It was only her love for Betsy that had prevented her from leaving then and there. February and March had been bitterly cold with hard frosts and snowstorms, and that particular April morning had been the first time she had been able to peg the washing outside to dry, but already the sky was clouding over. She didn’t want to be homeless again and tramping the countryside looking for work. She let none of that show in her face, however, when she said, ‘Let’s get one thing straight right now. I’ll continue to get the house to rights and then I’ll look after it as though it was my own. I’ll wash and cook and clean and make a penny stretch to two, but one thing I won’t do is warm your bed. Do you understand me? And while you’re talking about money, you haven’t paid me for the last four weeks.’

‘I told you, business has been poor.’

‘And I told you, I don’t mind waiting for a bit but I won’t be made a fool of.’

Arthur Vickers stared at the girl he’d imagined would be a pushover. A young lass like her with a bairn, he’d thought she’d go down on bended knee for him giving her an’ her flyblow a roof over their heads. True, she’d already got the place better than it had ever been and she was a fine cook; his mam hadn’t been a patch on her, God rest her soul. Mary could make a tough bit of brisket melt in your mouth and her cakes and pies were the best he’d ever tasted. He liked his grub, he didn’t mind admitting it, and he’d eaten like a king the past few weeks, but this other thing – why couldn’t she see reason? She’d opened her legs willingly enough for the man who’d given her the bairn, why not him? His tone wheedling now, he said, ‘No one’d know, if that’s what’s troubling you. Come on, Mary, be reasonable.’

‘If you want me to stay this is the last time we discuss this. If not, I’ll leave today.’

She meant it, damn her. He rubbed his bristly chin with a floury hand. And he knew in hiring her he’d got the best of the bargain, even if it meant he still had to go further afield to get serviced. He shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. You’re not my type anyway. I prefer a lass with a bit of meat on her bones.’ The brothel he frequented had several big women and one in particular, Nell, knew lots of tricks to keep a man coming back for more. Shame she had a face like a mare’s backside.

‘And for your information I was married and to a man in a million.’