From then on it was back to her usual routine, except that Mrs Wilkins made sure that she worked longer hours than ever. A deep gloom settled over her as she foresaw once again a life of unrelieved drudgery before her. It did little to lift her spirits when she saw Mrs Freeman sweep out of the house wearing the dress. She remembered her first sight of St George’s Hall and wished passionately that she could go with her.

Later that evening, while May was serving dinner, Mrs Freeman was chattering excitedly.

‘Such a wonderful display! Each stall is dedicated to the welfare of prisoners from one particular state and you would not believe the goods that have been donated. And the great ladies standing behind their tables like women at market! Do you know how many people paid the entrance fee today? Two thousand five hundred!’

‘Well, let us hope the next two days are as successful,’ her husband said. ‘The blockade of the southern ports is starving our cotton mills and the price of finished fabric has gone through the roof. This war needs to be brought to an end as quickly as possible. Though I have to confess that I am disturbed by the idea that we are supporting people whose only reason for fighting is so that they can continue to own slaves.’

‘Of course,’ Mrs Freeman added, ‘this is only to help the prisoners and their families – not to buy weapons or anything like that.’

‘Of course,’ her husband agreed, but to May’s ears it sounded as though he thought differently. ‘Well, if the fortunes of the Confederate army are reflected in the number of Confederate flags being flown all over the city, the war should be over very soon. ‘

One evening, May was about to enter the dining room to clear away the dishes when she heard raised voices.

‘But David,’ Mrs Freeman was saying plaintively, ‘you always tell me that we must avoid all unnecessary expense, so that money can be ploughed back into the business. I am only trying to carry out your instructions.’

‘I know that.’ His voice was quieter, but there was an undertone of controlled impatience. ‘But we are not slave owners, Lydia, and this is not the southern states of America. Remember what the Bible says: “The labourer is worthy of his hire”.’

Mrs Freeman sighed and said submissively, ‘Very well, my dear. Whatever you think best.’

That seemed a good moment to interrupt, so May pushed open the door and went in.

‘Can I clear now, ma’am?’

Mr Freeman looked round from his chair. ‘Ah! Just the girl we’ve been talking about, right on cue. Come here, May.’

May went to stand in front of him. A quick glance at his face told her that he was not angry, so presumably she had not done anything wrong.