Margaret sat up, shaken, but fully awake now. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt. What’s wrong? What time is it?’

‘It’s late, gone half past eleven,’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘But you’d best come. No one else’ll do, apparently.’ She looked Margaret up and down. ‘Get covered up. Mr Tallis is downstairs.’

‘Mr Tallis?’ Margaret felt immediately disturbed, her heart picking up speed. ‘What d’you mean? Why?’

‘He’s got the boy . . . Look, get some clothes on quick and come down.’ Aunt Hatt leaned over with her candle to light the one on the chair beside Margaret.

As Aunt Hatt disappeared downstairs again, Margaret, not possessing a dressing gown, half dressed once again, threw on her skirt, blouse, long cardigan and boots. Her hair was already fastened in a demure plait. She smoothed it back and fastened a button on the cardigan, eyeing Annie as she did so. Annie, needless to say, had slept through all this.

As she made her way downstairs, she could hear quiet talk from the back room; the low rumble of Philip Tallis’s voice, and Aunt Hatt’s replies. The voice vibrated through her. She found herself thinking that he seemed a pure soul, Philip Tallis. Something about him gave her a sense of safety. In comparison, she felt soiled by all that had happened with Charles Barber, by her lingering shame that it had been her fault, made acute by her father’s blame of her. She folded her arms and, feeling intensely self-conscious, stepped into the room.

But all such thoughts were pushed from her mind when she saw the little figure standing by the dying fire, between Aunt Hatt and Mr Tallis, his head hanging, also as if in shame.

‘Den!’ She hurried to him. ‘Oh, my Lord, Den, dear, where’ve you been?’ She laid her hand on the boy’s shoulder, almost tearful with relief at seeing him. He had been away for over a week. He was holding his cap in his hands and his ragged clothes were even more filthy than usual. He smelt terrible. But he was still wearing the boots Clara had given her for him, scuffed and muddy.

Den raised his head to acknowledge her. Margaret could feel Philip Tallis quietly watching, holding his own hat. His presence seemed to fill the room and she was acutely aware of him.

‘I’m boiling some milk,’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘The child looks starved.’

‘Where did you find him?’ Margaret asked Philip Tallis. Her eagerness to know what had happened overcame her shyness. ‘What happened?’

‘I was coming home, just now,’ Philip Tallis said. ‘The lad was outside here, lying up against the house – under your front window.’ He looked directly at Margaret then and she saw a questioning tenderness in his eyes. ‘He asked for you – wasn’t interested in anything else. It’s late, I know, but I thought I’d best bring him in here.’