‘They would still be thieves and brawlers, mark my words.’

‘Oh, but Arthur, perhaps Harriet is right.’ Mary’s eyes brighten. ‘If these women were working, perhaps? Doing something useful. You must get them working, Ralph!’ She reaches a hand to Ralph’s arm. ‘You could do something about them. Factories, laundries, allotments, even. Honest work.’

Ralph tilts his head and gives her a soft smile. ‘I shall do my utmost, Mrs MacKenzie, I promise, although I’m inclined to agree with your husband in his assessment of these people, more’s the pity. They are a menace, and most of them far beyond reforming.’

‘Tighter laws are what’s needed,’ Gerald opines from the end of the table. ‘More power to the police.’

‘That, too.’

‘Well, I won’t disagree,’ MacKenzie says. ‘They’re using motor cars now. They’ve been known to leave the Flying Squad standing. If we had more men, more cars –’

‘I can’t imagine working in a factory would be half as much fun as stealing from Selfridges,’ Harriet interrupts, suddenly annoyed. She cannot imagine a girl as bright and beautiful as Ruby Mills in factory garb, nor understand why this should be thought appropriate. ‘You might be lifting them out of the mud, but you’re hardly offering them excitement if you’re consigning them to a mill or a munitions factory. They might just as well run wild and enjoy themselves, and then go off to sew mailbags or beat hemp in prison for a time.’

‘Harriet!’ Isabel is horrified. ‘What a thing to say.’

‘Don’t be foolish, young woman,’ MacKenzie snaps. ‘You know nothing about them, nor the filthy, violent lives they lead. You may sit here, offering your high-minded opinions; some of us must deal with these creatures in the real world. You might, more properly, leave the likes of Ruby Mills to those of us who understand them.’

An awkward silence falls over the company. Harriet stares at her plate: the mound of leeks and the half-eaten fish. The room is stiflingly warm. There are too many candles.

‘Well,’ says Ralph, breaking the silence. ‘I’ll be sure to do what I can as soon as I have opportunity. And perhaps Harriet will be able to channel her enthusiasm for justice into typing my speeches.’

‘I shall look forward to writing your speeches,’ Harriet says, tightly, still bristling.

‘I said you can type them,’ he laughs in a slightly forced way, catching her eye. ‘I might draw the line at letting you write them. Goodness knows what would happen if you ever attempted to engage in politics.’

‘Well,’ Mary says, glancing across the table. ‘Harriet certainly writes very well.’