I lay in bed, but did not sleep. I could hear Joan weeping through the wall, as though she were the victim in all of it. As the rush burned, and the wind toyed with the rafters and the window shutters, I watched the shadowy walls, the wardrobe, the curtains at the window, the blanket and the bedspread. All the fine things that Spencer had furnished our rooms with. The blue china vase where I would have put daffodils, had the time come. But what use was any of it now? Even if he came back on the dawn tide, what kind of marriage would we have? Imagine if I had found this out and Spencer hadn’t been press-ganged?

Eventually Joan’s weeping subsided, and I was grateful for that.

As the sun crept up, I knew that I would be out of Musselburgh on a morning coach. It was midwinter and a bad time to travel. Spencer had avoided winter journeys altogether. But I had to go now. ’Tis a terrible achy feeling to realize you are leaving everything behind. But with a tingle of wonder too. For had I not often yearned for London, and could I not recite the route southwards in my head?

I got out of bed, placing my feet firmly on the cold floor, and quickly packed a creel. I used one of Joan’s too, the cow; I even packed some of her better clothes in it, for I had more need of them in London than she would have here. I put the money from the safe into Joan’s nice tapestry purse, for I had nothing of that size myself and I would need to take that as well. I felt bad for a minute, pockling her things like that, but think of what she had done!

I passed through the parlour light like a ghost and stood, a moment, watching Joan sleeping soundly on the chair, under a blanket. Mibbie she would live here until the next rent was due. I would not put it past her at all. Mibbie Spencer would come back and they could be together. I checked myself in the looking glass. I looked as I felt: washed out, with bleary eyes. I tied my bonnet and pulled my plaits firmly over my shoulders.