He told us we would be here for ‘a time’, my younger sister firmly of the belief that he would return at the end of the day.

I knew otherwise.

I was nine years old. Ellie and I had grown taller in the months since our mother died, but no broader. We mostly lived on bread when Murdo had the money and the inclination to bring some home, and upon thin porridge when there was fuel enough for the stove.

From up in the grand circle, the spectators might notice a redness upon the backs of my hands, but not the rough patchwork of raised lines and welts that had not yet healed.

A few weeks before, my father had come home from the mill directly, not having any money left for the tavern. His consequent sobriety was seldom an ameliorative. I was scratching upon my slate at the table when he became suddenly enraged and seized me by the wrist.

‘Look at these hands, so pale and fair and soft. Is it any wonder I’m penniless? These are hands that have known no toil, hands that do naught but take from me, who works all the hours God sends.’

He went to the sink, from where he lifted the scrubbing brush.

‘Who is it you think you are, to have hands so smooth and unblemished? Some rich lady of the quality? Fancy yourself the wife of a merchant or the mill owner? You were made to work, girl. I’ll show you how your hands ought to look.’

He held each of my hands down upon the table in turn and scrubbed until my knuckles were bloody and ragged. He struck me about the head each time I cried out with the pain, telling me: ‘I will not cease until you show the strength to endure this lesson in silence.’

The only mercy that night, with my fingers still bleeding and sticky and raw, was that he spared my hands the other task to which he often set them while Ellie slept.

Thus, despite my trepidation and my concern for my sister, I regarded our entry into the Belmont Institute as a form of deliverance. I could not imagine a life worse than with our father.

FIFTEEN

aven was about to cross Leith Street when he heard the clatter of hooves behind him and the rumble of wheels on the cobbles, loud and sudden. It caused him to halt at the edge of the road, an instinctive reaction to the sound of a carriage taking the corner at an injudicious speed.

The coach whipped past him, then was pulled to an impromptu halt, causing the horses to strain against their own momentum and that of the weight they pulled. Raven looked up to see what kind of fool was so recklessly driving the carriage with so little concern for his own safety and the welfare of the horses.