‘They have ambitions for their business. One of them is to keep it in the family.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Boothby, Simpson and Sons. I am to provide the Simpson share of the latter.’ She laughed, a bitter sound. ‘I knew where all this was leading, of course. I thought if I ignored the situation it would – he would – go away.’

‘He has two faces, that man. At least according to Silas, what tha sees is what tha gets.’

Harriet’s heart lurched. ‘Don’t tell Silas about this. It’s… I’m embarrassed. Please don’t say anything. I think he would be disappointed.’

‘That’s puttin’ it mildly.’

‘Louisa, I can’t rely on Silas, he’s a boy. I have to be practical.’

‘Hmm. What does Polly say?’

‘That it is not up to her. My uncle is ill, you know, gravely ill. His lungs…’ Harriet shook her head. ‘My options are limited.’

‘Tha’s already said that. Walter knows what he’s like, this man. He must do.’

‘Yes. But he’s dying, Lou! He’s just trying to ensure his family is looked after.’

‘An’ you’ll do it, then? D’ you ’av any feelin’ for Boothby, at all?’

‘That doesn’t really come into it. I can learn to live with him.’ She heard the grimness in her voice. ‘It is not as bad as I paint it.’

Shandy jumped up from her usual space by the fireside and ran to the door with a volley of barks.

‘Oh! Silas is coming,’ she said. ‘Louisa, I beg you, please, don’t say a word.’

Harriet was restless throughout the afternoon, avoiding Silas’s eye, shrinking away when he went to take her hand. Silas joked about asking for a job at her uncle’s firm and she knew he caught her frown before she could hide it. When they left Louisa’s cottage, she felt the grey sky press down on her.

After a few moments of walking in silence, Silas said, ‘I’d like to walk thee to the door and meet wi’ Walter.’

Now she noticed his new wine-coloured waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and how clean his hands were, even the nails. He’d had a haircut and, she saw with dismay, his green eyes were narrowed with purpose. Polly would find him handsome. Walter had no use for a handsome young man in Harriet’s life, especially now. She ached for Silas, knowing that Walter would not tolerate him, that Silas’s kindness and gentleness and his obvious devotion towards her counted for nothing next to Albert Boothby’s wealth and connections.

They had reached the river and were now minutes from her aunt and uncle’s home. Harriet trailed her fingers over the darkened stone of the low wall leading to the bridge, slowing her pace as they crossed to look down at the water. It was flowing quickly today, invigorated by an early summer squall. The sandstone on the new section of bridge was still pale, fresh as a wound.

Later, Harriet cursed herself for not demanding that Silas leave her there as usual, on the bridge.