‘Look at the state of your hair. Come here.’

Harriet knelt by the bed to allow Polly to unravel, tug and twist her hair back into an orderly state.

‘You have the same lovely, thick red hair as me and your dear mother,’ Polly said. ‘I know mine is thinner now but that’s what bearing four children and suffering such a loss has done for me. Your mother will be young and beautiful for always. That is a comfort.’

Harriet’s eyes smarted. ‘I would rather have her here with us.’

She wished to have her mother’s gentle fingers comb through her hair, not a woman who gave birth in this bed six years ago and never got out of it, handing the raising of four children to Harriet without a word. Walter talked vaguely of disorders of the mind, while the doctor prescribed tonics.

Polly had finished. She patted Harriet’s shoulder. ‘Will you take the bucket down?’

Harriet set her jaw as she tugged the wire handle of the tin bucket to free it from the seat of the commode. Like a snail clinging to a stem, it never came easily, and it sickened her to see the contents sloshing up the sides.

She left the bucket at the foot of the stairs and poked her head into her bedroom, to check on Alice and ensure she hadn’t accidentally sewn herself to the armchair. But the little girl was gone, leaving only a discarded piece of cotton on the seat with a needle poking from it. Harriet would have heard her if she had come upstairs to her own room. She frowned, her head cocked for raised voices. She hoped Alice wasn’t pestering the boys. They were frequently cruel to her in return. She hurried across to the front parlour where the board games, children’s books and some of Alice’s toys were stored.

Harriet stopped on the threshold of the room, clapping her hand to her mouth.

Alice was standing in front of a roaring fireplace that dwarfed her, straining on her tiptoes to fan the flames with the edge of her pinafore.

‘Alice!’

The little girl jumped in fright and stumbled closer to the grate. Harriet lunged forward, got a tangle of soft hair in her fist and hauled her back. Alice wailed. ‘Ow! You pulled my hair! That’s mean, Harriet.’

She dropped to her knees and cupped Alice’s face. ‘My darling. You could have burnt to death. I’ve told you over and over about this.’

‘I was just trying to help!’

Harriet took a deep breath to steady her heart, which was tripping over itself. ‘It doesn’t help to set yourself on fire, does it? Where’s the fireguard?’

Alice pointed to the corner of the room. ‘I moved it over there. It’s heavy.’

Harriet replaced it on the hearth. ‘Yes, you shouldn’t touch it. Out you go, go on. Go and visit your mother.’

‘Will you tell her on me?’

‘Not if you promise to never do this again.’