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wedding would correct everything. She’d mingle in the best Darlington society, for Aaron’s bride was the daughter of a well-to-do merchant.
    Her lighter spirits made her sorry for being sharp earlier. “Will you call me Prudence, Hetty? And would you rather I call you Hesther?”
    The young woman laughed. “Don’t ye go doing that, miss. I mean, Prudence. I’d not know who ye meant.”
    She was blushing. Was it wrong to suggest such intimacy? “If you’d rather not . . .”
    “Nay, I’m ’appy to be ’etty.” Then she giggled. “ ’appy to be ’etty!”
    A wife, a mother of two, and still four years younger than Prudence’s twenty-six and able to giggle like a girl.
    Hetty cocked her head. “Sorry if ye don’t like me mentioning this, Prudence, but yer ’ands are rough for a lady. Can I give you some of me cream?”
    “Cream?”
    “Mother makes it. Fleece oil and ’erbs, mostly. A bit smelly-like, but it softens rough skin right well.”
    “You already give me enough for the little I do.”
    “This is just friendly-like. If that’s not presuming too far.”
    When it was put like that, Prudence couldn’t refuse, and she noticed that Hetty’s hands were in better condition than her own. Hetty did a great deal more rough work.
    “No, of course not.”
    Hetty beamed. “I’ll go and get ye some right now.”
    When she’d gone, Prudence smiled with new hope.
    The wedding. Her doorway to a better life. When she went to Darlington for that, there’d be no point in returning here. Her life would change overnight.
    She’d need a new gown, more than one, but probably Aaron truly was still short of money.
    As soon as Hetty brought the pot of cream and left again, Prudence went upstairs to take her one good gown out of the wooden chest where it lay carefully folded in muslin among herbs. She’d plunged all her other gowns into a black dye bath to provide mourning, but held this blue one back.
    Her one good gown, but four years old.
    She spread it on her bed and considered it. She’d worn it only for church and for Aaron’s rare visits, so it was fairly well preserved. The hem was worn, but if she turned it up just a little that would be hidden. She held it to the light of the small window. The cloth was faded from the bright blue it had once been, but perhaps that wouldn’t be obvious, and the muted color was more suitable for mourning. It would be less than six months since Mother’s death.
    She should stay in black, but the blue gown was plain, and clearly Aaron thought their time of mourning was past. Could she even add some pretty trimming? Braid, beads, and ribbons were expensive, but if she bought thread, she could embroider the gown. Black and another shade of blue.
    Even thread and good needles cost money, however.
    She took out the shillings, considering them as if they were talismans. Then she nodded, put on her shawl, and went out to the shops.
     
    Three weeks later, Prudence stormed out of her back door and in through the open one next door. It was the first time she’d entered Hetty’s house, and she would never have imagined doing so uninvited, but she had to speak to someone.
    Hetty was on her knees attacking a big tub of some sort of laundry. She blinked up at Prudence and then began to rise.
    “No, don’t . . .” Prudence said, but it was all wrong to have Hetty on her knees. “I mean, please, if you want. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just barged in.”
    Hetty was already standing, wiping her hands on her apron. “Course you should. The blankets can soak.”
    “Blankets.”
    “Nice warm, windy day. Good for the blankets’ annual wash. Is something up, luv?”
    That was still new to Prudence, Hetty’s use of the casual “love.” It seemed to suck her deeper into White Rose Yard, but she’d been so sure she’d soon leave that it hadn’t mattered.
    She sat on one of the stools at the plain table. There was only one chair and she knew that would be for Will, the man