I would stay a while working at the River Inn and save, and then depart for London. I was still desperate to go. It was a dream and I wanted more from life than to be stuck in a market town, but it would have to do for now. The River Inn had the feel of busyness and of being at the heart of the travelling route. It was as good a place as any to get myself set up again whilst the rest of the winter passed. The Baxters – the innkeeper and his shrewd wife – ran a tight ship, but I trusted them. As long as I worked hard and lived up to my reputation as a reliable fishergirl, seeking her fortune in the world, they would do me right.

So there I was, for the time being. Nestled amongst thatched cottages and handsome town houses with gardens and orchards and surrounded by peaceful farms. Nice and clean, and not a whiff of sea air nor a speck of sand. Just a market town where the Tweed and Teviot shake hands. A town as sturdy and sure and drab as the brown trout that filled its rivers. And I dare say that would suit hundreds of girls like me. In fact they might even count themselves lucky to have landed on their feet like this, after such a close shave.

But not me. Oh dear, I wish it was me, but the yearnings would not stop. I still hankered for London and, when I heard the morning carts roll out of the yard, humming with forward thrust southwards, I vowed that would be me one day soon.

Sometimes I would catch a flash of my ma and Joan. They would come to me in the kitchen, when Cook fried fish, or by the hearth when I washed and dried my stockings and they dangled in rows.

At night, in the very dark and still of it, when nothing moved save the rustle of rats in the courtyard hay, I imagined Spencer whispering to me from a far-off sea. And, despite everything, I imagined these words: I miss you.

Mrs Baxter took me on as her assistant, serving the patrons and helping clean the rooms, and that kind of solid work kept the Fisherrow ghosts at bay.

I had nothing to do with the stables or with taking money. Mr Baxter oversaw all of that himself. Mrs Baxter and her cook made all the meals, but I was an extra pair of hands for running about and washing pots, and she often declared that she did not know what she ever did without me; and now that I was here her life was ten times easier, as I did the work of ten men and was far better than any other of the helps she had ever hired; and it was true what they said about the fishwives of Fisherrow: reliable and hard-working and decent to the very core.