On New Year’s Eve, the older children were allowed to stay up late after the younger ones had been tucked safely into bed, and when Kitty came downstairs in the new velvet plum-coloured dress she had had for Christmas, she looked truly stunning. Her long dark hair had been brushed till it shone and hung down her back like a silken cloak, while her skin glowed and her beautiful dark eyes sparkled with excitement.

‘Will we be allowed to have a little wine?’ she asked cheekily as Sunday and Tom prepared to greet the first of their guests.

‘No, you most certainly will not, young lady,’ Sunday retorted, then weakening a little when she saw the disappointment on the girl’s face, she whispered, ‘Well … perhaps just a little sip when we see the New Year in, if you stay awake that long.’

‘Oh, I shall!’ Kitty flashed a smile at her then scampered away in a most unladylike manner to root Ben out to show him her new finery.

In the drawing room, which had been cleared of furniture, a band Tom had hired for the evening was tuning up, and in the day room a buffet fit for a king was laid out on tables that seemed to almost groan beneath their weight of food.

The guests began to arrive, Mr Dewhurst amongst them, and Sunday nudged Tom meaningfully as her mother started to blush like a schoolgirl as the kindly gentleman made a beeline for her, gave a stiff little bow and kissed her hand.

‘I don’t think I’ve seen my mother look that happy since Zillah died,’ she whispered. Tom heartily agreed with her. ‘I think we ought to invite him to dinner once we get tonight over with,’ she said.

‘Then when dinner is done we can make our excuses and disappear and give them a little time alone,’ he whispered back.

Sunday giggled, thinking what an excellent idea that was, but then more guests were arriving and she turned her attention to them. Soon the house was heaving with people and the air was fragrant with the women’s perfumes. They flitted about like gaily-coloured butterflies in gowns all the colours of the rainbow, and their jewels flashed in the light from the chandeliers. The men strutted around like penguins in their dicky bows, smart black dinner suits and fancy waistcoats, and within no time at all everyone was clearly having a wonderful time. The band was playing, the dance floor was full of couples and Kitty, who was standing in a corner with Ben, remarked wonderingly, ‘Don’t the ladies look beautiful, Ben?’

He stared at her strangely for a moment before replying, ‘Aye, they do – but none of ’em is as pretty as you, Kitty.’

Astounded, she stared back up at him, with her mouth gaping open. She had worshipped Ben for as far back as she could remember – and now here he was paying her a compliment. She blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. Even at her tender age, Kitty was beginning to realise that she could twist the opposite sex around her little finger with just a smile. But then Sunday was bearing down on them with a glass of lemonade in her hand for Kitty. She had decided against allowing the girl to try a sip of wine. At nineteen, Ben was now permitted to drink beer. He didn’t much care for the fancy short drinks.