The following Monday saw the mobile library parking by the Lodge at the front gate. Ellen trooped down the drive carrying her books, but she no longer felt the delightful anticipation of a few minutes browsing the shelves. Mr Shepherd’s charming manner and generous sharing of his knowledge were as important a part of the library visits as the books themselves, she now realised, and the surly young man who had taken his place put a dampener on the whole event.

Tom, as usual, went to fetch his books from the Lodge, while Ellen presented hers at the desk.

‘How are you returning four books?’ asked the librarian. ‘You know the rules permit only three per person.’

‘This one is on Tom Arnold’s ticket, if you remember,’ said Ellen, handing over The Fickle Heart of Lady Blanche.

‘I remember no such thing,’ the librarian said. ‘The library lends out hundreds of books – I can’t be expected to remember who borrows every trashy potboiler. That’s what the card index and ticket system is for.’ He said this last sentence very slowly, and with unnecessary emphasis, as if Ellen were slow-witted.

‘Then I think if you look under Tom Arnold’s card you’ll find the ticket for this novel,’ Ellen said with quiet dignity. ‘I am simply returning this book for my uncle while he fetches the others he borrowed.’

She resisted the temptation to look away and instead drew inspiration from Tom’s actions the last time, and gave the librarian the benefit of a questioning raised eyebrow. Really, she thought, I shouldn’t have to face an ordeal every time I want to borrow or return a few books.

He hurriedly turned to his card index, knowing he had overstepped the mark.

Tom appeared with his heavy classic tomes, both of which he had read in the fortnight, and he and Ellen browsed the shelves, their backs to the rude man. Ellen tried to relax and pretend that it was Mr Shepherd at the desk, but she knew if she chose the frivolous romances that she and Dora liked, she would be faced with the young man’s superior attitude as he stamped the books. All the joy had been well and truly removed from library day.

Tom chose a couple of books and saw that Ellen hadn’t found anything.

‘Choose summat you and your mum would like, lass,’ he said softly. ‘Yon fella probably doesn’t know a rose bush from a cabbage, so why should you care what he thinks?’

Ellen nodded and quickly picked three titles, but she didn’t really feel engaged with the treat of selecting new books now. She half hoped Tom would swap them for his own choices at the desk and stare down the man’s sneer but he didn’t. Tom was clearly letting her fight her own battle today.