Rose smiled. ‘It’s more hard work than adventure.’

‘That was so brave of you.’

‘Not really. It was simply something I could do to provide a living for myself and Betsy, that’s all.’ Now the subject had been brought up she wanted to make it clear that Alexander had not been involved and so she added, ‘I had some money of my own and it seemed the right time to invest it for our future, rather than it possibly dwindle away. I am responsible for Betsy, and Davey, my husband, would have expected me to provide for her.’

‘How did he die, if it is not too painful to talk about?’

‘No, it isn’t painful, not now.’

Over the next few minutes she spoke frankly about her life in Sunderland, her beginnings in the workhouse, her marriage, Davey’s accident and her coming to Consett, but she did not mention Nathaniel or the miller. She knew she had to tell Alexander about both those things before long – she owed it to him to explain before things went any further between them – but she was dreading it. The moment would come, however – she knew it would – and she would recognize it when it happened.

It was two days later before Rose and Alexander were alone again for any length of time. Alexander had spent a lot of time with Lawrence, and the result on Lawrence of having his old friend staying had been evident in his lighter demeanour and frequent laugh. As Estelle had said privately to Rose, Lawrence was a different man when he was in Alexander’s company. ‘It lifts this – oh, what is the English word – ah, yes, this melancholy that afflicts him at times like a dark fog. He adores us, the children and I, but it is not the same as having male company.’ There had been a pensive note in Estelle’s voice when she had spoken and Rose knew she was thinking about the future. Rose herself had heard Lawrence refer to his home as a gilded cage, and although she wouldn’t have said so to Estelle, she feared for his state of mind and their marriage.

‘One of the women who was in charge of the children in the workhouse used to get depressed at times,’ she’d said to Estelle. ‘She was an unmarried mother and so she knew she had years ahead of her before she could leave when her child reached the age of fourteen. She used to call it “the black dog sitting on her shoulder”.’

‘Yes, yes, that is it. It is like the black dog.’ Estelle had looked at her enquiringly. ‘What happened to this woman?’

‘I don’t know. Her daughter was younger than me so she was still there when I left.’

‘And the workhouse? It was bad?’