‘Indeed?’ he said dismissively. Then barked at Ellen: ‘Name?’

He took the tickets under her name from his card index box, placed them in the books and then closed the volumes to put on the ‘Returned’ shelf, glancing at the titles.

‘Romances down at the end,’ he said with a slight sneer, pointing.

Ellen shuffled away, feeling as if her taste were being judged and found wanting.

As she was returning with her chosen books, she noticed there was a shelf of practical kinds of books: handicrafts, woodworking and gardening. She hadn’t thought to look there before, never venturing beyond light romances, which she and Dora both read in the fortnight they were lent out. There was a picture book of beautiful gardens and she wondered if it was worth a look, if only to compare the photographs – which were, disappointingly, mainly in black and white – with Grindle Hall, so she took that to the librarian’s little desk too.

‘The rule is you’re allowed only three volumes,’ said the new librarian.

Ellen knew this and felt foolish for forgetting to put one of the novels back when she’d found the gardens book. She was starting to apologise when Tom interrupted, approaching with a couple of hefty novels from the classics section.

‘I’ll put one of yours on my ticket,’ he said.

‘No borrowing is allowed on another reader’s ticket,’ said the librarian, not looking up from his card index.

‘I’m not borrowing on Miss Arnold’s ticket,’ said Tom mildly. ‘I’m borrowing on my own ticket.’

‘It’s all right, Uncle Tom, I’ve decided not to have this book after all,’ said Ellen, and put one of the novels to one side. ‘I’ll take the gardens book instead.’

‘It would be helpful if you didn’t take books from the shelves that you don’t wish to borrow,’ said the librarian, snatching up the novel and putting it on the ‘Returned’ shelf.

‘But I want to borrow it,’ said Tom, taking it carefully off the shelf and adding it to his pile of books.

The librarian stared at Tom for a long time with raised eyebrows. Tom returned the look and the librarian blinked first.

‘See you next time,’ Tom said in a friendly tone as he and Ellen descended the steps, clutching their stamped books.

Ellen couldn’t help bursting out laughing, although she suspected the librarian could hear her.

‘Oh, Uncle Tom, you are brilliant,’ she giggled. ‘Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens and The Fickle Heart of Lady Blanche.’

‘I shall enjoy that one no end,’ said Tom, deadpan, handing it over to Ellen. ‘Whoever Lady Blanche is. Make sure you bring it back next time, love. I don’t want my wrists slapped by that jumped-up little stand-in for our Mr Shepherd.’