Her father put on a mock look of long-suffering and rattled change in his pocket. ‘You’d have the milk out of my tea, you would, young wench.’

Daisy giggled and ran back with the money. The man tipped his hat to them and they stood a little longer, listening amid the crowd of jostling children. The church bells suddenly fell silent and they could hear the metallic little tune more clearly. Daisy was ahead with the other children and for just a second, Margaret saw Philip Tallis turn to her. Their eyes met and she felt him take her hand and give it a loving squeeze before releasing her again. Colour rose in her cheeks. The gesture was modest, but it spoke volumes of feeling and she loved him the more for it.

‘Come on,’ he called to Daisy. ‘Or we shan’t even get as far as Birmingham!’

He took them past Snow Hill station and St Philip’s, the church at the heart of town. Margaret looked about her at all the tall, gracious buildings along the new boulevard of Corporation Street, then along New Street. All the shops and businesses were closed and there was a quieter, more celebratory Sunday-morning feeling to the place.

‘It’s not the liveliest time to see it really,’ Philip Tallis said, as they turned down a sloping street with the elegant spire of St Martin’s church rising at the end. ‘This is where the outdoor markets are – you should see it in the week – packed, this area. The wholesale markets, like the meat market, are over there at Smithfield – and that’s the Market Hall –’ he pointed to a huge building, its entrance flanked by two columns. ‘You’ll really have to go in there one day.’

‘They sell pets and everything!’ Daisy said. ‘Chickens and rabbits – and the most delicious food. Oh, roast pork and crackling! It’s making my mouth water thinking about it!’ she groaned.

‘Never mind,’ Margaret said. ‘I’m sure Mrs Flett’s making you something nice for your dinner.’

‘Mrs Flett’s not a bad cook . . .’ Daisy began.

‘Now, now,’ her father silenced her. ‘We’re lucky to have the lady – she’s been good to you, Daisy.’

Just then, a thin, poor-looking man approached them, nursing a little bundle close to him as if it was keeping him warm.

‘Hot chestnuts, straight from the fire,’ he murmured.

‘Oh – Pa – can we have some!’ Daisy cried. ‘I’m so hungry!’

Philip Tallis hesitated, then dipped his hand into his pocket again. The chestnut seller was watching, teetering with expectation of a sale. Margaret could see how thin and ragged he was. She pulled her little drawstring purse from her waist.

‘Here – I’ll buy some as well,’ she said.