‘So how did you hurt yourself then?’

‘Never you mind.’ He had lied enough for one day. ‘It doesn’t bother me, so it shouldn’t bother you.’

‘I expect you did it in the stable, and didn’t even know you’d done it. Cracked it on a beam or something like that.’

‘Happen I did, and happen I didn’t. What does it matter?’

Maud shook her head, smiling at him. ‘I remember when you were a lad you were allus falling down or tripping up. Oh, but you were such a happy little soul, allus laughing and looking for mischief.’ She gazed on him a moment longer, before closing her eyes. ‘Oh, lad, I’m that tired. Give us a kiss and be off with you.’ Leaning over, he kissed her softly and squeezed her hand. ‘Sleep well, Mam,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ For a time he stood outside the bedroom door, wondering whether he should go after Alice and find out what she had decided. Until he knew what was on her mind, he couldn’t rest. He felt like a man with an axe hanging over him. ‘She’s making me stew in it,’ he muttered. ‘Oh, bugger it! I’ll not give her the satisfaction.’

He hurried down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he sat down, his fists under his chin and his elbows resting on his knees. ‘What a bloody mess I’ve caused,’ he muttered regretfully.

He wondered how Bridget was faring. Tom Mulligan seemed to love her enough to want to hold on to her, and that being the case, she should come to no harm as far as he could see. ‘You’ve got a man who values you enough to fight for you, Bridget, my love,’ he whispered, ‘and I’ll not come between you ever again.’

He could hear Alice moving about in the kitchen. From where he sat, he had a view of the kitchen door; it was closed but even if it hadn’t been, he would still not have been seen. There was a certain comfort in knowing he was hidden from sight.

His gaze travelled down the passageway to the front door. Above the door was a fanlight, and set in the fanlight was a peacock in coloured glass. The light in the passage made it seem almost real; when the light flickered, the peacock seemed to dance, and when he blew softly into the lamp wick, he could swear the bird actually raised its wings and took flight.

As a boy he would delight in mimicking the movement of the bird. It was only when he reached an age when children stop believing that he realised with great sadness that the bird could not move, let alone fly, and that it was all in his imagination. It didn’t stop him dreaming though, so after a time the bird recovered its freedom.

Harry had been brought up in this house, and he would rather cut off his right arm than leave it. If anyone might have tempted him to do so, it would have been Bridget, but not now. The price of love was too high. The house was his sanctuary, just as it had been for his parents and his father’s parents before. He knew every corner, every nook and cranny. He knew its every mood, and he recognised every smell exuding from its walls. He could smell it now, the warm and musty smell that lived in the passageway, the damp brought in through the ill-fitting front door, the particular odour of worn rugs over a wooden floor, and that comfortable smell of old coats hanging on the pegs by the door.