The two men stood quietly together, chatting now and again but mostly silent, and although Rose caught the occasional glance they sent her way she didn’t speak. After the brief sojourn in the warmth of the pub room it seemed even colder and Rose hoped the snow would hold off a little longer. Betsy had been peering out of her cocoon watching the comings and goings in the square for a while and eventually fell asleep again, which was a blessing. There were fewer folk about now, and Rose had just promised herself that when the church clock struck three o’clock she would admit defeat, when she noticed a man walking towards her, his eyes fixed on her face. He was a large man in every sense of the word, tall with a protruding stomach and ruddy be-whiskered face, his clothes somewhat grubby and unkempt.

‘You lookin’ for work?’ He spoke when he was still some yards away, his voice surprisingly high for such a big man.

Rose nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I am.’

‘Live-in?’

She nodded again.

‘I want someone in the house, cookin’ and cleanin’ and the rest. Me mam died a few weeks afore Christmas.’ His gaze took in Betsy, still fast asleep in her nest. ‘How old’s the bairn?’

‘She’s seven months.’ She expected him to ask more about Betsy and mentally prepared herself, so when he merely said, ‘When can you start?’ she blinked in surprise.

‘I own the mill at Rowlands Gill. You heard of it? Vickers is the name. Arthur Vickers.’

‘No, no, I haven’t.’ And then she added quickly, in case she had offended him, ‘I don’t come from round these parts, you see.’

Again he asked no questions beyond saying, ‘So, you want the job? I can’t pay much, three bob a week, but you an’ the bairn’ll have all the grub you can eat and a roof over your heads. I doubt you’ll get a better offer. It’ll be just in the house you’re needed, I’ve got a lad who comes and helps me in the mill. No place for a woman, a mill.’

She stared at him, not quite sure why she was hesitating, and a number of seconds elapsed before she said, ‘Yes, yes, please, I want the job.’

‘I want someone straight away.’

‘Aye, yes, that’s fine.’

‘Where’s your things?’ He glanced at her feet.

‘At – at my lodgings in Gateshead.’

‘Gateshead?’ He frowned. ‘Well, I suppose I can take you there afore I turn for home. Long way round, mind. You got much?’

‘Just a couple of bags.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve sold all the sacks of flour I brought with me so there’s plenty of room in the cart. We’d better be making tracks then, it’s going to come down soon, I can smell it.’