There was enough to sicken the stomach: the stale stink of garments imbued with grime and chemical smells of industry, of sour breath, decaying teeth, cigarette smoke. She was used to the poor – as a minister’s dutiful daughter, much more accustomed than most of her class. For many of her nineteen years, she had visited villagers in their dank cottages, tending to their sickly children and elders. Nor did she look down on any of her fellow children of God.

But this was different – the city with its looming, soot-blackened buildings, streets going off in every direction which somehow seemed dark, even at this time of day, the rush of people, some now pressed tightly up against her, the pallid faces, clothes patched with sweat and dirt. And the noise! Even walking to the tram, amid the clanging bells, the press of people, the clatter and thump of the place, she had been almost overcome. All this, added to her distress, seemed about to tilt her back into illness again.

It felt like weeks since they had left the village, though it was only this morning, the bus chugging between fields where lapwings settled on the dewy grass. Already, she had been sick with fear and shame. The events of the past days had propelled them out of all that was dear and familiar – into this huge, unknown place. The fact that it was the city of her mother’s birth did not, at this moment, bring much comfort.

As she fought a rising sensation of nausea, beside her a thin man with a drooping moustache spoke to his neighbour in a grim, gloating tone.

‘So – they done another’un this morning.’

‘D’yer go over there, then? The nick?’

‘Nah. Would’ve if I ’adn’t been on early today. See the bastard hang.’

‘You don’t see nowt these days. It’s all done inside.’

The first speaker made a sound of annoyance. ‘Well, as good as. I’d’ve gone all the same.’ There was a pause before he went on. ‘They’ve got a condemned cell there now. I know a bloke ’elped put it in. That’s where they spend their last night, like. Last meal, before they tek ’em out in the morning, get the rope around their neck . . .’

Margaret pressed her hand to her mouth, screwing her eyes tightly shut. Perspiration was soaking through her clothes. She tried to block out the man’s whining voice but it pierced through all her other thoughts.

Hanged by the neck until you are dead . . . Dear God, dear sweet Jesus, stupid, stupid Annie. What might have happened . . . Annie in a cell, Annie being taken out early one morning . . .

The heat rose in sickening waves, overwhelming her. A few seconds later, she was overcome by blackness.

There were voices, the faintest breeze tickling her face. Margaret could feel the hard ground beneath her, but from behind someone was supporting the upper half of her body.