‘Suddaby,’ Kate answered, speaking for the first time. Her voice was a rasping croak and it hurt her throat to speak. ‘Me grandad’s the carrier there. He . . .’

‘Who? Not old Will Benson?’

Kate nodded and pulled the wrap closer around her. Now she was not walking, she was shivering uncontrollably, and yet her head felt burning hot.

‘Well, dun’t that beat all! Ah knows old Will real well. Ah’ll tek you straight there, young’un, though we’ve a bit of a ride ahead of us.’

She felt his glance upon her. ‘Should you like to ride in the back – under cover? It’d be warmer for ya.’

‘Yes, please.’

She lay on a piece of old matting on the floor of his carrier’s cart, dozing fitfully. Real sleep was impossible for the jolting of the cart, the rattle of its wheels and the hardness of the floor. She was alternately sweating and shivering, her head ached and there was a growing tightness in her chest. Above her, pans clanged together and pots clinked with every movement.

It seemed as if the journey would never end and then suddenly she felt the cart halt and the carrier was lifting the flap and saying, ‘We’re here, young ‘un, at ya grandad’s, but he bain’t here. He’s out on his rounds, so Mrs Raby, his neighbour, ses.’

Kate roused and pulled herself to the back of the cart. She saw the carrier standing there and with him a tall woman with a grey bun on the top of her head. Sweat prickled her skin and she could not breathe.

Miss Denham! Miss Denham had followed her.

It was then that Kate began to scream.

Their voices were rising and falling, coming and going around her. She felt herself lifted and carried and then laid on a sofa.

‘Poor mite – she’s ill. Ya can see that,’ came the woman’s voice.

It was nothing like the voice of Miss Denham. There came the touch of a work-worn yet caring hand upon her forehead. That was certainly not Miss Denham. Kate sighed with thankfulness and closed her eyes. Their conversation floated around her.

‘Who is she?’

‘Dunno, really. She ses she’s Will Benson’s granddaughter.’

‘Naw. Lass is ramblin’. Him an’ his wife never had no bairns, so how can he have a grandbairn?’

‘Dun’t ask me – ask him.’

‘She must be something to him, though. I’d better look after her, else Will’ll have me guts fer garters.’

Kate shivered and drew her knees up, curling herself into a ball for warmth. The woman must have noticed for at once she began issuing orders.

‘Get me some kindling fer the fire an’ fill the kettle . . .’