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months, could read and write simple sentences. She never forgot that moment of enlightenment that compensated for the painful humiliation she had undergone on her first day, when nervous but avid to learn she had been the first pupil to arrive on a bright morning in May, wearing a new smocked cotton gown that Miss Glover had given her, and a pair of wooden pattens on her feet.
    Mrs Bryers had greeted her somewhat doubtfully, and sent her to sit by herself at the back. No child from the Ash-Pits had ever attended the school, and Mrs Bryers thought that Miss Glover had been unwise to bring such an awkward, uncouth girl to sit with her betters. When the others arrived, they looked askance at the new scholar and chattered among themselves.
    Susan curtsied to Edward Calthorpe’s sisters. ‘Good day to ye,’ she said carefully. ‘If ye please, Oi be Susan Lucket an’ startin’ school today.’
    The only response was a long, unfriendly stare from several pairs of haughty female eyes. They then turned away and put their heads together, glancing in her direction as they whispered and tut-tutted. When Mrs Bryers rang the handbell that summoned them all to assemble and repeat the Lord’s Prayer, Susan could see the Calthorpe sisters and Rosa Hansford, still shaking their heads and muttering behind their hands.
    Mrs Bryers then read Psalm 19 aloud, and Susan listened intently to its majestic cadences about the vastness of Creation and the timelessness of Eternity; but she soon became aware of a rustling and tittering among the girls, a stifled laugh and heaving shoulders; then Selina exploded in a fit of giggling, and Susan saw that Rosa was holding her nose and glancing towards Susan in a meaningful way.
    The awful truth was clear:
she
was the object of their mockery. Nobody wanted to sit near to her because she was from the Ash-Pits. And she smelled.
    Other children saw Rosa holding her nose, and the laughter spread. It ceased when Mrs Bryers looked up with a frown, but Susan heard no more of the psalm; she flushed scarlet, and for one moment was tempted to run out of the school and never return.
    Only for a moment, though, for she was here to learn all she could, whether welcomed or cold-shouldered. How else might she raise herself from the Ash-Pits and the dreadful thing she regularly had to endure? It was something these stupid, cosseted girls could not possibly imagine, and set her apart from them far more than any unfriendliness on their part.
    She straightened her shoulders and set her mouth in a determined line: even as she smarted under their ridicule, she vowed that nothing, absolutely
nothing
, would prevent her from learning to read and write as well as the best of them.
    So on that first miserable morning Susan learned and memorised the alphabet from A to Z, a fact that Mrs Bryers did not fail to notice. She made no further attempt to speak to her fellow scholars, but sat bowed over her slate until the midday break when the others went out to play at the back of the school and eat the bread and cheese they had brought with them.
    ‘Don’t you want to go outside too, Susan?’
    ‘No, thank ’ee, Mrs Bryers.’
    ‘Have you brought anything to eat?’
    ‘No, thank ’ee, Mrs Bryers.’
    The teacher retired to her own private parlour, leaving Susan alone in the classroom, but not for long. A tall, rather gawky girl with a chipped front tooth slipped in quietly.
    ‘Have some o’ this barley bread, Susan. It’s too much f’r Sally and me.’
    Susan looked up to see Marianne, the younger of the two Bennett girls and something of a scatterbrain. It was her forgotten needlework bag that had begun the chain of events that had brought Susan here today.
    ‘Thank ’ee, Miss Marianne, that be good o’ ye,’ she said, but added quickly, ‘’Ee don’t ha’ to stay in here wi’ me. Oi got a lot o’ learnin’ to do.’
    For she had already discovered there was more to education than reading and writing; there were