To Margaret’s relief, their uncle’s grin widened. ‘You don’t miss much, do yer? That’s about it, yes.’ He stood with his hands at his waist, flexing his back for a moment. Course, I’ll do fine work if the order comes in. But nine and eighteen carat’s more affordable for your man or woman in the street. And the more can afford ’em, the more we can sell. And why shouldn’t anyone be able to have a pretty brooch or bracelet or a cigarette case if they want one, eh?’

‘So what do you make here, Uncle?’ Margaret asked.

‘Oh – all sorts. Jewellery – that’s bracelets, brooches, rings, pendants, cufflinks and studs, speciality picture frames – some like their pictures with jewelled frames – we’ve got a bit of a name for them.’

‘What about chains?’ Annie said. ‘In Chain Street?’

‘We don’t do them – there’s plenty of chain makers about. We don’t set the gems either – not yet. I send that out to be done. One day . . .’ He smiled. ‘Best thing is to have everyone working under one roof, but –’ He shrugged. ‘At the moment this roof ain’t big enough.’ He walked on, beckoning.

‘Right, to tell yer quick, ’cause I need to get to work.’ They stood to one side of the workshop. ‘The bullion gets delivered here . . . So, three mornings a week, before you young ladies’ve even prised your dainty eyes open, I’ll be down under there in the cellar.’ He pointed to the far end. ‘Well away from the house. You don’t want to live over the furnace if yer can ’elp it ’cause it makes a fair old stink. I were down ’ere at half past six this morning, getting it ready, see. We roll it out, or pull it through a machine to make it into wire – depending what it’s for. It’s kept in the safe over there . . .’ He pointed at a huge, solid iron thing. ‘And then . . .’ He reached for a metal box that was lying on one of the benches. ‘Every morning when they come in, they get one of these – everything’s in here that they need for the job. Every box is weighed and recorded. At the end of the day we weigh them back in.’

‘Why?’ Annie asked, frowning.

‘Well, why d’yer think, my dear?’ Eb leaned towards her, his face serious. ‘We don’t want any gold going missing, do we? Course – there is a bit of wastage allowed for. It happens when you’re working. We sweep everything – the machines, floors, the lot. All the sweepings go back in the furnace to burn off the dust and I sell the lemel back to the metal dealers. Lemel – that’s all the shavings of waste metal.’

‘I suppose you have to employ very honest people,’ Margaret said, trying to digest all this information. ‘As gold is so valuable.’