‘I meant all’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘She’s all right, in’t she? So nothing happened.’

‘From the look on Mr Knyvet’s face I’d say something happened all right. And maybe that something will end in a proposal if our miss plays her cards right.’

‘Don’t be so common, Becky.’ Ellen’s voice rang out across the courtyard and Becky jumped and swung round, her face a mix of annoyance and guilt.

‘What? It’s a free country, ain’t it?’

‘Not while you’re in employment under Mrs Ramsbottom. If she heard you talking like that . . . not to mention flirting with the stable-hands.’ She shot a look at Luke.

‘You’re one to talk.’ Becky tossed her head. ‘Anyhow, it’s Wednesday. I’m on me afternoon off. So’s Luke.’ She turned back to Luke. ‘What about it then, Luke? When I’ve changed my apron, d’you fancy a stroll across the park? Show the swells we can enjoy a sunny afternoon as good as them?’

Afternoon off. The relief washed over him like a wave. The chance to get away from all this. Away from it all.

‘I can’t,’ he found himself saying. ‘I’ve to get back to my uncle’s. Family business.’

‘All the way to Spitalfields?’ Becky’s lips made a pout. ‘Are you sure? You don’t want to waste your afternoon traipsing across London and back.’

‘I have to. What time have I got to be back?’

‘The curfew’s nine o’clock.’ Ellen gave a marked glance up at the stable clock, which showed three already. ‘And Mr James locks up the kitchen door at ten past, sharp, so woe betide any maids who’re late. But the stable’s got its own entrance.’

‘So what does that mean?’ Luke asked impatiently.

‘It means, don’t get caught.’ Ellen raised one eyebrow.

Luke was already shrugging into his coat.

‘Ain’t you going to scrape your boots and brush the straw off yerself?’ Becky asked, shocked. Luke shook his head. Time enough for that when he got to the forge – and William wouldn’t care anyway.

‘No. I’m off. Tell Mrs Ramsbottom I’ll not be back for supper.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Becky said, her face a little doleful as Luke walked out of the stable yard and into the Knightsbridge throng without a backward glance.

It was getting dark as he finally made his way into Spitalfields. The market was long shut up, but there were small children scavenging in the piles of rubbish for scraps to take home for their dinner and the beggar men were huddled around piles of burning packing to keep warm. The sky had stayed clear and now the night was turning cold, with a bite to it like a bad-tempered dog.

Luke’s breath was white in the air and he clapped his arms around himself as he walked, to try to keep from shivering. He wished he hadn’t left his muffler in the room above the stable.

As he passed the Cock Tavern the door flung open and a figure came stumbling out into the road, nearly hitting Luke full in the chest before sprawling on his knees in the road.

‘And stay out, you good-for-nothing drunkard!’ the landlord yelled. Then he slammed the door shut, leaving Luke to help the man to his feet.

It was Nick Sykes, Minna’s dad. He looked up at Luke with bleary eyes.

‘Got a penny, mister?’

Luke turned his face away from his reeking breath and tried not to breathe in.

‘No,’ he said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. If he’d had money to spare it would be for Minna, not for her worthless dad to spend on more rot-gut gin.

‘Ha’penny then, kind mister?’ Nick Sykes whined. There was no trace of recognition in his slumped, blotchy face.

‘I said, no,’ Luke snarled. He let go of Sykes’s jacket and the man stumbled to the ground. Luke wiped his hands against his shirt and carried on, into the cold night.

He heard the forge before he saw it, the clear bell-like ring of William’s hammer on hot metal. And then he saw the smoke and sparks from the chimney disappearing into the night sky.

Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward. The words came to him unbidden and he shivered as he turned the corner into the lane.

Even on this cold night the door to the forge stood open, trying to relieve the intense heat inside. But Luke could have crawled inside and shut the door and lain like a salamander, soaking up the good, clean fiery heat of the force and the fire, the heat and the roar of the bellow and the clang of the hammer driving out all the hatred and fear in his heart.

He walked the last few yards across the cobbles, thinking about whether William would be glad to see him, and what he would say when he was asked about his task and how he was faring.

And then, without warning, there was a cracking sound and something huge and heavy flew through the air, just missing his head, and smacked into the wall of the alley with a sound like a thunderclap.

There was silence from the forge and then the sound of William swearing, long and low. He came out into the yard, wiping his hands on his leather apron. His face was full of weary irritation – and then he saw Luke and it changed to a kind of blank surprise and then, just as swiftly, a huge smile.

‘Luke!’ He lumbered across the cobbles to clap him on the back. ‘Luke, lad! Is it done?’

‘No.’ Luke shook his head, and his uncle’s face fell a little. ‘No, it’s just my afternoon off.’

‘Well, I’m right glad to see you, lad. But is it wise to leave so soon, do you think? The full moon’s halfway gone.’

‘I know!’ Luke snapped angrily. And then he felt wretched for taking his fury out on William. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle. I know. I know I’ve not got much time, but I couldn’t take it one more day. It’s all, it’s just . . .’ He stopped, horrified to find treacherous tears rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. He turned away, pretending to cough.

‘Never mind,’ William said kindly. ‘Never mind, lad. I’ve finished for the day anyway. That were my good hammer flew past your head just then.’ He bent and picked it up from the lane, looking at it with exasperation. ‘The shaft just split clean off in my hand.’

‘How did that happen?’ Luke asked, more as a way to swallow away the tears than for really wanting to know. His uncle gave a short laugh.

‘Who knows. It just went – a sign I’ve been working too long, I dare say. Never work hot metal when you’re tired, or you’ll end up burnt, that’s what I’ve always said, and it’s a good motto. But without you here it’s a struggle to get through the work. I won’t deny I’ll be right glad to see you back, Luke.’ He stood for a moment, the broken hammer loose in his hand, and then clapped Luke on the back again, his face full of weary smiles.

‘Come on, lad. Let’s get some supper into both of us. You look half clemmed yourself. Ain’t they feeding you at that place?’

For a long time there were no words, just Luke and William side by side at the table, spooning the good hot broth into their mouths and tearing off hunks of bread to dip into the soup. At last, when his spoon had scraped the bowl clean for the second time, Luke spoke.

‘I saw Nick Sykes being chucked out the Cock earlier. How’s Minna?’

‘Bad.’ William wiped out his bowl with a piece of bread. His face was troubled. ‘She’s got laid off at the dairy.’

‘Laid off?’ Luke put down his spoon. ‘What happened?’

‘Her horse is sick. She can’t do the round without Bess. I told her she should have sold the nag while the going was good. Now she’s stuck with a sick horse and no money to pay for its keep.’

‘What’ll she do?’

‘Lord knows. I’m afraid it’ll be the streets. Or the match factories. I don’t know which is worse for a young girl like her.’

Luke thought of it, chewing mechanically on a mouthful of bread that seemed suddenly dry and tasteless as chalk. He thought of Phoebe and Miriam touting themselves outside the Cock, and the idea of Minna dressed in scarlet petticoats, selling herself to any passing stranger for a few pennies, made him flush hot with rage. But William was right – what was the alternative? The match factories: where the young girls worked hour after hour after hour, until their faces rotted from the phosphorus and they died in agonies, their brains eaten away by the dreaded phossy jaw, unable even to speak.

‘Come on, lad, don’t take on.’ William was watching his face. ‘Bess has been sick before, she’ll pull through. Anyway, that’s not what was eating you before this, was it?’

‘What d’you mean?’ Luke swallowed the dry bread and kept his eyes on his plate, afraid of what he might see reflected back at him in William’s gaze.

‘Whatever brought you back here. It’s not Minna that’s been troubling you since you walked through that door, you didn’t know about her until ten minutes ago. What is it, lad? You look like a dog that’s been whipped.’

‘I . . .’ Suddenly it was a relief to let it out and the words came tumbling. ‘Oh God, Uncle, I tried to do it. I weakened the buckle on her girth and it snapped, but she wasn’t going fast enough. She fell, but she wasn’t killed, or even hurt bad. I risked everything and I screwed it up like a fool.’ He put his fist against his forehead, grinding the knuckles against bone.

‘Hey, hey.’ William put his hand on Luke’s arm. ‘Don’t take on. It was a first attempt. There’ll be others.’

There’ll be others.

Yes. He would try again. He would have to try again.

He swallowed.

‘I didn’t think . . . I didn’t know . . .’

‘What?’

But how could he say it? That he didn’t think she would be a girl? He didn’t know she would have red hair that twined in curls at the nape of her neck? That he didn’t think she would have a dusting of nutmeg freckles across her nose, or that her eyes would be golden-brown, or her wrist small enough to encompass with his hand?