‘Ah right, good for thee then.’

Mrs Armitage slotted a piece of pie onto a plate, poured thick brown gravy over it and balanced a hunk of bread coated in dripping on the side. Silas was aware of Louisa, who was now sitting with a plate of her own, watching him with friendly interest while he ate. He tried not to gulp his food down. Mrs Armitage sighed when he slipped the bread to Shandy.

‘Silas, you can take the attic room, if you’ve the money to pay for it.’ She pointed at his plate. ‘Tea is an extra shilling a day. This one’s gratis.’

Louisa snorted and leaned over to whisper conspiratorially. ‘Hilda must like thee.’

Silas gathered that he wouldn’t be paying for his meal. He was tired and it was difficult to keep up.

Mrs Armitage gestured to the dog. ‘Outside for that.’

‘Shandy’s a she.’

‘It’s a dog. Backyard, or sling yer hook. I’ve got a rope you can use to tie her. Here you are.’

Silas got to his feet and took the rope. Mrs Armitage gestured to the back door.

It could be worse, he supposed. The back yard was sheltered from the worst of the weather. He went across the yard to use the privy, Shandy on his heels. Back on the kitchen doorstep he turned and told her to sit, which she immediately did, her ears perked.

‘Good lass, Shandy. Stay.’

He fed the rope through an iron ring on the wall and around Shandy’s neck. She was a well-trained dog, and used to the elements, but Silas felt a pang as he closed the door on her trusting gaze.

Chapter 5

Harriet paced around the dining table, straightening a fork here, a crystal glass there, adjusting the fold of the heavy velvet curtain in the window. Then she counted the place settings, once again, just to be sure, before retreating to the door and leaning against the frame, surveying the room.

‘Your aunt’s gown certainly looks better on you than it ever did on her,’ called Walter from his armchair in the front parlour. ‘Not that I can picture the woman in anything but nightclothes.’

The brandy glass she had brought to him only moments ago was empty, which she decided could account for his unkind remark.

‘Would you like another, Uncle?’

‘No, I’d fall asleep in front of my company, and we can’t have that, can we?’

Her uncle was entertaining gentlemen from the upper echelons of society, a rarefied plateau Walter was hacking towards, and the guests tonight would include influential members of the town council and owners of two of the town’s biggest manufactories that were not in direct competition with one other, as well as Mr Albert Boothby, the wealthy mason with whom Walter intended to go into partnership, provided the necessary funds could be secured.

Harriet had changed from her day clothes into one of Aunt Polly’s evening gowns. The dress was not the finest garment hanging in Polly’s wardrobe, but it was Harriet’s favourite, an emerald taffeta that her aunt said showed off her green eyes and white skin to best advantage. ‘I shan’t be wearing it again so you might as well,’ Polly had sighed. The fitted bodice was offset by elaborately puffed sleeves that exposed her shoulders and stopped just above the elbow. Her only complaint was the fullness of the skirt. Harriet would, if she ever had reason to, have a dress made in the new style, where the bulk of the material was gathered high in the back, the front flatter and the waist more tightly cinched. Beggars can’t be choosers, she told herself. Aunt Polly had watched her lift the dress from the wardrobe and shake it out. ‘Don’t go near those gentlemen,’ Polly had said, ‘when they’re smoking their foul pipes. Those things have the whiff of the privy and I don’t want that smell coming back on my dress.’