He follows her as she crosses into the pantry to lift down the tub.

‘Here, lass, I’ll do it …’

She shrinks back against the shelves of jam and tinned produce as he stretches past her, wafting barley dust and sweat. Gwen turns away.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says gauchely. ‘I’m probably in dire need of soap and water.’

‘No, no … it’s …’ She cannot stem a sudden flow of tears. Her shoulders begin to quake.

‘Oh I’m sorry Gwen,’ he says, his eyes cast down. ‘I should have thought … you must be upset about Gordon. Despite everything, you loved him once, I suppose.’

‘I’m not crying for Gordon. I haven’t cared about Gordon for years.’ She tries to catch her breath but without success. ‘Looking back, I’m not sure I ever loved him … I was just … just charmed by him … besotted, I suppose. If anything, I feel guilty for feeling so relieved … relieved that he can’t take Tom anymore …’

‘Then why are you crying?’ Jack asks, his voice soft.

‘Because I’m afraid …

‘Afraid of what? You’re safe now, at least, you and Tom. He has no hold over you … no one has anymore, Gwen. What have you possibly got to be afraid of?’

‘Tell me …’ It takes all her courage to face him. ‘Tell me it wasn’t you.’

Her gaze drops to the flaking mortar between the flagstones beneath her feet. A sudden wash of cold covers her skin as she waits for his answer.

‘Is that what you think?’

‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Because you think I’ve done it before? Lost my temper, killed a man. Oh, Gwen …’

‘You said you were inside …’ She cuts him off, unable to bear any longer the knowledge that has been gnawing away at her since she heard the news – and heard his lie. ‘… but I couldn’t see any light in the tack room. I couldn’t see any sign of you …’

‘Were you looking for me, then?’ His eyes glitter, the edge of his mouth tucking into his cheek, but the levity is fleeting. He studies the shelf above her head, crammed with cake tins and baking trays and the jelly moulds used only for birthdays and Christmas. ‘I was in the tack room. I had the candle on my worktable at the back. You wouldn’t have seen it, I doubt. It casts hardly a thimbleful of light, but it’s enough for me to work by.’

He sets the tub on the floor and reaches down a large saucepan to ferry water from the copper.

‘You’ll have to make up your own mind what kind of man I am, Gwen.’ He starts for the door and stops. ‘Do you trust me with Tom?’

The hurt in his voice cuts deeper than she thought possible. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

‘Do you think I could ever hurt him?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think I would ever hurt you?’