Betsy lowered her head. Never do in a million years? But I did. I did, most of it, I did . . .

‘Oh, Cook, who’s going to believe me, eh? I mean, them as can harm me. His story sounds true, and he is – like you say – a man of standing, and I’m nowt.’ Taking a deep breath, Betsy decided to repeat her lie; she had to stick to it, she had to. ‘I knocked on the door and he called for me to come in. He . . . he had his back to me. He was in his dressing gown. I said, “What can I do for you, sir?” Then he turned and came towards me. I – I felt scared as . . . well, he’d tried it on me afore. Anyroad, he grabbed me and . . .’

Cook listened to her tale. Her mouth dropped open. By the end of her telling, tears were streaming down Betsy’s face, and Cook was mopping her own face with her pinny.

‘Eeh, lass, naw. He’s a rotten sod! And you say he’s suing you? What will happen if he wins?’

‘I don’t knaw. I don’t knaw. Maybe I’ll go to prison . . . Oh, Cook, I couldn’t bear that, I couldn’t.’

They were both quiet for a moment, before it hit Betsy afresh what had happened to Mags. ‘Have you any idea where they’ve taken Mags – I mean, which asylum?’

‘Eeh, I can never get used to you calling her by her pet name. But then you pair have been friends a long time, I knaws that. Anyroad, I’ve an inkling. You see, Alf were up the tree at the end of the drive – he was lopping off some of the overhanging branches – when that ambulance pulled out, and he watched it for a long time. He said it went towards Pleasington and he thought he caught a glimpse of it after that on Billinge End Road, so it’s our guess it were heading for Brockhall Institution.’

‘Eeh, naw . . . Naw, not there. Eeh, Cook, they say as no one ever comes back out of there. It’s unbearable. And – and her dad an’ all, where’s he?’

‘He’s lain in his bed, all but gone from this world. He has a nurse caring for him. It’s him as should be in hospital, but I reckon Roford don’t want him to recover. I mean, think about it: with the old man dead, and his wife in a mental institute, Roford stands to gain the lot – this house and all the land that goes with it, as there’s a good few tenant farmers; and that on top of the factory that he has part ownership of . . . well, he’s made, as I see it.’

‘The rotten swine! That’s it: that were his plan all along. I knaws stuff about him, Cook. I’d like to bet it ain’t long afore someone else moves in here.’