Perhaps there was already an seed of regret when he saw his son flung sideways by the blow. But stubbornness made up for it. "Don't talk to me like that!" he shouted, but there was a high pitch in his voice.

So this was actually happening? Father and son having it out, bare knuckle, no Queensbury rules here. Joe staggered slightly and shook his head to clear his thoughts before glowering at his father. He wasn't in the mood to chat. Joe threw himself at his old man, intending to catch him at the waist and bring him down, but that opening shot must have rattled his brain more than he thought and he just sailed right by his opponent.

William turned, a little surprised - and concerned. "Joe!" Had that been meant as an attack?

Some people of Oswy street has left their windows and were now peeking out through opened doors. Bill was as of yet unaware of them.

Lottie had heard the commotion from the hall and had sprung into action, at her core she was still a fisherlass. The rolling pin was sturdy and she brought it down with swift and merciless judgement upon her son's back. To hell with decorum.

"That's enough! If yer in a fightin' mood, fight me! I'll pound yer so flat ye'll think it's Shrove Tuesday!" She commanded. Large powerful hands grabbed her son's collar and yanked hard.

"Inside. Both Of Ye! Now!" She commanded. Brawling in the street! God! the neighbours will be talking for a month. They might have to move to Teeside.

Bill flinched when Lottie got involved and he was glad that he was not the main target of her anger. He looked around and suddenly became aware of the audience. God.

And so he gladly complied, returned to the house and sank down on a chair in the kitchen. The shattered cup still lay in a corner. What a mess this was.

He didn't even glare at Joe.

Joe couldn't say exactly whether he had been pushed or thrown inside the house, but the slamming of the front door was definite enough. It had been many years since his mother had been this angry. He stumbled to his former chair and slumped into a literal painful silence for he hurt in the front as well as the back.

CW: Racism

The throwing of offspring and slamming of doors had been very cathartic in the moment. But, in the moments that followed Lottie became aware of just how she had failed as a mother, and ergo as a human, because what else was there to define her in this age? The list was growing longer:

1) She'd failed Charlie because her firstborn was long dead
2) She'd failed Ruth because her eldest had not heeded Lottie's motherly advice and gotten pregnant with a rake
3) She'd failed Joe, because he did not know his station and was busy dragging their reputations and that of the Carrington girl through the mud. Obviously.
4) She'd failed young Kate, raising her in the middle of this chaos. Would her bright star be dimmed by all this drama?
5) She couldn't think of a reason that she had failed John yet. Not unless he'd gone and married an Indian girl.
6) She failed as a wife because Bill didn't really love her anymore.

Bill glanced at Lottie. She didn't look angry anymore, yet that only made his spirits sink further. He looked at Joe. He could see a bruise he had struck the boy and felt rather sick with himself. It wasn't like he had never laid a hand on the boy when he was younger and asking for it, but he had never punched him. He had half a mind to get up and go to the pub and forget all of this. Then Joe's words rang in his ears and he felt even worse.

He looked at the table in silence. Neither his wife nor son seemed in the mood or have the courage to speak. "We'll have to go talk to the Carringtons and sort this out..." he finally said quietly.

"Yes, we'll 'ave to, I think." Lottie said. Her tone was distant, as if her mind were not entirely present.

Joe sat at the table. He was sore, sorry, and at the same time filled with equal parts fear and excitement about the next steps he had to take to retrieve his beloved.

"Alright. If I 'ave to go, I'll go meself."