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shall make enquiries for you as I go about my work.’
    She was filled with gratitude, thanking him profusely. Even so it took a minute or two before he persuaded her to remove the offending blouse.
    ‘Perhaps you have money to pay for my assistance, instead?’ he queried, when she hesitated. ‘Or I could always call the Poor Law Guardians.’ He got up as if to go, noting with satisfaction the way fear glinted in her eyes.
    ‘No, no.’ Kate Hughes knew when she was bested.
    But then women rarely put up any sort of resistance once they saw he was not a man to be trifled with. Joshua did not believe in asking for anything to which he was not entitled, and the body of a woman was a pleasure sent by God to satisfy a man’s natural needs. He did not suggest they venture upstairs, for who knew what horrors may lurk in the dark recesses of her bedroom? The rag rug in front of the mean fire served just as well and her breasts were every bit as soft and yielding as he had hoped. Nor did he trouble to remove the grey skirt, simply lifted it, checked she was wearing no drawers, was reasonably clean, and got on with it. She cried out only once when he entered her.
    After that, he promised to let her know the moment he heard of anything suitable.
    ‘I expect I shall see you at chapel on Sunday?’
    Kate, seeming too stunned by his attentions to speak, managed only a nod as she stared at him, wild-eyed.
    He dusted down his jacket. ‘I shall call again, when I have news.’ And satisfied with his afternoon’s efforts, he departed, not forgetting to leave one of his leaflets on her kitchen table. As a mere woman she would have no vote or say in union matters, but he suggested she may care to pass it on to someone who had. Every little helped.

    Polly was worn out but happy. She’d spent days cleaning what had already been cleaned by the fumigation men, as if determined to reclaim her own home.
    The stink had been everywhere. Even when she laid her weary head on her pillow at night, she felt as if she too were being gassed. ‘I can’t breathe, Mam,’ Benny had complained, and Lucy’s lovely face had run with tears from the fumes.
    So she’d washed their only pair of well-darned sheets, the blankets and pillow-cases, plus their nightdresses, vests and pants, which were all covered with the evil-smelling powder. It had taken two full days of possing and scrubbing, mangling and drying, and another to press them all with the flat irons she’d heated on the range.
    At least no damage had been done. Nothing had been pinched, and each morning when she came into the kitchen to riddle the fire and put on the kettle, it was a delight to find no sign of a blackjack.
    After her assault on the beds, Polly swept the horse-hair sofa, beat the rag rugs on the line in the yard, shamed by the amount of dust and powder that came out of them, and black-leaded the fire range till she could see her face in it. Then she scrubbed the rough deal table with bleach and washing soda, a lethal mixture which would either clean it or rot it. Then she gave the same treatment to the stone-flagged floor till any remaining bugs would surely call it a day.
    Finally she polished the mahogany sideboard that took pride of place in the small front parlour. This was their most treasured possession, being the first item of furniture they’d bought when they married. It had taken two years to save up for it and not a day went by without Polly giving it a rub of her duster. The only other items in the parlour, which was used for special family occasions, was a small leather buffet, a clean new rug and Matthew’s armchair. They’d not done too badly, she decided, considering they’d started with nothing, and wasn’t she proud enough of her little house?
    This thought brought a smile to her face now as she donkey-stoned her doorstep, seeing many another woman doing the self-same thing or cleaning their mucky windows, as if they didn’t know they’d be filthy again