‘I shall be around for another day or two, but then I am back to London, to sell my parcel and obtain monies for the next few,’ he said confidently. ‘My buyer was assured by a packet just like this one, and I want to shift things as quick as I can. But I shall be back and I do hope we might meet again, Mistress Dickson? You see I don’t often meet someone who I think shares my kind of ambition in life, and I believe you might.’

He looked nervous then and ran his fingers though his hair. Nervous, waiting to hear what I would say.

‘We could have coffee here again, I suppose,’ I replied.

He smiled and leaned forward.

‘I am glad you’d like to do this again. I must confess, Mistress Dickson, that I find myself quite taken with you.’

Quite taken! I was quite taken myself. For the first time in my life, I felt a connection with a man.

‘Thank you, Mr Spencer,’ I said. ‘It’s been a most charming morning.’

‘It certainly has,’ he replied.

When I bade him goodbye, he stood up and showed me to the parlour door. He bowed and put out his hand. I took it, feeling the firm touch of his fingers. Slowly, his eyes fixed on mine all the while, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

It was only the brush of his lips on the back of my hand, but it lit up my entire body.

Chapter Six

Fisherrow
November 1723

When Spencer returned, another month had slipped by and winter had set in, but even a Firth of Forth gale could not make me shudder or grit my teeth.

Even Da, embittered by the storms, with the waters unassailable, could not upset me with his temper. For my body still sparked and fizzed from that kiss on the hand. London was calling, and Spencer and I would go.

It had been an agonizing wait, but I had known he would come back. And he did, with three larger parcels this time, straight to our cottage. On this occasion he walked in with no mischief about him, but an air of certainty. It was a Friday. Ma and Da were home, and Da was asleep in his chair. Ma was on one side of the table, having a dram, and Joan and me were playing dominoes at the other – a lazy game, if I am honest, and I was letting her win, for it was always easier; she hummed gently as she played, fishing-folk songs that she had learned at choir, and whenever I tried to join in with the songs, Joan glared at me and stopped singing and said, ‘No, Maggie, your voice is flat and you drone.’