I shrank back into a dark doorway and pulled my cap down low over my face. If they had found the barrels of manuscripts then they would also have found the boxes of forbidden books. We would be named as purveyors of heresy. There would be a price on our heads. I had better turn and head back for the river and get myself on a ship to Calais as soon as I could, for my father and I were baked meats if we were found in London.

I was just about to slide backwards into the alley when one of the shadows inside the shop came out with a big box and loaded it into the back of the wagon. I paused, waiting for him to go back into the shop and leave the street clear for me to make my escape when something about him made me pause. Something about the profile was familiar, the scholar’s bend of the shoulders, the thinness of his frame below his worn cape.

I felt my heart thud with hope and fear but I did not step out until I was sure. Then the two other men came out, carrying a well-wrapped piece of the printing press. The man in front was our next-door neighbour, and the man carrying the other end was my betrothed, Daniel. At once I realised that they were packing up the shop and we were not yet discovered.

‘Father! My father!’ I cried out softly, and sprang from the dark doorway into the shadowy street.

His head jerked up at the sound of my voice and his arms opened wide. I was in his embrace in a moment, feeling his warm strong arms wrapped around me, hugging me as if he would never let me go again.

‘Hannah, my daughter, my girl,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. ‘Hannah, my daughter, mi querida!’

I looked up into his face, worn and older than I remembered, and saw him too tracing my features. We both spoke at once:

‘I got your letter, are you in danger?’

‘Father, are you well? I am so glad . . .’

We laughed. ‘Tell me first,’ he said. ‘Are you in danger? We have come for you.’

I shook my head. ‘Thank God,’ I said. ‘They arrested me for heresy, but I was released.’

At my words, he glanced quickly around. I thought anyone in England would have known him for a Jew now, that furtive ever-guilty glance of the People with no home and no welcome among strangers.

Daniel crossed the cobbled street, strode over the drain and came to an abrupt halt before us.

‘Hannah,’ he said awkwardly.

I did not know what to reply. The last time we had met I had freed him from his betrothal to me with a burst of venom, and he had kissed me as if he wanted to bite me. Then he had written the most passionate letter imaginable and we were engaged to marry once more. I had summoned him to save me, by rights he should have something more from me than a down-turned face and a mumbled: ‘Hello, Daniel.’