Annie nodded. Margaret blew and they settled down in the familiar, comforting whiff of candle smoke. Margaret turned on her side, her back to Annie, her whole being aching.

‘Maggs?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t move.

‘Are you going to tell them?’

There was a silence. Margaret was sure she could hear her own heart thudding. ‘Tell them what?’

‘All of it. You’ll have to. They’re putting us up – and we don’t even know how long for. I mean, I’m not just going to go back with my tail between my legs, whatever he says.’

Margaret struggled to speak but her throat seemed blocked with tears. ‘No,’ she managed. ‘I can’t.’

‘How can you even think that it was your fault?’

‘I don’t know!’ She burst into sobs. ‘That’s just the trouble. I keep going over and over it all and I know that somewhere I did something terribly wrong. And Father said . . .’

‘But he was wrong, Maggs. He’s not God – he’s not always right about everything. He was wrong and cruel and ridiculous . . .’ She stopped for a second, thinking about how they could explain to Eb and Harriet Watts. ‘I don’t really think Aunt Harriet likes Father much, anyway.’

‘Annie!’ Margaret snapped, lifting her head from the pillow. ‘Please, leave me alone, will you? Just go to sleep.’

‘But we’ll have to—’

‘Not tonight,’ Margaret pleaded. ‘I can’t talk about anything tonight. Just be quiet.’

On the floor below, Eb Watts stood by the bed in his vest and underpants with a bemused expression on his face, one hand held out in front of him as if he was about to do something and had completely forgotten what it was.

‘Eb?’ Harriet was sitting up in bed, carefully fixing a net over her thick braid of hair. She wore a delicately embroidered nightgown. The room itself was a haven of ladylike pieces of furniture – her dressing table with an oval looking-glass, a little upholstered stool in front of it, and a silky bedspread in her favourite shade of light plum. Every inch of the house that was their living space, she tried to make as pretty and homely as possible.

‘What’re you doing, love?’ she said. ‘Are you coming to bed, or what?’

‘Oh – ar.’ He climbed in beside her.

‘Eb – you haven’t got your nightshirt on!’

‘Never mind – won’t hurt for once. Too darn hot for that.’ Blowing out the candle he said, ‘Come ’ere, you beautiful wench.’

With a giggle Harriet Watts snuggled up against the comforting girth of her husband.

‘Funny having those two Hanson girls here,’ he said. ‘Solemn wenches though, the pair of ’em.’

‘They seem very nice,’ Harriet said. ‘It’ll be a change to have some girls about for a bit and perhaps it’ll do them good as well. They’ve come from a very strict home, Eb.’