‘When will Billy come back?’

‘I only wish I knew. I can’t understand why Fanny hasn’t tried to get in touch. I’ve asked everybody I know, and even strangers, whether they’ve seen a woman and a boy travelling in a wagon, but nobody seems to know.’

‘Why don’t we put papers up round the market?’

‘You mean like a notice or something?’

‘Yes. Like that one about the circus. Everybody sees it.’

‘By! You might just have something there.’ It was a brilliant idea and Bridget wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘We’ll do it tomorrow morning.’ Already she was designing the notice in her mind.

‘Thanks, Mam.’

‘And there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’

‘No.’

‘Goodnight then. Go to sleep now.’

The small face lit up. ‘Can I have some hot potatoes from Mack’s barrow tomorrow?’

‘Only if I can have some too.’

Outside the bedroom door, Bob Morris smiled to himself, satisfied that Ruthie had kept his secret. He crept back downstairs and by the time Bridget returned, he had quickly cleared away all the dishes and was seated by the fire, with a mug of tea waiting on either side of the hearth.

‘See what a good husband I’ll make?’ he said as she came through the door.

‘Only because I’m training you well,’ she joked. But though she smiled, Bridget was sorely troubled. Ruthie worried her, and she was aware that she still had not got to the bottom of whatever was bothering her daughter. But if pushed, Ruthie would only clam up. So all she could do now was to stay alert and watch for clues to the problem.

‘I’ll not only be a good husband,’ Bob was saying, ‘I’ll be the best father to Ruthie. Once you and me are wed, I mean to make sure I never work on a Sunday. That’ll be our day, you, me and Ruthie. We’ll go off to the park in the morning, feed the ducks, and later we’ll go down the river to that pretty cafe where they serve piping hot chips and big squashy cakes. I mean to spoil you both rotten.’

Bridget sank into the chair and sipped her tea. ‘You don’t have to spoil us rotten,’ she told him, ‘and you mustn’t change your work days to suit us.’

‘I might even buy us a small farm. I’ve saved more money than you know, and I’m thinking it’s high time I did something useful with it instead of travelling the highways working from morning till night, seven days a week.’

‘But if you had a farm, you’d still be working on the land from morning till night, wouldn’t you? You’ve said yourself that farming is a hard life.’

‘Ah well, you and Ruthie would need to muck in.’

‘I don’t think so, Bob. I want Ruthie to be educated, and I’ve already mapped out a future for myself. It doesn’t mean to say I’ll be working any longer hours than I do now, or that I won’t always be here for you and Ruthie, because I will. But you have to understand, I’ve been on my own for a long time now, and circumstances have made me independent.’