‘So there will be a new dam at Bradfield?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Gunson laid the compass down, a tremor in his hand making it clack against the desk. ‘The millowners expect it and so does the town for all it likes to criticise. Well, we go on. What was destroyed is rebuilt.’ He smiled at Silas. ‘It’s seven o’clock and Charlotte will be waiting to give you your lessons.’

It was three days later when Silas opened the door to the Gunsons’ residence to be met by silence. Usually, he would hear the sound of piano notes from the front parlour or the chatter and laughter of the ladies who called to take tea with Mrs Gunson. Occasionally, he would hear her voice among others coming from the back parlour, where she hosted meetings of the local relief committee. In the wake of the flood, clothing and feeding the poor, not to mention the workers struggling to get back on their feet, was a full-time job, she had told Silas. This had given him the opportunity he’d been seeking to say Harriet’s name aloud.

‘I know somebody like thee,’ he had said.

‘Like me?’

‘Aye, a girl called Harriet. The pair o’ thee’d get on. She’s as kind as thee, and likes to ’elp people.’

‘Why, thank you! Tell me about her.’

He had told her everything and, at the end, she had said that he should be patient, and focus on his rehabilitation. Silas had agreed, to be polite. Inwardly, he chafed to be free to visit Harriet, to hold her hand again, to kiss her. In the meantime, he could talk about her to Mrs Gunson. It was better than nothing.

Now, he shrugged off his jacket and walked through the house and down the short flight of stairs that led to the kitchen, similarly deserted, the scullery beyond and the stable-yard. The second maid, a robust girl taken on after Silas’s arrival to do the heavy-duty housework, was standing at the scullery sink twisting the tap.

‘Ey up, Ethel.’

‘Silas!’ She spun around. ‘Tha freetened me to death. Come and get this bleedin’ thing going, it’s stuck again.’

‘I’d do owt for thee, Ethel.’

‘Gerrout on it.’ But her eyes crinkled with pleasure and a pink blush rose on her cheeks. ‘The missus is in the dining room.’

‘Already?’

‘No, daft sod. It’ll be another hour before tha gets tha hoity-toity supper.’ She put her hand in the sink, swirling the water. ‘I need to heat some watta. Freezin’ cold, this is. Have a feel.’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Mrs Gunson says tha to go an’ see her. Best get theesen in there.’

‘Si thee later, Ethel, me lovely.’

‘Gerrout on it.’

Mrs Gunson was sitting in her husband’s chair at the head of the dining table when Silas entered. A large vase in the centre of the table was filled with yellow and red blooms from the climbing roses she cultivated on a small iron fence behind the house.