May followed him and felt a sudden rush of gratitude and affection. ‘Please, sir, can I give you a kiss?’ The words were out before she had a chance to think.

He stopped, with his hand on the door handle, and looked down at her. ‘Between employer and employee, that would be completely irregular.’ But he bent his head and allowed her to plant a kiss on his cheek. Then he opened the door and went out and May, dizzy with relief, made her way back to her workroom.

October gave way to November, and the streets rang to the cry of ‘Penny for the guy!’ The fifth was a Sunday and May joined Patty and a group of young men and girls from the shop to watch the procession and the fireworks along the dock road. As they waited they became aware of some excitement on the river frontage, which did not seem to be connected to the Guy Fawkes celebrations. Moving closer, they found a small crowd surrounding the crew of a tug that had just tied up at the pier.

‘What’s going on?’ Patty asked a bystander.

‘They say there’s a ship in the offing flying the Confederate flag. Seems she’s stuck on the sandbar. Won’t be able to get off until the tide turns.’

‘Can’t be a Confederate ship,’ someone said. ‘They must have all surrendered months ago.’

Patty looked at May. ‘What was the name of the ship Gus was on? Do you remember?’

‘No, I … wait a mo. Sh … Shen something.’

‘Shenandoah. That’s the one,’ the man from the tug said. ‘That’s her out there in the river.’

Twelve

The fireworks had little attraction for May that night. All she could think of was that Gus might be out there on that ship, waiting for the tide to turn. When she woke next morning her first impulse was to head down to the river to see if the ship had come in; but she knew that she must go to work as usual. She had come close to being dismissed and she could not afford to take any chances.

As soon as she had finished for the day she hurried down to the pier head. It was almost dark and there was a mist over the river, but she could just make out the outline of a slender, three-masted vessel anchored in the middle of the flood, astern of a British warship, which had been in the port for some weeks.

A policeman was on duty on the pier. May approached him timidly.

‘Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me if any of the crew of that ship have come ashore yet?’

‘That Confederate ship? No, and they’re not likely to for a while yet. Sweetheart of yours on board, is there?’

‘No. But I think my brother might be.’

‘Brother, eh? He’ll be an Englishman then.’

‘Yes, of course.’