“Point me in the right direction and I’ll walk. Sergeant Dog likes the exercise. And don’t worry about taking us back. We’ll find our own way to the train.”

It would be good for the dog to know how to board a train, and how to conduct himself in the carriage.

Philip seemed relieved. Mrs. Sugden remembered Mrs. Shackleton telling her that he liked people who talked straight, said what they meant, meant what they said.

She walked to the tobacconist’s shop. Sergeant did that dog-thing of acting as if he knew exactly where he was going.

They were there in a little under ten minutes.

Everything about the shop was brown, brown painted wood, brown oilcloth, yellowing ceiling turning to brown. The tobacconist, Mr. Swarbrick, wore a brown overall. His fingers and sad moustache were stained from nicotine.

His brightened considerably when Mrs. Sugden told him she had come to enquire about the lease.

“I never expected a lady, I’ve had men, and some men with their wives, but I never had a lady on her own.”

“Well you have now,” said Mrs. Sugden. “If you had so many enquiries, how is it you have no one signed up?”

“Because I’m not sure, I’m not right sure.”

“Of what?”

“I’m dithering, that’s the truth. I want to leave this place and I don’t. I want to leave because I’m on mi own now, but I don’t know where I’d go or what do.”

“Well that’s a rum state of affairs.”

“I know. I’ve had two fellows here, both interested. Last one told me I was wasting his time, but I never expected a lady to call. Would you like to come here for nothing, share the shop with me?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Marriage. I’m useless on mi own.”

Mrs. Sugden could see that very well. What this man needed was a good talking to. She gave him advice on how to find a wife. “You’d best try the chapels first. Don’t go for some soppy flower arranger. Choose a woman who turns her hand to mopping the floor and polishing pews. Many a good widow would be glad of a fresh start. Smarten yourself up. Try not to look pathetic.”

“You’re very kind. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

“Quite sure. But I’ll come to your wedding. Now you can do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Show me and this dog to a building called Stone something or other on York Street.”

He picked up his coat and locked the shop door.

*   *   *

Number 112 York Street did not look like a children’s home, more like offices. Mrs. Sugden considered trying to lose her escort, but he came in useful for standing by the lamppost, holding Sergeant Dog’s lead.