The foreman came through the gates and Jack made a beeline for him. ‘You’d best sort these men out,’ he warned. ‘Ted Louis is on the warpath, and he’s got Mulligan in his sights.’ Considering he’d done his duty, he hurried away.

He’d gone only a few yards when there was a frantic shout. The foreman ran towards the quarry. Ted was standing on the edge, his mouth open with shock and his eyes stricken with horror. ‘Jesus!’

Jack retraced his steps at a run. ‘What’s the mad bugger done now?’

As he drew nearer, he could hear other men chasing up behind him. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ they asked. From the look on the foreman’s face, it was obvious something was very wrong.

When they reached the quarry mouth, they could hear Ted muttering over and over, ‘It weren’t me! I swear to God, I never touched him.’

The foreman ran towards the winch. ‘For Christ’s sake, somebody get over here!’ he yelled, and two men dropped their tool bags and dashed towards him.

Jack stood beside Ted, his curious gaze following Ted’s stricken stare down into the quarry. Below was the great bucket, filled with sand and ready for raising. Above that was the boom, and hanging from it was Tom Mulligan. ‘Oh no!’ Jack cried, his face ashen. ‘Dear God, why would he do a thing like that?’

By the time they cut Tom down, it was too late.

For a long, terrible moment nobody spoke. The foreman was on his knees, desperately trying to force a spark of life into that young, still body. ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

The old man was trembling from head to toe. ‘We were just supping a drop o’ brandy together… the lad never said… he never said…’ And yet he knew there had been a weight on Tom Mulligan’s shoulders. He knew, and had not been able to help.

Ted stared down at his old enemy; he would have given anything to change what had happened. ‘I thought he were in the storehouse,’ he murmured. ‘I never dreamed he’d do such a thing. Somebody’s got to tell that lass.’ The words choked in his throat. ‘She’ll be out of her mind at this… My God, whatever possessed him?’

The foreman sent a man to summon the authorities. His own duty lay elsewhere; he knew it was up to him to tell Bridget. ‘Cover the poor bastard up,’ he ordered. And, head bowed, he hurried away.

It was just striking seven when they knocked on Bridget’s door.

Half asleep, she stumbled out of bed to peep through the window. She couldn’t see who it was because they were too close to the front door. She went to the crib where Ruth was beginning to whimper. Bridget picked her up and held her close to her breast. Instinctively, her gaze went to the bed. ‘Tom?’ She ran into the other bedroom. He wasn’t there either. Leaning over the banister, she called downstairs. ‘Tom! There’s someone at the door!’