A furious banging startled him awake.

He could hear a female voice – he recognised it as their housekeeper, Millicent – and another unfamiliar voice overriding it. Their conversation grew in volume until a boy was ushered in on an eddy of cold air. Gunson rose to his feet.

‘Sir,’ said Millicent. ‘This here is Stephenson Fountain and he reckons there’s a problem at Bradfield, at the new reservoir there.’

The boy ducked his head. ‘Well, I’m not sure a’that,’ he said, slowly. ‘There might be a problem. There might not.’

Gunson looked from the boy to his housekeeper and back. ‘Well, is there or isn’t there?’

Stephenson Fountain looked at him uncertainly and shrugged. Millicent raised her eyes to the ceiling and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

‘Well, boy, I’m sure you’re not dripping water on my floor for no reason.’

Stephenson nodded. ‘I’m reight sorry, Mr Gunson, but father sent me…’

‘Ah, you’re Fountain’s boy, of course!’ He knew Stephen Fountain well. The man was a sub-contractor working on the site and Gunson had found him to be highly competent in all their dealings with one another. ‘What’s the problem then?’

‘It’s the dam. There’s a crack been found.’

He was instantly alert.

‘What sort of a crack?’

‘A crack. I don’t know. It’s been found on the embankment.’

‘Where?’

‘About twelve feet from the top, in the middle.’

‘How bad?’

‘Not bad. A sliver only. Father is sayin’ settlement, nowt more. Sheffield Harry is sayin’ he’ll not lose any sleep o’er it.’

Gunson knew of the man. Henry Burkinshaw, known to all as Sheffield Harry. He worked as a labourer for the Sheffield Waterworks Company. He was lodging at Damflask, at the foot of Dale Dyke dam, but had been put to work labouring on the Agden dam, a mile away. Gunson would not give tuppence for Sheffield Harry’s opinion.

Stephen Fountain was a different kettle of fish.

‘So your father believes it to be settlement, but I needed to hear about this tonight? Why can’t it wait until morning? He must have concerns.’

The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘And you were sent out to tell me this?’

‘No, sir. Not to tell you. To fetch you.’

Gunson strode out of the room, calling back to Stephenson. ‘Go and rouse the stable boy to ready the gig, if you please. Milli— Mrs Leigh?’

He reached the top of the stairs that led down to the housekeeper’s domain, her bed and sitting room, the kitchen, scullery and various anterooms that he rarely ventured into. ‘Mrs Leigh!’

Millicent tolerated the use of her Christian name when Charlotte uttered it, but affected deafness with Gunson. Some code amongst servants, no doubt. Gunson opened his mouth to shout again but here she came, carrying his Macintosh.

‘I am not relishing a second trip out to Bradfield on such a night as this,’ he muttered as Millicent helped him into the waterproof overcoat. He fastened the buttons up to his chin. He had walked the length of the embankment and had not seen a crack. He hadn’t been looking for one. It would be an easy thing to miss. ‘My hat and gloves. Thank you. Would you let Charlotte know that I’ve been called away to check the dam? Don’t wake her if she is already sleeping. I’ll be a while. You can leave the door unbolted.’