Louisa opened the door instantly. ‘Oh! What are you doing here? I were just on me way out.’

A heavy shawl covered her head and she wore a scarf across her face. Harriet flung her arms around Louisa. ‘Is Silas here? I have to tell you, Polly is up and…’

Louisa pushed her gently away and the scarf fell, revealing a painted face. Harriet had never seen rouge on Louisa’s cheeks before.

She frowned. ‘Why are you…’

‘Never mind me. What’s up wi’ thee?’

‘I need you to tell me where Silas is, please. Is he here? I have to speak to him and it cannot wait.’

‘Well, it might have to.’ Louisa had regained her composure. She closed the door on the snow swirling outside, but replaced the scarf over her face. Millicent stood up from her seat by the fire.

‘What is it, dear?’ she said. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing!’ Harriet began to laugh. ‘Everything. Milly, where will I find Silas? You will tell me, won’t you?’

‘I thought Louisa might have let you know.’ Millicent looked at her daughter, who merely shook her head. ‘Silas has gone home, back to the farm. His older brother died and he’s needed by his parents and by his brother’s widow and child, to take over.’

Harriet looked from Millicent to Louisa and back again.

‘He’s gone back to run the farm,’ Millicent repeated.

‘Yes, I…’ she trailed off. There was something missing. ‘Where’s Shandy?’

‘Gone wi’ him. Right.’ Louisa seemed to come to a decision. ‘Come wi’ me. I think tha might be able to catch ‘im.’

‘You just missed him,’ said Millicent. ‘The Gunsons have taken him to the Wicker.’

‘Who are the Gunsons?’ She was becoming impatient.

‘Kind people, both o’ ’em,’ said Louisa.

‘How will I get there?’ Harriet was afraid she would begin to wail. She shook her head and whispered, ‘I’ve left it too late.’

Louisa pushed her towards the door. ‘I’m gettin’ the bus. It’s due any minute. Come on, come on! It’ll take thee reight there.’

Along the viaduct, over the road that ran through the Wicker district, the locomotive engines pulled their carriages through the sky. Mrs Gunson, ever the teacher, had told him the name of the man who designed the impressive structure, but Silas had immediately forgotten it, the names of famous engineers no longer being of any use to him. Instead, he repeated to himself the time of departure and the platform he should wait on, otherwise he would end up in Manchester. He’d watched the great steam engines cutting through the countryside but had never pictured himself sitting in one of the carriages being pulled along behind. It was an unhappy realisation to find he could not muster the slightest bit of anticipation at the prospect.

‘Forty-one arches in total and this one the tallest at approximately forty-five feet,’ said Mrs Gunson. Mr Gunson was staring ahead, his expression melancholy.

On the platform, Mr Gunson shook Silas’s hand. ‘Well, you must hasten on your journey. I hope we will see you again. You should come back when I have built the new dam and the town has put the last traces of the disaster behind it.’