She walked to the workbench where Harry had been sitting when they arrived. Reverently, she sat in his chair; it was high-backed and surprisingly comfortable. A wistful smile flitted across her face. ‘Do you sit here and dream of the countryside, Harry?’ A feeling of sadness swept over her, sadness for Harry, and the past; sadness because of Ruthie, and because deep inside her she knew now that it was Harry she loved, and no power on this earth could make her wed Bob Morris.

Reaching out, she touched the wooden rule Harry used to measure cloth; sensually she fingered the cloth he was working on and the scissors he must have held in his hand only that very morning. She could imagine him holding the scissors, imagine him carefully cutting a ream of silk or skilfully rounding the hem of a waistcoat.

Closing her eyes, she shivered at the memory of their one night of passion in the barn with the snow and wind howling outside. Filled with wonder, she realised the magic was still there. It always would be.

She made her way out of the room again. As she closed the door, an old voice called from upstairs, ‘Harry, is that you?’

Startled, Bridget ran to the foot of the stairs. ‘It’s all right,’ she replied. ‘Harry won’t be long.’ She hoped to God it was the truth, and that when he returned he would have Ruthie with him.

‘Who’s that?’ Fear had crept into the voice. ‘I don’t know you.’

Quickly, Bridget made her way upstairs and followed the old lady’s voice to the right room. ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ she said, opening the door and peeking in. ‘Harry’s on an errand. He should be back soon.’

The old lady was propped up against the pillows, pale and frail, yet with the bright, curious eyes of a child. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

Feeling like an intruder, Bridget remained at the door. ‘I’m a friend of Harry’s,’ she said. ‘I’m to mind you until he gets back.’

‘Come in, child, come in.’ A gnarled finger beckoned.

Bridget went forward. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you.’ As she neared the bed, she detected scents of rosemary and lavender.

Through the half-open window a gentle breeze wafted. The sun was waking the skies and the room was filled with the coming morning.

‘You were in Harry’s room, weren’t you?’

Embarrassed, Bridget flushed pink. ‘I’m sorry, I… was just… looking around… seeing where Harry worked.’

‘That room is directly beneath mine, that’s how I knew you were in there.’

‘I’m so sorry. I had no right.’

‘Well, at least you’re not a liar. You could have denied you were there, but you didn’t.’ Maud patted the bed. ‘Sit beside me, dear.’

When Bridget did so, the old woman regarded her closely, noting her youth and how her lovely blue eyes were sad and troubled. ‘You’re very pretty.’

Bridget smiled. ‘I haven’t been called that in a long time,’ she confessed.