Louisa Leigh came strolling towards her, her long striped skirts partially hiding the black and white collie at her heel.

‘Hello, love,’ she croaked.

Harriet kissed her friend. ‘I am so happy to see you.’

The collie jumped at her and Harriet took its paws in her hands, and laughed. ‘Alice would love you!’

‘Shandy!’ Louisa smacked the dog’s snout. ‘Get down.’

‘She begged for a pet,’ said Harriet. ‘A dog, a rabbit. We should have got her one.’

‘Well, this one’s not by choice, but she looks after me, tha’ knows. Guards me ’gainst unsavoury characters.’ Louisa coughed. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a poorly chest ever since.’ She hugged Harriet. ‘Bet my letter were a surprise.’

‘A lovely one.’

In it, Louisa had explained that the doctor she visited had told her she had poisoned water on her lungs – many survivors had swallowed an evil brew of engine oil, lime, all sorts of muck, and would in his opinion have been better drowned in the first place – but she was young and strong and should recover, in time. She and Millicent had moved into a cottage together, and she said she was enjoying her mother fussing over her. For the time being. Mother and daughter were living off Millicent’s wages, so Louisa would have to find work she could carry out with a pair of exhausted lungs. And she had suggested a meeting, having been informed by a gentleman of her acquaintance of Harriet’s work at the town hall.

‘Why didn’t you come to visit me?’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve missed you so.’

‘I din’t think Walter would appreciate me turnin’ up on his doorstep.’ Louisa looked away and a shadow passed over her face. ‘He’d think I were after ’is money.’

‘How do you end up with a dog?’

‘Shandy. She belonged to a boy who were lodgin’ wi’ us. He’d only arrived that day… the day of… If he’s still alive I don’t know where.’

‘I’m sorry to hear of Hilda and Betty,’ Harriet said.

‘And I’m sorry about your little cousin.’

They looked at each, sombrely, then Louisa laughed and hugged Harriet again.

‘I can’t leave thee alone, can I?’

‘I’m glad of it.’

‘Here.’ Louisa fished in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a newspaper cutting. ‘I’m told Alice has not been found. I thought tha might be able to do summat wi’ this.’

Harriet took the cutting from her. It was a public notice from the town’s coroner.

A MAN, unknown, lying at Joseph Taylor’s, Don Close, Greasbro’ – about 25 years of age.

A MAN and GIRL, unknown, lying at the Holmes Tavern, Kimberworth – Man about 40, Girl about 10 years of age.

One MAN, a BOY and Three WOMEN, unknown, lying at the Ship Inn, Kilnhurst – Man about 45, Boy about 16, Women about 4, 28, and 47 years of age.

‘I only thought,’ said Louisa, ‘t’would be a shame if Alice was put in the earth unknown. Polly would never rest. They’re burying the poor souls if nob’dy comes for’ard. She might be one o’ these, layin’ at Kimberworth or Kilnhurst.’