Lottie wrung her hands together and shoved them into her lap in frustration.

"E's put a rod across our backs, across his own, and this poor girl's! We'll be the laughing stock of Whitby. Oh God, Ben Bloody Ward'll come over 'ere like a cat with the prize pilchard. Speakin' o pilchards.. our boy Joe. I'd expect this from John, but I thought our Joe was better."