‘I’m sorry for it,’ said Silas. He lifted himself onto one elbow, grunting with the effort.

‘So am I, young man, so am I.’ He looked at his hands then back at Silas. Perhaps Webster had glimpsed some potential in this boy and was not simply punishing Gunson for his own amusement. Charlotte had told him her first impression of the boy had been that he had a good soul, that he had indeed been mistreated and deserved a second chance.

‘Let me tell you about the progress we are making on the Agden dam. Lay down. Rest, and listen. Do you know the basic principles behind dam building? No? You’re entering a truly exceptional field of work. There’s much to be done even before we break the first sod…’

Chapter 40

He’d been nicknamed ‘Silas the Shadow’ by the sneery clerk who sat in the outer chamber, and it was fair to say he stuck close to Gunson whenever he was required to enter the building that housed the waterworks company. He found the place and its stiff-collared inhabitants intimidating and was more at home on the Agden site, where he’d soon overcome the initial suspicion from the navvies who travelled together from site to site and were as thick as thieves.

‘Related to the boss, are tha? Come to keep tha beady eye on us?’

This question had come from a short and burly man who thrust out a spade for Silas to take and pointed to a row of men who were scratching out a foundation trench. Silas had taken the tool from the man wordlessly and tramped away. He hardly knew what he was doing there himself – on the Agden site or in the Gunson’s home. Later, when the sun was at its highest point, he stripped to the waist.

The man nearest him whistled low and long through his teeth.

‘Looks nasty,’ he said.

‘Yep,’ said Silas.

‘Tha shunt expose theesen to the sun wi’ that mess on thee back.’ He’d patted Silas’s arm, a friendly gesture, and the other men had turned back to the job at hand.

Charlotte Gunson had told Silas the angry red weals on his back would fade to pink then silver, in time. He hated the feel of the ridged and puckered skin when he tentatively reached around with his fingertips. ‘Already, your young skin is healing,’ Mrs Gunson had reassured him. He liked Mrs Gunson and had confided in her his fear of re-entering a steel forge, and told her about his recurring dream of Fred smeared across the boiler, his mouth frozen open in a scream of horror. She hadn’t laughed at him. ‘Just remember that you will succeed in life,’ she had said, ‘if the thing you are doing is the thing that you most want to do. You’re learning engineering and I’m sure it will come in useful if you want to go into steel-working. You’ve already shown you can apply yourself.’

He didn’t tell her he had strolled past Walter Simpson’s house late one night, keeping to the shadows, hoping for a sight of Harriet. He had not yet repeated the journey, having no reason to be in that part of town and being wary of falling foul of the night watchman, but he yearned to see her, a need that Louisa mocked – ‘Hasn’t that family caused thee enough grief? Steer clear, Silas. That’s what I say.’