‘Well, now we’ve established that, tha can take that towel,’ Mrs Armitage pointed to a rag hanging from a hook on the wall, ‘and dry theesen off and sit theesen down.’

Mrs Armitage handed the baby to Louisa and opened the bottom drawer of the bureau that stood against the back wall of the kitchen. He watched Mrs Armitage smooth out the knitted shawl that lined the drawer so that Louisa could lay the baby on it. The infant sucked her thumb. She looked very contented to Silas. He wondered whether it would be acceptable to take off his boots and free his feet from his wet stockings. Probably not.

Mrs Armitage beckoned to him. ‘Give that ’ere.’ Silas handed over his satchel and she hung it from a hook under the mantelpiece to dry. ‘Have a seat.’

The delicious smell was coming from a pan on the grate above the fireplace. His mother’s kitchen had a larger range and a sturdy oak table that could comfortably accommodate ten people. Louisa pulled out a chair opposite Silas at a table that would not seat more than four and, like the chairs, was constructed of a flimsier wood. He should stop making comparisons and appreciate the good fortune that had brought him here. It was only that his feet were so sore.

‘How’s hersen?’ said Mrs Armitage, to Louisa.

‘Aunt or niece?’ the girl replied.

Silas eased off his jacket. Shandy was a damp and constant pressure against his leg, keeping very still, as if she appreciated any movement would remind Mrs Armitage that she’d ordered the dog be tied up outside.

‘Polly.’

‘Bed-bound, still. Gen’rally to be found in the land of nod.’

Mrs Armitage tutted.

‘And the niece?’

‘Harriet Wragg in her wisdom seems determined to become an old maid,’ said Louisa.

‘Well, she’s comfortably off, at least,’ said Mrs Armitage.

‘Set for life,’ said Louisa. ‘I wouldn’t call it hard work, neither.’

Silas looked at Louisa’s hands.

She caught his eye and curled her hands into fists and put them in her lap. ‘I’m sick o’ scrubbing lavs and doorsteps in this filthy town. I’m after a bit of fresh air. A gentleman farmer would do nicely. Does tha’ know any o’ them, Silas Hinchcliffe?’

He coughed. ‘Well, I’ve come off a farm but am set on a different path. I’ll be a steelworker. I’ll start up me own factory, make armaments for the brave men of war.’ It came out more pompously than he’d intended.

‘I weren’t asking thee to marry me, Silas.’

His cheeks grew hot. ‘I din’t mean…!’

Louisa laughed. ‘I know that, tha daft sod.’

‘Johnson wants a labourer, for that new barn he’s after building,’ said Mrs Armitage. ‘They’re not far from here. Just in case you can’t find owt in town.’

‘I’ll find summat.’ The last thing he wanted to do was end up on another farm. ‘I’ve been told jobs are ten-a-penny here and I’ll get an apprenticeship quick as owt.’