Emma walked away from the Town Hall, glancing up at other structures and thinking: They are only buildings after all, filled with people just like you. She immediately corrected herself. No, not like you, Emma Harte. You are different. And you will be very different. You will be somebody of importance one day, and so fervently did she believe this it sustained her, fortified her courage, and spurred her on.

She ventured into a few more stores, only to be told the same thing time and again-no vacancies. Sighing to herself, she walked along Boar Lane, occasionally pausing to gaze into some of the windows, continually fascinated by the array of finery on display: dresses and bonnets, shoes, reticules and jewellery, furniture and ornaments, and so many other necessities as well as luxuries. And as she viewed these elegant establishments, her Plan with a capital P to make her fortune began to evolve. Always a potent idea, it had hitherto been vague, nebulous, undefined. Now suddenly she knew with great certainty what she would eventually do-what the Plan with a capital P would be. She would have a shop. Her own shop. A shop selling those essentials which people needed in their daily lives. That was it. Trade! She would go into trade. Obviously it would have to be a small shop at first. But it would grow. She would ensure that. She became excited. She would have more than one shop, two, maybe three, and she would be rich. Buoyed up by this idea, she increased her pace, propelled by her decision. Her perspicacious, inventive, and fertile brain raced, planning and scheming for the future tirelessly, as it always would.

Leeds was then, and still is, a lusty and vital city, and the streets on this busy Friday were, as usual, crowded with people rushing about their business. Tram-cars rumbled out from the Corn Exchange to all parts of the town and outlying districts. Fine carriages with prancing horses carried elegant ladies and gentlemen of distinction to their destinations. Prosperity, that sense of self-help and independence, nonconformity, hardheaded Yorkshire shrewdness and industriousness, were endemic, were communicated most vibrantly to Emma, so that she was instantly infected. And the rhythm and power of the city only served to consolidate and buttress these very same characteristics so intrinsic in her, for with her energy, tenacity, and zest, her obstinate will and driving ambition, she was, without knowing it, the very embodiment of Leeds. This was undoubtedly the place for her. She had always felt that to be true and now she was absolutely convinced.

She made her way decisively to Leeds Market in Kirkgate, an enormous, sprawling covered hall composed of an incredible conglomeration of stalls selling all manner of merchandise imaginable-pots and pans, kitchen utensils, china, fabrics, clothes, foodstuffs to be bought and taken home or eaten there, including jellied eels, meat pies, mussels, cockles, cartloads of fruit, fancy cakes, and toffee apples. She stopped at the Marks and Spencer Penny Bazaar, her attention riveted on the sign: Don’t ask the price, it’s a penny! Her eyes roved over the goods on display, so easy to view, open to inspection, so well organized in categories and so cheaply priced. She tucked the information at the back of her mind, her eyes keenly thoughtful. The idea of this Penny Bazaar is simple, yet it is exceedingly clever, she said to herself. Emma lingered for a moment longer, inspecting the goods, which included almost everything from wax candles and cleaning products to toys, stationery, and haberdashery, and then, still reflecting about the bazaar, she moved on. It was well turned two o’clock and she was conscious of a growing hunger gnawing at her. She bought a plate of winkles and mussels from the fishman’s stall, lavished them with vinegar and pepper, ate them with her fingers, dried her hands on her handkerchief, and set out for North Street, where the tailoring shops were located. That morning one of the salesgirls in a dress shop in Thornton’s Arcade had suggested she try her luck there. ‘But go when it’s daylight. It’s a bit of a tough neighbourhood,’ the girl had cautioned.

It was a boiling hot day. The sky was sullen and there seemed to be no air in the muggy, crowded streets. Emma fanned her face and opened the collar of her green cotton dress, feeling hot and overcome by the intense heat bouncing up in waves from the pavement. She leaned against a building in the shade, and when she was a little cooler she set out again. She had to find a job to support herself until the baby was born. After that she would work night and day if necessary, to get the money for the first shop. She smiled and with a degree of unfamiliar exultation. Her tired feet were forgotten, the exhaustion dissipated, and she stepped out surely and with confidence, secure in the knowledge that she would succeed. She had no alternative. She could not afford to fail.

Before long, following the salesgirl’s instructions, she was entering North Street. The tailoring shops, in reality small factories, were not too difficult to find, their names being clearly indicated on the outside. Three sorties into three shops and three turndowns. ‘Try Cohen’s,’ one of the men in the last workshop called after her. ‘It’s in a side alley, off the top of North Street.’ Emma thanked him and left. She found Cohen’s within minutes, but again was told, ‘Sorry, luv, no openings.’ She paused at the end of this alley and looked back down North Street. She decided to keep walking straight ahead until she came to York Road. It was now getting late and she felt it would be wiser to return to Mrs Daniel’s house as quickly as possible. She would rest tonight and start all over again tomorrow, looking for that job which was so crucial.

Panting, Emma continued up the street, which was rather steeply built. She was almost at the top when she felt something sharp strike her shoulder blade and a stone dropped at her feet. She turned swiftly, startled. Further down the street two scruffy-looking youths were grinning at her inanely. She shook her fist at them. ‘Wicked boys!’ she shouted. They laughed derisively and picked up handfuls of stones. Stiffening, Emma was poised to flee, but she instantly realized that the stones were not intended for her, were not being aimed in her direction. To Emma’s immense horror she saw the boys bombarding a middle-aged man who had slipped and fallen. He attempted to rise, but stumbled, and then under the onslaught he huddled against the wall of a building, making a vain effort to shield his face. The louts were whooping and yelling and pitching stones furiously and in an unending stream. The man’s parcel had rolled away, his spectacles were on the ground, and Emma could see that his cheek was bloodied where it had been struck by one of the stones.

Emma was outraged and revolted by this despicable display of needless cruelty and she leapt forward and ran down the street, her anger a raging force within her, and her face was grim and unremitting.

‘Get going or I’ll fetch a bobby!’ she yelled, shaking her fist again. She was totally without fear in her fury. ‘Little hooligans!’ she continued, her voice rising sharply. ‘Go on, get off with you, or I will fetch a policeman! The law will know how to deal with the likes of you, and it won’t be very kindly.’

The two boys laughed at her insolently and stuck out their tongues, making ugly grimaces and shouting foul words, but at least their attention was diverted from the man. Emma, who was dauntless at all times was now so completely enraged she was invincible. She picked up a rock and said threateningly, ‘How about a bit of your own medicine?’ She raised her arm and was about to hurl the rock when to her surprise, and considerable relief, the boys backed off, thumbing their noses at her as they slunk away, their vile curses echoing in the air. Emma ran across to the man, who was struggling to his knees. She took hold of his arm reassuringly and helped him up. He was a small, spry man, sturdily built and wiry. He had wavy black hair greying at the temples and receding on top, sharply defined features, and bright black eyes.