Chapter Seventeen

Harry leaned his elbow on the side of his car, slid forward on his driving seat and peered through the windscreen. The now familiar countryside of the upper Swansea Valley had been transformed by the darkness. What little he could see of it in the glare from his headlamps was unrecognizable. Shadows took on strange, terrifying shapes, and leapt out unexpectedly when he negotiated blind bends, and the car’s lights froze hares, rabbits, foxes and stoats in positions more suited to a taxidermist’s studio than nature, contributing to the peculiarly nightmarish atmosphere.

Diana moved beside him. He glanced across at her but her eyes remained closed. She pulled her coat over herself and settled back in her seat. He didn’t blame her. If he could have, he would have slept himself. He rubbed his eyes, looked ahead and saw a house he knew. They were entering Abercrave. He had only travelled eighteen miles but it had seemed more like eighty.

Abandoned to his thoughts, he debated his future more seriously than he had done since he’d left Oxford. And, as part of his future – the newest and most vital part – he considered Mary Ellis. He recalled their first meeting. He hadn’t realized at the time that it had been worth the stinging discomfort of the iodine to make her acquaintance. She was unlike any other girl he had ever known – totally and completely unique. There were so many words he could use to describe her – fierce, savage, wild, untamed – and all would be accurate.

By the standards of Diana Adams and his sisters she was unkempt, but he preferred to think of her as untouched by artifice or the vagaries of fashion. Raw and untutored, she hadn’t a modicum of the refinement or elegance a woman needed to succeed in modern society. But she did have a bewitching, beguiling innocence. Something Toby had said only a few nights before came to mind: Harry, even I’m beginning to wonder what attraction the Ellises hold for you. At first I accepted that you felt guilty about knocking Martha down, but now?

He’d succeeded in fooling Toby, and even himself, into believing that his visits to the Ellises had been prompted by a charitable desire to help the family. But now he realized that he had only wanted to spend time with Mary Ellis. Beneath the display of suspicion and hostility, which he blamed on the tragic and early death of her parents, she was caring and sweet-natured, especially towards her brothers and sister. And she was beautiful – seductively so – with her exotic dark features.

No woman had ever needed a man to take care of her more than Mary Ellis, and he was grateful that he had the money to do just that. He would cosset, educate, nurture, love and spoil her. And his reward would be to watch her blossom after he’d removed her from her life of drudgery.

He began to make plans for the entire Ellis family. First, he’d take them from the blighted, run-down farm, move them to Pontypridd and rent a decent property for them until his house was ready. He would live at home until his and Mary’s wedding could be arranged. He’d take them around the Gwilym James department stores and let them pick out anything they wanted, clothes, toys, things for the house …

He’d ask Mari to help him find housemaids, a cook and a gardener, so Mary would never have to do housework again. David might be a problem. He could hardly send him to school. An illiterate boy his age would be teased unmercifully, but he’d employ a tutor who could teach him alongside Martha and Matthew. And once the boy reached an acceptable standard David himself could decide what profession or trade he wanted to follow.

He’d enrol the younger two in private schools. His sisters attended the grammar school in Pontypridd.

Martha would never pass the entrance examination but there was a convent school in Cardiff. She could board there in the week and come home at weekends, and he would find an equally good school in the city for Matthew.

He would employ a nursemaid to care for Luke, and introduce Mary to the pleasures of urban living – the theatre, picture houses, hotels, restaurants and dance halls. They would go for walks in the new park, and he would teach all of them to roller-skate, ride bicycles and after the near-tragedy of the reservoir – swim. He would drive them to the beaches he had visited as a child.

His mother and sisters would help Mary to acquire the necessary social graces. They would be pleased and his father would be delighted at the prospect of him finally settling down. Settling down. He shuddered.

He couldn’t wait to marry Mary and move into his own house, but his plans for domestic happiness didn’t solve all his problems. In fact, they created more. He could hardly take the entire Ellis family to Paris and expect them to lead a student’s life there. But the last thing he wanted to do was work nine to five, dressing formally every morning in a suit, stiff-collared shirt and tie. Yet if he returned to live in Pontypridd his trustees would put pressure on him to work in one of his own companies.

The castle wall towered, blacker than the shadows on his right. He turned into the Adamses’ drive and turned off the ignition. Diana remained still, her head resting sideways on the edge of the seat. He shook her gently and, conscious of her parents sleeping in the house, whispered her name. She opened her eyes and looked around.

‘To quote Madame Patti’s most famous song, “Home Sweet Home”.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It must have been that last Manhattan.’

‘Or the hours you worked today before we went out.’

She shivered and huddled into her coat. ‘What’s the time?’

He struck his lighter and held it over the face of his wristwatch. ‘A quarter past one.’

‘Another four and three-quarter hours before I have to get up.’

‘Poor you.’

‘It was a lovely evening, Harry, thank you.’

He walked around the car and opened the door for her. ‘I enjoyed it too. I’ll see you again?’

‘You’ll see Miss Adams again, not the Diana you took out tonight.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘It’s been fun knowing you, Harry.’

‘Likewise. Good luck in London.’

‘Thank you.’

He climbed back into his car and waved to her before driving out through the gates. Feeling as though he had made the most momentous decision of his life, and needing to think about his future, he drove up to the farm. He parked by the entrance to the reservoir so the sound of his car wouldn’t disturb the family and walked towards the lonely farmhouse.

The scene looked picture-postcard peaceful beneath the waning moon, and he started to plan out another picture for when he had finished his second watercolour of the reservoir. Perhaps he could try one in oils? If he took the road as a vantage point, and looked through the arched entrance into the farmyard in daylight, he could portray a glimpse of farm life …

Something moved in the archway of the farmhouse. He was surprised to see a pony and trap standing there. The rig looked new even in the muted shadows. He was crossing the road to take a closer look at it when a piercing cry shattered the quiet. It echoed towards him a second time, faint but unmistakable, more human than animal. The sound of someone in pain.

Running stealthily, he charged past the trap into the farmyard, setting the dogs barking. Whistling the way David had taught him to silence them, he waited for them to settle. The stable door was ajar, which he found odd. He hadn’t seen any of the Ellises go near it since Dolly’s death. He stole towards it and peered inside.

The blackness was devoid of shadow and he recalled there were no windows in the old stone building. He detected movement and scuffling in the stall nearest the door. Then the cry came again, an anguished, muffled scream that culminated in a sob.

He pushed the door wide. Dim grey light flooded in from the yard. A silhouette moved upwards from the floor revealing a second figure beneath it. A fist flew towards him and connected with his jaw. He reeled back, falling awkwardly on the cobbled yard, cracking his elbow and scraping his hand. A crippling electric shock of pain shot down his arm. He watched his assailant waddle out of the stables and realized his movements were hampered by his trousers pulled down around his ankles. The shadowy figure heaved them to his waist and the few seconds he took to fasten his braces gave Harry time to collect his senses.

He saw the second blow coming and rolled to avoid it. Winded, fighting the pain in his arm, he heaved for breath. A flash of white appeared in the stable doorway. He looked up and saw Mary clinging to the frame. It was a glance that cost him pain. A boot connected with his ribs. He groaned and doubled up.

A rasping voice grated, ‘Mary, who the hell is this?’

‘Please, sir, don’t hurt him -’

‘I’ll kill the bastard!’

Harry grabbed the boot before it connected with his body a second time and wrenched it upwards. His attacker thudded on to the cobbles beside him. Harry rose to his knees and listened. He could hear his assailant’s breathing, the creak of the pony moving in harness in the archway and a fox calling to its mate on the hills behind the house.

He tried to stand but it felt as though red-hot knives were piercing his lungs. The slightest movement was torture but he managed to crawl towards the man who had attacked him. He touched his head. The man sighed and turned. He ran his hands over him. Apart from a lump on his temple he seemed to be in one piece, if out cold. Glad he hadn’t killed him – whoever he was – he looked to where he had last seen Mary. She was crouched in the doorway of the stable, her head buried in the skirt of her nightgown.

He crept towards her on his hands and knees. ‘Mary?’

She shrank back.

‘Mary?’

She didn’t move, or look up, but mumbled, ‘Please, go away.’

‘Not until I’m sure that you’re all right.’

She finally lifted her tear-stained face, but she couldn’t look at him. ‘You saw what he was doing to me. I’ll never be all right, never again.’

It was only then that he realized she’d been raped.

‘Mr Pritchard was the reason my father hung himself.’ Mary sat with her legs curled beneath the hem of her nightgown on the floor outside the stable stalls. Harry had tried to comfort her but every time he had drawn close, she had retreated, until she succeeded in boxing herself into a corner between the wall and the wooden partition. So he remained six feet away from her, his legs sprawled on the floor, his back supported by a post.

‘Your father hung himself because of the agent?’ he murmured in bewilderment.

It had taken Mary years to find someone she could confide in, and now she had, it was as though the floodgate that had dammed all her pent-up misery and shame had finally burst. ‘Every woman who lives on the farms Bob Pritchard collects rent from knows what he’s like. They’re all afraid of him and try to keep what he does to them a secret from their men, but they talk to one another.’

‘Then you’re not the only one he has raped?’

‘The agent’s forced dozens of women to sleep with him,’ she revealed bitterly. ‘My mother knew what was going to happen to her the day my father told her he couldn’t pay the rent. She’d spoken to Mrs Jones – Mr and Mrs Jones used to work for us when my father could pay them. They lived in the house down the road before they were evicted. Mrs Jones told my mother that as soon as they were in arrears, the agent came round, offering to stop the landlord from sending in the bailiffs, but only if she gave him what he wanted “in kind”.’

‘She didn’t tell her husband or go to the police?’

‘She didn’t dare because she knew no one would believe her, except perhaps her husband. And she was afraid that Mr Pritchard would hurt him. As you’ve found out, Mr Pritchard’s strong, but it’s not just him. The bailiffs do whatever he tells them to because he pays them. He even boasted to Mrs Jones about the other wives who gave him their rent “in kind”. We used to see some of them in Pontardawe and Swansea on market day. They were all ashamed of what he was doing to them. They used to whisper to one another about it, but they couldn’t stop him from using them.’

Harry didn’t doubt for one minute that Mary was telling the truth. He was appalled by the thought that a man could misuse his position of trust as a rent collector to commit crimes against dozens of women – and to carry on doing so for years – when so many people knew about it. ‘I’m beginning to wish I hurt him more than I did,’ he said feelingly.

‘I knew what he was doing to my mother from the very beginning because I was there when he told her what she had to do if she didn’t want us to get thrown out of the house. And the whole time he talked to her, he looked at me. I was twelve years old. My mother told him she’d do whatever he asked, provided he left me alone and allowed us to stay here. From then on, he used to come here once or twice a month and always when he knew that my father would be in Pontardawe or working in one of the far fields. I looked after David, Martha and Matthew while he took my mother into the stable. Then, one day, my father returned unexpectedly. He’d gone down to buy our goods in Pontardawe but Dolly threw a shoe. He went into the stable and saw … saw … he saw …’

‘The agent raping your mother,’ Harry finished for her, unable to bear the pain in her voice.

‘When I saw my father and Mr Pritchard fighting in the yard I shut Martha and the boys in the front of the house so they wouldn’t see what was going on. My father accused the agent of raping my mother and threatened to go to the police. Mr Pritchard laughed in his face and said he’d never had to force himself on a woman in his life because they all threw themselves at him. That he had trouble choosing which one to have because every tenant’s wife and daughter wanted him.’ She dropped her voice until it was almost inaudible. ‘He said my mother had begged him to make love to her. And it was true. He always made her ask him to take her into the stable, and he would never go until she said please.’

‘That’s horrible. The man’s a sadist. Can’t you see, Mary? The agent didn’t need to beat your mother to get her to ask him to take her into the stable, because she was afraid that if she didn’t, he’d assault you and evict your family. If that doesn’t amount to rape, I don’t know what does.’

‘There was a woman once, on one of the farms. She’d only been married a few weeks. She complained to the police about Mr Pritchard. He said she’d led him on and when he’d done what she wanted him to she’d asked him for money. And the only reason she’d complained to the law was he’d refused to pay her. Wherever she went afterwards, people used to point at her and call her vile names. No one took her side. They were too afraid that they’d be treated the same way if they did. The minister wouldn’t even allow her over the doorstep of the chapel. In the end her husband threw her out. She had nowhere to go except the workhouse. And they sent her off to London to become a maid in a hospital.’

‘That is an appalling story. And the fact that the police didn’t believe her doesn’t make Robert Pritchard innocent. He raped you, your mother and all those other women,’ Harry insisted.

‘But the police wouldn’t see it that way. Just like when that girl complained, they’d believe the agent. He’d tell them that he hadn’t forced himself on any of us and we’d made up stories to blacken his name to try to stop the landlord from evicting us because we couldn’t afford to pay the rent. And then me, my mother and all the others – the police would say we were prostitutes.’

‘You’re victims, Mary.’

‘I wish I could think the way you do,’ she whispered dully.

‘Did your father hang himself the day he fought the agent?’ Harry hated himself for asking, but he had to know.

‘No, a month later. It was horrible. He just stopped talking.’

‘To your mother?’

‘To my mother, me, Davy – everyone. It was as if he wanted to be dead just to get away from my mother because of what the agent had done to her.’ She shuddered at the memory.

‘I doubt he wanted to get away from your mother or you, Mary. I imagine that any man would find it impossible to live with the knowledge that he couldn’t protect his own wife against a rapist.’ Harry felt in his pocket for his cigarettes.

‘After my father – after we buried him, my mother found out that she was having Luke. She didn’t know if he was my father’s baby or the agent’s and when she grew big, Mr Pritchard came here. David had taken Martha and Matthew into Pontardawe to buy our goods. I think the agent must have seen them leave the farm. And that day he dragged me into the barn instead of my mother, he bolted the door on the inside and …’ She screwed her eyes shut. ‘My mother hammered on the door and cried until he opened it. But by then it was too late.’

‘You do know that you could have a child?’

‘He told me he’s too careful to father a bastard on an unmarried girl. The married women are different.’ She finally looked at him. ‘My mother was having Luke, we had the little ones to think of, I didn’t want to … I didn’t … I didn’t … but he would have thrown us out of the house and we had nowhere else to go … and after my mother died, he still threatened to evict us. If he does we’ll have to go to the workhouse and then they’ll separate us and I wouldn’t be able to take care of Davy or the little ones …’ Her voice rose hysterically.

Harry stole closer to her and reached for her hand. He took it into his, and to his relief she didn’t try to pull it away. ‘That day you ran into the reservoir. You were running away from the agent?’

‘Not him, he’d already left, but what he’d done to me,’ she answered in a small voice.

Harry wished she would let him put his arms around her but he sensed that she would find it hard to bear any man to touch more than her hand, not yet, and perhaps not ever again. ‘Does David know what the agent did to your mother – and is doing to you?’

‘No!’ she exclaimed fearfully. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘No, I won’t. But you have to promise me that you won’t allow him to rape you ever again.’

‘But that would mean we’d have to go into the workhouse.’

‘No, it won’t, Mary. I’ll help you,’ he promised recklessly.

‘How can you?’

The grey light that drifted in through the gap at the top of the door had lightened to silver while they’d been talking, and Harry could see her face quite clearly. Her dark eyes looked enormous in her pale, thin face, and the thought occurred to him that he had never seen anyone look so desolate or tortured. His mind groped to assimilate the full horror of her suffering – and what she would continue to endure if he didn’t help her.

But nothing could alter the fact that, far from being innocent, the girl he had been about to propose to had been systematically raped for years by a cruel and callous rent collector.

It was so unjust, so unfair. All the plans he’d made for his own and the Ellises’ future came crashing down. He felt as though he’d been allowed to see everything he’d ever wanted, only to have it snatched away at the last moment. He was only sorry that he hadn’t killed the man when he’d had the chance.

As if she sensed what he was thinking, Mary shrank back within her nightgown making herself even smaller. ‘I told you not to get involved with us, Harry. You can’t help us.’

‘Yes, I can,’ he snapped, disillusionment turning to anger. ‘I’ve never thought much about money, but in this case it can help. I’ll pay off your rent arrears.’

‘They’re over a hundred pounds.’

‘I can afford it.’

‘You’re angry with me, because of what I let Mr Pritchard do to me. You’ll never think of me the same way you did before. I am a -’

‘Don’t say that word,’ he ordered her. ‘And I’m not angry with you. But I am bloody furious with Robert Pritchard and whoever owns this estate for giving a man like him the authority to exploit helpless women. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sworn, but when I think about what you and your father and mother have suffered …’ Harry realized he was frightening her. He took a few moments to light a cigarette and calm himself.

‘Even if you paid off all our debts, it wouldn’t make any difference. We’d only end up owing you money instead of the landlord.’

‘There’d be a great deal of difference. I won’t rape you if you can’t afford to pay me.’

‘I think I’ve known for some time that we can’t afford to carry on living here, not with fewer livestock every season and no help to run the place.’ She wrapped her arms around her knees and sank her head down on to them. ‘It’s hopeless but I wouldn’t accept it. David knew. He tried to tell me that there was no point in trying to carry on, but I wouldn’t admit that he was right.’

‘You’re worn out and no one thinks straight when they’re tired.’ Harry rose stiffly to his feet. His lungs were on fire and the bruises on his arm and back were aching unbearably. ‘Stay here. I’m going to see what Mr Pritchard has to say for himself.’

‘No …’

‘I’ll be careful.’ He pushed open the wooden door, walked outside and looked around the yard. The agent wasn’t there and the trap had disappeared. He ran out on to the road. There was no sign of it in either direction.

‘He’s gone?’ Mary stood shivering in the doorway of the stable when he returned to the yard.

‘Yes. He must have left while we were talking.’

‘Dawn’s broken.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘Father used to say, “A new day, a new beginning”. But it won’t ever be for me again, will it?’

‘You’re a pretty young girl with her whole life ahead of her.’ Harry had said it automatically, meaning to be kind, but when he looked at her he was overwhelmed by the strength of his own love for her. ‘I’m tired, Mary, and I’m going to be busy today. My family are coming down from Pontypridd to see my grandfather, but they’ll be going back late this afternoon. After they’ve gone I’ll drive up here. We’ll talk.’

‘There’s no point -’

‘I say there is,’ he interrupted her. ‘You will talk to me?’

‘If you want me to,’ she answered carelessly.

‘And you won’t do anything silly before then?’ he pressed.

‘Like kill myself?’

‘Like kill yourself,’ he echoed.

‘I have my brothers and sister to think about.’

‘Then carry on thinking about them until I come back, Mary. Together we’ll solve your problems. I promise.’ He bent towards her, intending to kiss her cheek the way he did his sisters, but she backed away and looked up at him.

‘You know all there is to know about me and you’re not disgusted?’ She stared at him incredulously.

‘You’re still you, Mary. The same person you were before the agent made you do things you didn’t want to.’

Tears started into her eyes. He opened his arms and she fell into them. They stood locked together in the yard for as long as it took for the emotion she’d contained for so long to surface.

He led her gently back to the stable, sank to his knees, lifted her on to his lap and rocked her while she cried out all the hurt, anger and bitterness. And the whole time he held her, he fervently hoped that her tears were the kind that healed.

Harry woke with a start. It took him a few moments to recall the events that had led him to the farm and into the stable. He looked around. There was no sign of Mary but the sun had risen and it was light enough to read his wristwatch. The hands pointed to seven o’clock. Something sharp was digging into his leg. He felt in the straw beneath him and retrieved a silver pocket watch. He picked it up and opened it. There was an inscription engraved in the back: ‘For Robert Pritchard in return for ten years of faithful and loyal service, E&G Estates.’

He closed it and pushed it into his pocket before climbing to his feet. There were marks on the wall of the stable and he was trying to decipher them when he heard footsteps cross the yard. Mary Ellis joined him. Her eyes were still shadowed but they were dry, and she was dressed in her patched and faded black skirt and blouse, her hair pinned back by the old-fashioned tortoiseshell pins.

‘I came to see if you were awake. You said that you had to fetch your family from the station.’

‘Not until half past ten. How are you?’ he asked solicitously.

‘Fine,’ she answered in a tone that warned him not to mention what had happened in the night.

‘What are these?’ He indicated the strange grid on the wall.

‘That’s our tally line.’

‘What’s a tally line?’ He ran his fingers over the scratches etched into the stone.

‘My father started it after the Estate bought the farm back from the bank. Because he couldn’t read and write he couldn’t list everything the agent took to pay our rent. So he drew this.’ She stepped closer to him. ‘Those egg-shaped marks with squiggles on the top are live chickens, and those without are the ones the agent took that were plucked and trussed ready for the butcher. These long lines separate the months and at the top is the year. So you can see eight columns of years divided by twelve lines of months. And we’re now in the eight month of the eighth year since we lost the farm. Every mark represents ten animals. Next to the chickens, the ones with little straight lines sticking up are the bullocks and these are the pigs’ snouts, those with eyes are the lambs, those without the fleeces.’

‘So you have a complete record of everything that Robert Pritchard has taken from you to pay the rent?’ Harry asked in excitement, hoping that it might give the Ellises the proof they needed to convince the owner of the Estate that the agent was stealing from them. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Mary and David’s suspicions were correct. And after what the man had done to Mary and all the other women, he’d like to make Robert Pritchard suffer in any way he could.

‘Yes, not that it does us any good because we can’t match it to the writing Mr Pritchard puts in his book because we can’t read.’

‘But I can. And I can write this out for you properly. Why didn’t you tell me that you kept this record?’

‘You didn’t ask. And because we didn’t want to trouble you with our problems.’

‘You’ll explain this to me when I come up this afternoon so I can make a proper account book for you?’

‘If you want me to. The others are all out. David and Matthew have gone to fetch the cows in for milking, and Martha and Luke are looking for eggs in the barn. They’ve eaten, but I could make you breakfast, if you like.’

‘I’d like that very much, thank you.’ He followed her into the kitchen and watched her beat eggs in a bowl and take down a frying pan from the shelf. ‘Do the others know that I fell asleep in the stable?’

‘Yes, they saw your car parked down the road.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘That it broke down in the night and you woke me and asked if you could sleep in the stable until the morning when it would be light enough for you to see to mend it.’

‘You didn’t mention the agent?’ He sat at the table.

Tight-lipped, she shook her head, and he realized she had kept the secret for so long that it was easier for her to blot Robert Pritchard’s visits from her mind than acknowledge they happened – until his presence forced her to do just that.

‘But David did ask me why you came here again in the night, Mr Evans.’

‘I’m Harry, not Mr Evans, so please don’t ever call me that again, and you are Mary.’

‘Were you trying to paint another picture – Harry?’

‘No. I thought you knew I’ve given up painting pictures to take up carpentry,’ he joked.

‘You just thought you’d rescue me again?’ There was no irony in her question.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you. I’d been out.’

‘Dancing in Swansea with Miss Adams, Martha told me.’

‘I had no idea she knew.’ It was a leading question but he had to ask it. ‘Do you mind?’

‘It’s not my place to mind anything that you and Miss Adams do.’ She scraped an ounce of dripping from a bowl and dropped it into the frying pan she’d put on the open hob.

‘I was with her, but I spent most of the evening thinking of you.’

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t know at the time but I do now.’ He choose his words carefully so as not to frighten her. ‘I like you very much, and I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know you better.’

‘And that’s why you decided to visit me in the middle of the night?’

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I came because Swansea was hot, noisy and dirty, like you said. I wanted peace and quiet and I couldn’t think of anywhere more peaceful or quieter than these hills, this farm and the reservoir.’

She tipped the eggs she’d beaten on top of the melted fat and stirred them. Leaving the pan, she went to the table and cut him a slice of bread from the loaf. ‘Tea?’

‘Please.’

She poured two cups and took hers over to the stove.

‘I could take you to a Swansea hotel for dinner and dancing, if you like?’ he suggested lightly.

‘Me?’ She blushed crimson. ‘I can’t dance, I have nothing to wear and I wouldn’t know how to behave in a hotel.’

‘I’ll buy you a dress and teach you to dance. As to how to behave in a hotel, I’m sure you wouldn’t disgrace yourself.’

‘I couldn’t let you buy me a dress.’

‘Yes, you could. It would be a present.’

‘No, Mr … Harry, I couldn’t take an expensive present from a man. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Then if you won’t let me take you dancing how are we going to get to know one another better?’

‘I thought last night would have solved that problem. I’m not worth getting to know.’

‘Yes, you are.’ He straightened the knife and fork and plate she’d laid in front of him.

‘You don’t have to be kind to me.’ She carried the eggs over and scooped them on to his plate.

‘I’m not. And these eggs look perfect.’ He smiled at her, and she blushed again. ‘So, tonight, when I come up for my talk, if you won’t let me take you to Swansea, will you let me take you for a drive in the car?’ he persevered.

‘I can’t leave the little ones.’

‘David would look after them.’

‘He’d want to know what we were doing. He likes you but –’

‘But he’s suspicious of me. In that case, we’ll just sit and talk, here in the kitchen after I’ve given Martha and Matthew their reading lesson.’

‘What about?’

‘Ways to solve your problems – and what the future could be like, if you let it,’ he said softly.

‘I’m afraid that the only future any of us will see is in the workhouse,’ she said bitterly.

‘No. Whatever else the future holds for you and your family, Mary, I promise that none of you will have to go into the workhouse.’

He looked up at her. And for the first time since he had known her, she returned his smile.