The passenger waited patiently to be served. She was of average stature clad in plain, yet immaculate, clothes that covered a formidable figure with round features, presently neutral. Jane's mind was preoccupied. Billy had said not to come to Whitby in his letter, and yet here she stood. Probably out of stubbornness; who was her little brother to tell her what to do?

"A pleasant trip, sir. Yes madam, can I help ye?" the ticket clerk said with barely a breath between customers.

"My brother, Billy - sorry William - works 'ere, on the railway. Is he on duty today? William Blacke's his name." It would be fun to see him in action doing his train business. He was never interested in those machines as a child. Funny how that all works out.

"Oh Bill. He's yer brother? Well, no. He's off today. Recovering from a double shift. He'll likely be at 'ome."

"And where would that be?" Jane asked "Bill didn't give me his latest address. Would you mind?"

"X Osway Street."

"Could you direct me please?"

Osway was a fair hike, but Jane didn't mind. She was made of tougher stuff; she had once clouted a drunken coal miner in need of stitches who had gotten grabby, and grappled with a lunatic having an episode in the ward. As she walked, her thoughts turned to family. What sort of man had her Billy become? Had he married someone decent or would she get on with the woman like a devil and prayer? Jane now had nieces and nephews, a delight for a woman without children of her own. She had missed their true youth, so what sort of people were they growing in to?

On his free day he just wanted to rest. Rest and go to the pub. But Lottie wouldn't let him go as often as he'd like, and now she had sent him out on an errand as well, so even on his free day he was put to work. But he knew better than to argue with her, and so he had just sulked on his way to the butcher's, and he was sulking a little less on his way back.

There was a woman approaching their door that he hadn't seen before. One of Lottie's friends? She was too well dressed to be one of her childhood friends from the Cragg, but he didn't recognize her from their own neighbourhood either. And yet... "Afternoon, ma'm. Are ye lookin' for Lottie?" he spoke up as he approached.

Jane slowed at the approach of the older man and his questions. She was a woman alone in a strange town, so had to take care. There were stories in the papers back in North Shields of stranglers and other evil men who preyed on women. Indeed, her Billy fell in with such people years ago... Who was Lottie? She didn't know anyone called Lottie. The older man looked a gruff sort with a imposing build, bushy mustache, wearing dusty, worn clothes. A real workaday type, to be avoided by women like Jane.

"No, thank you. I don't answer questions from strangers who smell like a like an evenin' at the Red Lion."

What in the name of... He did not smell of the pub! He hadn't even gone today! ... Although he had gone yesterday and he now wondered if he should have changed clothes.

Her accent was more northern, something like what he had grown up with. People up there were ruder, he told himself bitterly.

"Suit yerself. Sorry for offering," he grumbled, an he made his way to his door, digging in his pocket for the key.

The stranger shuffled on and Jane let out a dismissive snort of air at his passing. She stood on the pavement and scanned the numbers on some of the front doors of Osway Street. Some were nailed smartly and burnished brightly, others were faded, or missing digits entirely, forcing visitors to do rudimentary mathematics. Jane did not have to do too much thinking to arrive at X Osway Street.

Bill had gone inside by this time. "Lottie!" he called. No reply. Probably out gossiping with one of the neighbours while he was doing all the work. At least it meant she couldn't give him another errand. He stored the meat away.

Perhaps he'd take a nap.

Jane knocked.

Or perhaps not...

Bill moved back into the hall and opened the door. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh... Smell o' t' Red Lion didn't scare ye off then?" He did feel very vindicated right now. "Lottie's out."

Great! It was this gormless oaf again. Had she got the wrong house? No. Fine. If he wanted spikey, Jane would happily oblige.

"Since yer home in the middle of te day, ye must be the washer woman; I'm lookin' fer a real man, William Blacke. Is he in?"

Wow, yeah... definitely from his hometown. "Ye're talkin' to 'im. What do ye want?"