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needn’t look like that. Smile. Think of the money. I’ll see you right. You’d like a new dress, wouldn’t you? Or some new boots? Course you would. So you shall. All you got to do is be a bit more friendly. Have them eating out of your hand you will.’
    Shaking her head Veryan turned to the door but found her way blocked by a swaying figure. She moved to one side. He did the same. She took a step the other way and he followed. She saw the beer in his nearly full mug slop over one dirt-engrained hand. As she glanced up he grinned, revealing a mouthful of decaying teeth.
    ‘Here, look at Ned,’ Nipper shouted. ‘He’s dancing.’
    ‘He cannae dance,’ Mac scoffed, his accent broad Glaswegian. ‘Not wi’ two left feet.’
    Aware of men turning to look, Veryan felt heat flood her face. She swallowed then spoke with quiet firmness. ‘Let me pass.’
    He blinked, his face slackening in surprise. As he hesitated, one of the others said something she didn’t catch, causing a burst of laughter. Her tormentor grinned.
    ‘Hark at the madam ,’ he mocked. ‘Woss it worth, then?’ Leering, he reached for her. She reacted instinctively, pushing him hard in the chest. Eyes wide with surprise he stumbled backwards and crashed against the door. The mug flew from his hand, bounced on the earth floor, and rolled to a stop among the feet of the nearest men.
    ‘Hey! Tha’s my beer. I paid for that beer.’ As Veryan tried to slip past him he seized her arm, frowning. ‘You owe me for that. I reckon –’ He belched loudly and grinned. ‘I reckon you owe me a kiss.’ He pulled her towards him.
    Deafened by the chorus of whistles and catcalls, and the thud of benches overturning as the men scrambled for a better view, Veryan struggled desperately, warned by some sixth sense not to scream. Wrenching free she lunged for the door but he was surprisingly quick and snatched at her blouse. Weakened by age and too many washes, the faded material tore.
    At the sharp dry sound the men fell silent. Instantly the atmosphere changed. What had been merely a rough game became suddenly dangerous. Clutching the ripped material to her breast, Veryan looked round wildly at Queenie.
    Enthroned in her armchair, her expression an odd mix of shame and excitement, the old woman held out the mug, her hand weaving unsteadily. ‘Have a swallow, girl. You might as well get used to it.
    Veryan stared at her, not believing. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You can’t let – I won’t – not –’
    ‘Look, it’s the way things are. Time you faced up to –’
    ‘ No!’ Veryan’s scream held all the hurt and fury of ten lonely frightened years. The men froze. But only for a moment. No longer individuals they were now a pack.
    ‘Go on, Ned, she owes you for that beer.’
    ‘I reckon she owes me too.’
    ‘And me.’
    They edged towards her. She could hear them breathing. Holding her blouse together with one hand, she fumbled with the other among the folds of her skirt, found the pocket. ‘Stay away.’ Despite her trembling it was a warning, not a plea. Her fingers tightened round the knife’s handle.
    ‘Listen to her,’ one of them sniggered.
    ‘I like ’em with a bit of spark.’
    ‘Ach, she’ll nae be any fun. I’d rather go to Miz Treneery’s.’
    ‘There’s always a bleddy queue on pay days. An’ Ned id’n in the mood to wait.’
    ‘I reckon she needs tamin’.’
    ‘She’ll be a easier ride once she’ve been broke.’
    Her eyes fixed on the gypsy; Veryan tried to ignore the comments and suggestions that were becoming coarser by the second.
    Glassy-eyed, a half-smile on his slack mouth, Ned made a lunge. She jerked backwards, filled with a rage as bright and sharp as summer lightning.
    It smothered her terror and infused her with strength. Whipping out the knife she held it in front of her, the blade pointing upwards.
    ‘Stay away,’ she repeated. ‘Leave me alone.’
    There was a moment’s total