By the time January came, Betsy was settled in her new post, and although Mags found that her father hadn’t liked the change at first – complaining that Betsy did more bobbing on one knee than working, which made Mags giggle – he, too, had begun to enjoy her lively ways.

‘She’s done it again!’

Mags looked up from the morning paper, in which she was reading the notice of her wedding day in three weeks’ time. Her heart had fluttered on seeing it in print, and this exclamation from her father seemed like a rude interruption. ‘What, Daddy, and who has done it again? Sit down to breakfast and tell me all about it.’

‘That Betsy! Your mother must be turning in her grave, to see her smoothly run home all topsy-turvy.’

Mags couldn’t imagine what Betsy had done.

‘She was polishing the banister when I came downstairs. She really must learn that her place is not doing the work, but overseeing it. And her incessant curtsying is driving me insane!’ The smile on his face belied his harsh words.

‘I don’t think we will ever change her, so we had better get used to how she works. I haven’t come across any problems, other than Mrs Potts’s frustration and yours. Everything is in order. Betsy even has a special book in which she is noting everything to do with my wedding.’

‘Poor Mrs Potts, it must seem that her job has been stolen from under her feet.’

‘No, that’s just your assumption. You don’t like change. Anyway, Harold is due to arrive today. He is going to spend time in his own factory to try and sort out the problems there, but will be here for dinner tonight.’

A ‘humph’ was all Mags got in response to this, and it worried her. Her father didn’t seem to have any liking or respect for Harold.

‘And another thing: Betsy has seen to it that your morning suit has been cleaned, ready for the occasion. You are all right about me marrying Harold earlier than you wanted, aren’t you, Daddy?’

‘Of course, darling. I just wish he would prove to us that he intends doing a good job with both mills. It worries me how he can absent himself when all isn’t well.’

When at last her father left the room, muttering something about an early night, Harold, who had arrived earlier, swept Mags into his arms. ‘My darling, I have missed you so. I am sorry – truly sorry – about my behaviour. But I understand now, and we won’t speak of it again.’

His kiss melted her.

‘Will your father return, or can we sneak off to your room now?’

This question both perturbed and thrilled Mags at the same time. She wanted nothing more than to be one with Harold, but asking this as soon as they had time alone together made her feel that she was needed only for one thing. No conversation had taken place between them, no meaningful conversation or even finding out how she was; just this half-hearted apology, sweeping everything under the carpet, and a lust for her body. Oh, Harold had chatted over dinner, but mainly to her father about business, cutting Mags off if she tried to express her point of view. It was all worrying and frustrating. Making her mind up to accept it and to change things gradually, as she’d spoken to her father about doing, she nodded.