‘It’s been a pleasure having you,’ Aunt Hatt said warmly. ‘You’re like daughters to us now, the pair of you.’ Her dark eyes were full of fondness. ‘And we’ve seen you come out of yourself, little Margaret. I’d say she’s come out of herself quite a bit since she’s been here, wouldn’t you, Eb?’

‘Oh, ar – quite a bit,’ Eb agreed.

Margaret felt close to tears at her aunt’s sweetness. But she could also see the question that lay under Hatt’s kind expression. They had never fully explained the situation and why they had come – Margaret just could not bring herself to.

‘Of course . . .’ Aunt Hatt went on uncertainly. ‘We shall have more space in the other place, if you needed to be with us for longer . . .’

‘No, Aunt,’ Margaret said firmly. In the daylight now, she was full of a new strength of purpose. ‘We must make sure that we resolve our problems at home before Christmas. I know my father is expecting us back.’

‘Oh, stay for Christmas!’ Eb said. ‘Our last Christmas in the old ’ome! We’ll make it a good’un!’ He held out a hand expansively. ‘Porter and plum puddings!’

Margaret smiled at his enthusiasm. Aunt Hatt had spent one Saturday afternoon boiling pudding basins with muslin tops in the steam-filled kitchen and they were stored on a shelf in the pantry. She thought of her father in the little house in the village, alone apart from the ageing Alice Lamb, and her heart ached with sadness. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’

There was a curt knock on the door and Caleb Turner came in, balancing three heavy dies in his arms. With a look at Eb which said, Criticize at your peril, he plonked them, one by one, on the desk.

‘Right – I’ve done five o’ them German wenches. I’ll get the other two in a tick.’

They all gathered round. The dies had been carved so that the oval patterns on them were each about three inches high. These heroic portraits of the German girls were to be stamped out in relief, enamelled and placed in gold frames set with gems.

‘They look marvellous, Caleb,’ Aunt Hatt said.

Margaret, who found it very difficult to distinguish the pattern on any die and how it would appear, and was also looking at them upside down, thought it better to say nothing.

‘Well,’ Caleb said gloomily. ‘I defy you to say which one’s which. I just hope he flaming well knows. I’ll get the others – the rest’ll be done by Wednesday, I should think.’

‘What about the colours?’ Aunt Hatt said.

‘He said he dain’t mind,’ Eb told her. ‘Just wants them to look nice. So long as they’re different colours, we’ll be all right.’

Hatt looked up at him with a doubtful expression. ‘Is Jack going to do them?’