‘And me you, Betsy. I’m glad I’ve met you, and I’m sorry for your troubles. Mrs Roford is always saying that she should have gone to you after . . . well, you knaw. She worries what you think of her.’

‘Well, tell her that don’t matter none. I knaw as she believes me.’ As she said this, Betsy mentally crossed herself, to negate confirming the lie that she lived daily. ‘Aye and tell Mags that I’ll do owt for her. She only has to send a message with you, and she can consider it done.’

‘I will.’

‘I have news as well, but I’ll leave it up to you as to whether you tell her. She’ll find out anyroad. I wanted to tell the doctor, but didn’t get the chance. Cook – that’s Mags’s cook at her house – tells me they all think there was some funny business going on between Harold and the nurse he employed to take care of Mags’s poor father. It seems that the nurse didn’t leave after Mr Witherbrook died. Cook tells me they have been told she is staying on, as Mr Roford is in the throes of changing the welfare system at the mill and the nurse is overseeing those changes. Now that’s not what alerted me, but her name’s Susan. I can’t tell you why that gives me cause for concern, but if you think Mags is well enough to fight her corner – and against sommat that once hurt her badly, where her husband is concerned – then tell her what I’ve said. Otherwise, don’t mention it.’

‘Oh, I get the implication, and she’s well enough all right. She hates Mr Roford now, more than she once loved him, and would welcome owt as would give her sommat to fight him with.’

‘Are you sure on that, Iris? ’Cause nowt would have made Mags not love him afore. She had it bad, really bad. Even how Mr Roford came on to me, afore they were wed, didn’t put her off him. She preferred to think it was all down to sommat in his childhood, and sommat she could help him to get better from.’

‘Well, those rose-tinted glasses have been well and truly knocked off her nose. I think she would be better knawing what is going on. We’re taught, when training, that knowledge is power – and it is an’ all. Mrs Roford could do with some titbits that give her power, that’s for sure. I’ll have to bid you good day now, Betsy, but I come down to Blackburn on a Wednesday afternoon and we can meet in town, if you like.’

‘Eeh, that’d be grand. I go in the tearooms for a cuppa when I’m in town – not the posh one with the net drapes, but the one on the corner of Peter Street.’

‘I knaw the one. Right-o, I’ll meet you there next Wednesday and we can have a chinwag and get to knaw one another.’