The rage had kept him going for a week or two while he had searched the immediate area and then further afield, asking everyone he knew to keep an eye out for her and even going into local shops and pubs and cafés. He had gone to see Davey’s parents in the end although he hadn’t expected they would be able to shed any light on where Rose was. That was when Vera O’Leary had told him she’d been to see Rose and why. Like a bolt from the blue everything had made sense. Rose hadn’t run away from him, he had told himself, but from the threat of Davey’s family trying to take Betsy from her. She had said herself her mind was befuddled and she wasn’t sleeping properly, and Davey’s mam had made her even more confused and anxious. He could have throttled the woman. He’d lost his temper completely, telling Vera some home truths that had left her white and shaking before he’d finally stormed out of the house, banging the door behind him.

From that day, however, his belief in himself, which had taken a knock when he’d found Rose gone, had returned. Vera had frightened Rose away and all he had to do was to find her and everything would be all right. She would become his. It was meant to be. The problem was, he hadn’t allowed for the fact that she seemed to have disappeared into thin air and no one had seen hide nor hair of her. Until last night.

He came out of his thoughts as the cab pulled up outside a large semi-detached house in a very pleasant tree-lined avenue. There were no bairns playing outside here, he noted, no swinging on ropes from lamp posts or kicking empty tin cans for a game of footie. The street was quiet. Every house had a small area of neat front garden enclosed with black iron railings, and each front door was freshly painted. There was a card in the window of this one which read: ‘No rooms vacant’ and a ‘Guest house’ sign hung from a polished brass bracket on the wall.

Hubert had jumped down from the cab onto the pavement. He was full of misgivings, knowing full well that Beattie wouldn’t like him bringing Mary’s – or Rose’s, he supposed he ought to say now – husband to the house. He opened the door of the cab, his voice over-hearty as he said, ‘Here we are then, lad, although how much me sister’ll be able to help you I don’t know.’

‘That’s all right.’ Nathaniel climbed out as the horse stood swishing his tail in the warm morning air. It was only ten o’clock but already it was getting hot. ‘I’m just grateful for anything she might know.’