Silas nodded. He could see that while he himself had been scarred by the events of that night, Gunson would be forever submerged, fighting a deep current of guilt that would never let him go.

Charlotte hugged him. ‘You’re like one of my own boys now. Stay in touch.’

‘I shall. Goodbye, Mr Gunson. Goodbye, Mrs Gunson. An’ thank you both.’

Harriet hoisted her skirts to aid her ungainly progress up the steep set of steps that led to the station platform. Her boots spattered grey slush onto the hems and cuffs of the people edging carefully down. The snowflakes had been replaced by a thin cold drizzle, and she spared her cousins a fleeting thought. The boys would be disappointed they could not go sledging on the common.

She was fighting the tide. All these bodies descending the steps to the street, frustrating her progress, must be passengers who had recently disembarked. This meant a train would be idling at the platform, the guard waiting with whistle in mouth for the carriage doors to finish slamming like falling dominos. Silas might be sitting in a carriage now. Harriet hastened, and pushed through to the platform, which was clearing quickly.

A great cloud of white smoke blossomed from the underside of the steam engine on the track beside her. She could see two men inside, one feeding coal into a glowing, gaping maw and the other manipulating levers and knobs. Harriet stopped, breathless. The last time she had been here she had been holding her younger brother’s hand, waving off their parents on a trip to London, promising to look after James for the few days they would be away. A few days that had turned into forever. She had been kept safe ever since, by her uncle, and was now being offered a similarly secure existence by Albert. There were no such guarantees with Silas, however much he swore to look after her. It might be better if he was on this train, soon departing. She was rooted to the spot, and could not untangle her thoughts.

The station guard walked briskly towards her, along the row of carriages.

‘Miss, are you all right? D’you want this train? You’ll have to look sharp. Shall I find you a seat, love?’

‘No, no. I mean, no, thank you.’ She began to turn away, all her earlier resolve evaporating like the steam from the locomotive. She had been acting like the heroine of a penny dreadful, the eternally foolish girl who follows her heart and ends up molested or murdered. She had caught some sense of delirium from Polly. She should return…

The whistle blew, a shrill sound that pierced her heart. The engine hissed into fresh life, a plume of smoke lengthening along the top of the carriages as the train began to chug slowly away. There was another sound over the hissing and grinding. Sharper, insistent.

It was a dog, barking.

Silas pulled on the leather strap to drop the sash window of the carriage that he was sharing with five others, a couple of whom muttered about the cold he was letting in.