There was a sharp rap at the door, and I knew it was Spencer. As I have said before, there were often folk coming and going from our house with parcels and the like, but there was a confidence in that rap. Tap-tap, a gentleman caller.

He came in and, when he took off his hat, I could see shadows under his eyes from all the travelling. But I did not mind that, for my heart was thumping so hard in my chest that I thought it might burst out. Joan was blushing again and tidied up the dominoes, and Ma put away the takings. They sat around the table where the rush-light was best. I was sent to fetch the whisky.

‘I’ve a drouth you wouldn’t believe after all my travels,’ Spencer said, winking at me, and I nearly died because of course Joan noticed and frowned.

‘I see you have even more stash for me to store,’ said Da, clearing his throat. ‘There’ll be thrice the price on that lot, I’m afeared, sir.’

‘Happy to pay it, my good friend,’ replied Spencer. ‘For I would like to ask your permission to take your delightful daughter Maggie here out for Sunday lunch with me this weekend, if she would like to come with me.’

I studied my hands on my lap, for I could not bear to see the stares, but they were still on everyone’s faces when I looked back up. Da was glowering and his jaw was set in a harrumph. Joan looked like she had been stung by a wasp.

‘Maggie is too busy to be spared for Sunday lunch,’ Ma said.

‘I can do my chores before kirk,’ I offered, trying not to sound overly keen.

‘Where would you be taking her?’ asked Da.

‘I’ll book us into the parlour at the Mussel Inn,’ Spencer answered, casting a knowing look in my direction. ‘There’s one with mighty fine views across the coast.’

‘Maggie can’t go gallivanting out like that,’ said Ma firmly, folding her arms across her bosom. ‘Not to a public parlour. There’s salted beef in the pantry and plenty to go round. You shall come here for Sunday lunch, Patrick Spencer, and we can all get to know you first, before you haul my delightful daughter out to inns.’

‘I declare I haven’t had a home-cooked meal for weeks. I shall bring a bottle of rum that I picked up on my travels,’ Spencer replied.

And with that, Ma poured him a very large dram. Joan spent the entire time gawping at him and me.

That night in bed, Joan poked me in the back as soon as Ma and Da had begun to snore. Her sharp little finger felt like a knife.

‘Are you sweet on Patrick Spencer?’ she whispered.