Spencer organized the lodgings. It didn’t take him long to find somewhere decent in Musselburgh town itself. It was a house with two rooms. More spacious than my own home. Not grand, as such, but a step up in the world. The fact of the matter was that Spencer had the cash to afford it. He moved in straight away, desperate to be out of the Mussel Inn. I took Ma and Joan to visit my soon-to-be home. Da refused to come.

‘Well, this will suit you nicely,’ said Ma as we stood in the parlour, taking in the smooth stone walls and the scrubbed floors laid with new woollen rugs. It was unlived-in and cold, but was nice and clean, and I had already decided where I would one day put jars of daffodils, and where a gleaming looking glass ought to hang.

‘This is not the best end of town,’ sneered Joan with an exaggerated shiver. ‘It feels damp this close to the river. I’d have thought Spencer would fancy himself further away, where the mill owners live.’

‘It does not feel damp,’ I snapped. ‘’Tis the fact no one has lived here a while and it is frosty outside. Once we’ve had the fire on and bought some tapestry wall-hangings and thick blankets, it will be cosy as anything.’

‘You pair would bicker about anything,’ sighed Ma. ‘I am glad I won’t have to put up with it for much longer. You have outgrown the nest, Maggie, with your talk of tapestry wall-hangings, though I dare say Spencer would know how to get one.’

But mibbie we might not have time for such things because, as Spencer had said, we would soon be off to London. ‘This place will do us for a year or so, just enough time so that I can establish myself and you can keep house and whatnot – look after the stash and look after me,’ he had winked as he’d shown me around. ‘You don’t mind moving off Fisherrow and into the town, do you?’

He knew the answer to that.

We were married in St Michael’s Kirk on Boxing Day. Imagine it: wed barely more than three months after our first meeting, and a chap from the Middle of England too. Fisherrow buzzed with the gossip. It gave everyone something to talk about as the winter waves chopped at the harbour, stopping the boats from going out.

Ma baked a plum cake and we gave everyone a piece in the kirk hall afterwards, with plenty of tea. Spencer did not ask his folks to come, but said we would go and visit them once we had settled down a bit. He said they might not like him marrying out of farming.

I could understand that – of course I could.