‘We left you to sleep a bit,’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘Now – there’s breakfast for you. Mrs Sullivan will boil you an egg apiece. And after that, Eb says he’ll show you about the place. Then you can go and have a look around the district if you like. I’ll have to get on, I’m afraid. There’s so much to do . . .’ She drifted back to her work.

‘Does she mean us to go out on our own?’ Annie whispered, thrilled, as they sat at the neatly laid table.

‘I suppose she does,’ Margaret said uncertainly. She could see that Aunt Hatt could probably do with the pair of them out of the way for a while and felt guilty for burdening her. Her aunt and uncle seemed to be so busy! ‘I mean – she’s not going to send us with a chaperone, is she?’

‘Jack Sidwell,’ Annie grinned, knocking the top off her boiled egg. ‘In that hat!’

Margaret looked reproachfully at her. ‘Poor man,’ she said. ‘He was kind. You’re so mean.’

‘Right, you two wenches – you can come and have a look round out ’ere.’

Uncle Eb led them out to his long, brick workshop in the yard. Only a narrow alley separated its back wall from the house. Stepping inside, they could see that the place was packed full of such a variety of activity and people and machines that Margaret hardly knew where to look.

Male faces turned briefly to look at them, then hastened back to their work. The workshop was full of hammering and banging and from the back, with rhythmic regularity, came much heavier thumping noises. A pungent, chemical smell stung their nostrils.

Margaret and Annie exchanged glances. They were both dressed in sober clothes, grey skirts and pale blouses, buttoned high at the neck. But in this entirely male environment it was difficult not to feel self-consciously female. Margaret found herself blushing uncomfortably. She thought of her aunt, at the heart of all this grime and graft, in her jewel-coloured clothes like an exotic little bird.

‘Right.’ Uncle Eb beckoned them to a desk in the corner which seemed to be his territory in the workshop. ‘I’ll give yer a quick run-through, all right? It all starts with these – designs.’ He picked up one of several notebooks which were on the table. They saw drawings of bracelets, all beautifully executed. ‘See that? That’s our Christmas special this year.’ The design showed a slender twist of metal with holly leaves and berries around it. Flicking pages, he showed them other inked drawings.

‘Any road – once we’ve approved the design . . .’ He was already on the move. ‘Come over here with me . . .’