’s father. Even after living here for a few weeks, Margaret had never, so far as she knew, set eyes on him.

‘Do you know if Mr Turner is still in, Daisy?’ Margaret asked. ‘I’ve a message for him.’

‘I think so,’ Daisy said.

I can’t miss Caleb Turner if he comes out, she thought. It wouldn’t hurt to stand and talk to Daisy a little longer. She was just searching for something to say when she saw a tall, bearded man striding along the road in a long black coat, an unusual black beret-like hat tugged down lopsidedly on his head. In seconds his purposeful walk brought him level with them and he turned in energetically at the gate. The man gave Margaret a brief nod and swooped down upon Daisy to touch her cheek, just for a second, with teasing affection.

‘Hello, Miss Daisy!’ he said jovially. ‘Is your pa about?’

‘Yes, Mr Carson,’ Daisy said, shuffling aside to let this whirlwind of a person in. He vanished at high speed into the house and Margaret heard him call, ‘Morning, Mr Henshaw!’ to the man in the front office.

‘Goodness,’ Margaret said. She had stood back to let him pass and only caught a glimpse of the dark beard and moustache and vivacious, smiling eyes. ‘Who was that?’

‘Mr Carson,’ Daisy said.

This did not enlighten Margaret any further.

‘He teaches at the jewellery school – with Mr Cuzner,’ Daisy said, adding fervently, ‘Mr Cuzner makes lovely things. My pa has known him all his life.’

‘I see,’ Margaret said. The sense of wonder that often overcame her in this place only increased. And she could not ignore the effect she felt from the man who had just dashed into the house, so bright-eyed and vigorous. Instantly she thought of Charles Barber and this brought only disgust and deep pain. Had she not been affected like this by Charles as well? All those exciting, shameful feelings – her obsession with him, her desire. It had only brought her punishment. Never again would she fall for the charm of a man! She was better off on her own.

‘Do you like drawing, Daisy?’ she said, with an effort to escape her churning thoughts.

‘Oh, yes – I do!’ Daisy said, seeming to light up at this.

‘Well – why don’t you come and see me later,’ Margaret said, pleased. ‘If your father will let you. And we’ll see what we can do.’