In the morning, Esther washed and dressed, putting on a pair of old boots she’d found in the bottom of the doorless wardrobe. They were too big, her feet slipping around in them, and the leather was hard and cracked. But they would have to do. When she went upstairs with the others, she found Ivan sitting at the table in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”

Ivan didn’t look at her. “Make sure you don’t. Get some tea on the brew, we’re dying of thirst here.”

Mary fetched the kettle for her, showed her how to pump water at the sink. Esther had never seen a pump like this, let alone used one. Water in her world came from taps. She filled the kettle and brought it to the wood stove.

“We need to clean it out first,” Mary said. “Then we need to light it.”

Esther lifted the brush and shovel, got to her knees, opened the stove door and set about cleaning out the ashes. That done, she and Mary went out through the back door to fetch wood from the tarpaulin-covered pile. Thomas was there, waiting, no work to hand. He watched as she and Mary gathered wood in their arms.

As they went to return to the kitchen, Thomas said, “Here.”

They both stopped and turned back to him.

He spoke to Mary. “Away you go.”

Mary hesitated, looked to Esther, then left them alone together in the yard.

They both stood there for a time, Esther’s gaze fixed on the concrete-covered ground, Thomas’s wandering over her body, from her feet to the top of her head. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

Esther cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.”

He didn’t acknowledge her apology. Instead, he said, “See this evening? When the tea things are redd up, get some water heated and give yourself a bath.”

Now Esther lifted her gaze from the ground and looked at him. “Why?”

“Just do what I tell you,” he said, before walking back into the house.

Now she found herself alone in the yard, her arms filled with wood. She looked around. The same outbuildings as yesterday, the same cowshed and stable blocks. The same gate, the same lane and fields beyond it. The same chickens wandering, seeking out morsels in need of pecking.

All the same except she knew that this morning, neither Thomas nor Ivan were working in those fields. No one to stop her, no one to block her way, no one to knock her to the ground and hold a blade to her throat.

But she thought of the others, of wee Mary, and what might befall them if she went. What might befall her if she was caught.

Esther took the wood and went inside, kicking the back door closed behind her.