“There is no right way, Esme. If there was, we’d have voted in the last election.”

“Are you sure it’s the vote you have your eye on, and not the attention?”

She smiled weakly. “You’re not wrong. But if it makes people take notice it might make them think.”

“They might just think you’re mad and dangerous. They won’t negotiate with that.”

Tilda looked up at me. “Well, perhaps that’s when the sensible words of your suffragists come in.”

The gate sang. I jumped up to open the door. Lizzie stood on the threshold, bewildered. She looked past me into the hall, and I realised it was the first time she had ever been in my home.

“Oh, Lizzie, thank goodness.” I closed the door behind them and ushered them towards the kitchen.

Lizzie barely acknowledged Tilda, but she took her arm gently and lifted her hand from the bowl of water. She laid it on the tea towel and blew the burned skin dry.

“It might look worse than it is,” she finally said. “Blisters usually mean there’s good skin beneath. Try not to pop them too soon.” She took a small bottle of ointment from her leather pouch and removed the stopper. Gareth held the bottle while Lizzie spread the ointment over Tilda’s peeling skin, careful to avoid the blisters. Only once did Tilda draw a sharp breath. Lizzie looked to her then, their eyes meeting for the first time. Lizzie’s face was full of a concern I recognised.

She wrapped Tilda’s hand in gauze. “I can’t promise it won’t scar.”

“If it does, I’ll be in good company,” Tilda said, looking to me.

“And you should see a doctor.”

Tilda nodded.

“Well, then,” Lizzie said, “if that’s all I’m needed for, I’ll be off back to my bed.”

Tilda put her good hand on Lizzie’s arm. “I know you don’t approve of me, Lizzie, and I understand why you wouldn’t. But I am so very grateful.”

“You’re a friend of Esme’s.”

“You could have said no,” Tilda said.

“No, I couldn’t.” With that, Lizzie stood and let Gareth guide her back to the front door. When I tried to catch her eye, she looked away.

It was three in the morning when Gareth returned from walking Lizzie home.

“Will she forgive me?” I asked.

“Funny, she asked me the same thing about you.” Then he turned to Tilda. “There’s a train to London at six a.m. Do you think you should be on it?”

“Yes. I think I should.”

Gareth turned to me. “Would your father mind if Tilda stayed here until then?

“Da won’t know. He’s not likely to wake before seven.”

“Do you have much that needs to be collected from the narrowboat?” he asked Tilda.