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“You have to pick oakum.”
    Marie looked at Daphne enquiringly. “It’s rope that has to be unpicked inch by inch, but as it’s tarred and knotted it rips the fingers to pieces.”
    Marie glanced at Sal’s hands, but they were so dirty it was difficult to see what its effect had been.
    Aware of her glance, the girl said, “It’s impossible to keep neat and clean when there’s nowhere to wash and no money for clothes. It was different when I was working. I used to work at Leyland’s, the department store. I was one of their best seamstresses.”
    Marie was too astonished to speak for a moment. She remembered the young women who had served her in the store when she’d visited with Isabelle Minton. “Why did you leave?”
    Sal looked away, so Daphne answered for her. “The owner’s son made advances that Sal rejected. Her work soon began to be criticised and she was eventually asked to leave. There was no appeal.”
    For the first time, Marie noticed that Sal was extremely pretty. All she had initially registered was the sorry figure. “That’s dreadful.”
    “A young woman on her own is seen as fair game,” Sal murmured.
    “Wasn’t there anyone you could turn to?” Marie asked.
    “No.”
    “No other work?”
    “The choice is limited without any references – and, anyway, how do you live while you look?” Her eyes were a deep blue, Marie noticed. “A few weeks, even a few days, living in a workhouse turns you into scum and then no one sees any good in you. All they see is the dirt and the rags.”
    Marie flushed, remembering the two girls at the convent. She’d been guilty of that. She’d paid them no attention and given no thought to their feelings, until she was threatened with the same fate.
    Daphne turned to her. “You see, that’s what could happen to the factory women if the march fails and they lose their jobs. They’re decent, respectable women whose families can’t support them. If they fall, who is going to catch them?”
    “I don’t know,” Marie murmured. She’d been lucky – she had had Sister Grace to catch her.
    “Thanks for the tea,” Sal said. “I’d better get on.”
    Marie murmured a goodbye and her thoughts turned to her own future. She hadn’t heard anything further from Mr Pickard.
    When Daphne returned from seeing her visitor out, Marie could see she was angry. “And she’s just one of the many, Marie, who struggle just to survive. Heaven help anyone who makes a mistake, because this world is an unforgiving place. No one gives any thought to those who fall on hard times. It’s a thin line that divides those who fall and those who don’t – anyone of us can fall foul of it.”
    “Yes.” Marie understood that only too well.
    “Let’s leave the banners for today, shall we?” Daphne pushed aside the paint. “I don’t feel like doing it, do you?”
    Marie shook her head. “Not really.”
    “I don’t know if I’m helping or harming the women by organising this march. I only know things can’t be left as they are.”
    They sat side by side in the backroom of the shop, staring bleakly into space. Neither of them were sure of the answer.
    *
    When Marie arrived back at Devonshire Place in the afternoon, she was still lost in thought and almost bumped into the housekeeper in the hallway.
    “Mr Pickard, miss. He’s in the front parlour with Mr Geoffrey. He told me to tell you to go straight in.”
    Marie could hear Geoffrey’s voice through the closed door. “So what do I gain from it?” he was saying. “You’re expecting a lot from me.”
    She couldn’t hear Mr Pickard’s reply. She knocked.
    “Yes?” Geoffrey called out.
    “It’s Marie,” she called back. “Mr Pickard asked to see me.”
    There was a pause and then Geoffrey came out. He nodded towards the room. “He’s in there,” he said, pushing past her.
    She could see the solicitor standing with one foot on the fireplace, his round, pink face was a deep shade of puce. Had he discovered