The driver appeared quite old to Silas. ‘Your age?’

‘Forty.’

The man pulled on the reins to slow the horse as they rounded a bend in the road. They crossed a narrow stone bridge and the man acknowledged the driver of a gig that had stopped on the other side to allow their carriage over. The road steepened and Silas had a view down onto the mills and cottages that crowded the bank of the river. After a while, they levelled and dropped and there were houses and shops and inns on both sides of the road, obstructing the wider view, and people on the muddy pavements, most of them hurrying from one shelter to the next to get out of the rain.

‘So I’ll drop thee at Mrs Armitage’s. She’s a lovely lass and is known to take in waifs and strays like thee.’

Silas opened his mouth to protest he was neither waif nor stray and then closed it. He could see the picture he cut, a boy with his pet dog, soaked to the skin, carrying nothing but a satchel with the few clothes he’d hurriedly shoved inside it.

He only realised he’d been nodding off when the carriage jerked to a halt and his eyes flew open.

‘Here you go. The one at the far end, closest to the river.’ The man pointed out a terrace of two-storey brick cottages that ended at a stone bridge which spanned choppily flowing water. ‘Tell her Michael sent you.’

Silas jumped down. ‘Thank you! C’mon, Shandy.’ He watched the driver urge his horses up a steep road then walked to the house at the end of the terrace and rapped on the door. He nervously fingered the coins in the pocket of his smock. He reckoned he had enough for a week’s lodgings and food. If it wasn’t for the weather, he would have considered bunking down by the river. He briefly regretted his impetuous departure. He could have waited for the balmy summer evenings, but then he might have never acted, and would be subjugated for the rest of his life. He was here now. No going back, that’s what he’d told Shandy.

The door swung open and the face of a girl about his own age, maybe slightly older, appeared. Her inquiring smile faded when her glance fell to Shandy. She opened the door wider to reveal an older woman in the room behind her, balancing a baby on her hip. This woman spoke over the girl’s head.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I was recommended your house for a room,’ Silas said. He knew he must look a sight and he tugged at his smock that was soaked through where it extended below his brother’s waxed coat. ‘Michael said to come here. He brought me, from Bradfield way.’

The girl had stepped back so he could duck his head under the doorframe for shelter. From within, there was a rich odour of cooked meat and pastry. Shandy lifted her head, her nostrils flaring.