I knew it was childish, but I was so very furious with her, so I suppose that note was not only for her, but for Spencer too, explaining exactly why I had upped and left with his cash – not that he was ever likely to read it. I even wondered if Joan herself would know what was written in the letter, for if she wanted to find out she would have to take it to someone who could read it for her. I thought she probably would. Curiosity would get the better of her.

The scribe finished the letter off with a flourish, sat back in his chair and looked at me.

‘Is it too much?’ I asked, fearful it might be the wine talking now, and that he would think me a spiteful cow.

‘It’s not the worst message I’ve passed on,’ he replied. ‘Your husband ran off with this Joan, did he?’ I must have looked aghast, but he went on, with all the air of an expert in matters of the heart, ‘You are only a young thing, look at you. There’s always more fish in the sea, and p’raps you might be best learning a lesson from whatever’s happened to you. Now are you sure you want to write to this Joan, and not your own husband? For he will be worried about you.’

‘He’s at sea, and no one knows where,’ I replied, not wanting to go into the whole story.

The scribe shook his head and scratched his beard. ‘A sorry mess then,’ he said.

‘I shall never trust anyone again,’ I told him. I had drunk too much wine.

‘Oh, don’t be theatrical,’ he said gently. ‘You just have to learn who to trust. Folks have got to earn your trust. That’s something that only happens bit by bit.’

He was right. I had thrown myself at Spencer without really knowing him at all. I had never met his family, and Da had been wary, but I had ploughed on regardless. Then I had shared too much of my story with Mrs Rose. I had lain myself open to them.

‘How long will it take for the letters to arrive?’ I asked.

‘A week or two,’ he said. ‘The post boy will have a few deliveries, I expect.’

I went and got my tuppence from where I safely stored my earnings, a locked drawer in my room. I hadn’t even noticed the locked drawer that first day, so green was I. The key I kept about me all the time, on a string around my neck. When I had finished my business with the scribe I went back to my chores, scraping gristle from plates and trying not to feel sick again, closing my ears to the bawdy songs that the patrons sang when they had had a fill of ale.