It had started when she was assisting Nan with final adjustments, and her suggestions for a change of angle here or an added embellishment there had lifted a hat from being simply smart into the heights of the latest fashion. Nan bought magazines with drawings of the latest fashions from Paris, and May studied them avidly and saw ways of adapting them to the needs of particular clients.

Increasingly, Nan allowed her to take on the whole creation from the initial discussion with the client to the finished product. Nan herself was tending to return later and later from her dinner break and often fell asleep in her chair while May worked on her latest creation. It suited May very well and she was careful that no hint of the older woman’s foibles reached the management. Mr Freeman, happy with compliments from satisfied customers, increased her salary to six pounds per annum. She spent her savings on a new wardrobe, choosing clothes that were smart without being too showy.

She had another reason for being happy with her life. One evening, when she was tidying up ready to leave, the door of her workroom opened and Patty stood there, no longer the wild-haired, pinch-faced waif she had last seen, but clean and neat and wearing the uniform provided for Freeman’s staff who worked behind the scenes.

‘Patty! What … how …?’ May stared at her.

‘Thought I’d give you a surprise,’ Patty said with a grin.

‘But I don’t understand. What’s happened?’

‘Your Mr Freeman’s only given me a job in the kitchen here, hasn’t he?’

It turned out that Mr Freeman had formed the habit of visiting the Home for Fallen Women of which he had agreed to become a patron, on a fairly regular basis. There he had seen Patty progress from an inmate to someone trusted to help in the running of the place, particularly when it came to cooking. So when one of the cook’s assistants in the canteen attached to the shop left to get married, he had remembered Patty and offered her the job.

‘I won’t let him down, I swear!’ Patty said. ‘I’m not going to mess up this chance.’

‘Patty,’ May said earnestly, ‘there’s just one thing. No one here knows about the workhouse. If anyone asks, say our families were friends and that is how we know each other.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Patty responded. ‘I’m not such a fool as to let on about where we grew up.’