‘Mam!’ Peggy began to wail again upstairs.

‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ shouted Jennet from the bottom of the stairs. ‘This is all thy fault!’ As soon as the words were out she regretted them and felt guilty. Of course it wasn’t Peggy’s fault. The child couldn’t help being ill – dying maybe, and if she died the last thing she might remember was her mother shouting at her. She went up the stairs.

‘I want a drink,’ moaned Peggy. ‘I’m thirsty.’

‘In a bit,’ Jennet told her. ‘In a bit. Here, have some more of the medicine. It’ll help thee feel better.’

Peggy was still crying for a drink when Titus came home. Jennet had folded the spoiled blouse and put it at the bottom of her basket. She’d deal with it tomorrow, she thought. His tea was on the table and Bessie was sitting silently on a cushion, stirring her potato pie with a spoon.

‘Can tha not just give her summat?’ Titus asked.

‘Dr Scaife said she was to have nowt. He were very insistent.’

‘My mother used to give us a bit o’ ginger in sweet milk for a tummy upset,’ he said.

‘This is more than a tummy upset!’ Jennet felt rage and fear pulse through her. How could he not see? How could he be so calm when Peggy was so ill?

‘Has she been sick again?’

‘No.’

‘And is she havin’ the runs?’

‘No. But—’

‘Jennet,’ he reasoned. ‘They has the runs when it’s cholera – uncontrollable, like. I don’t think she has it. I think it’s just an upset.’

‘Tha’s just tryin’ to convince thyself she’s not that poorly!’

‘I don’t think she is. Tha’s taken good care of her. She’s had nowt but water from the pump and we’ve kept her clear of yon river.’

‘But we have to do as t’ doctor says,’ argued Jennet.

‘No we don’t. They’re like a lot of folk with a bit of power. They’re not so clever as they thinks they are half the time. How can we ignore her when she’s pleadin’ like that?’ They listened to Peggy calling from upstairs. ‘Give her a bit o’ summat to drink and see if it stays down.’

‘And then I suppose tha’ll be off to thy meeting.’

‘I’ll not go tonight,’ he said as he poured milk into a cup and set it to warm. ‘Have we any ginger?’

‘Dost tha think we can afford ginger?’ she asked.

‘We’ll stir in some treacle then. She’ll be all right. Tha’ll see.’

‘Aye,’ said Jennet, although she was sure that Titus was deluding himself because he was too afraid to face the truth.

When the milk was warmed through he took a spoonful of treacle from the jar, twisting it around and around until the sticky strand broke. Then he plunged it into the milk and stirred it through. Jennet watched, hoping that it wouldn’t be the death of her daughter. It was against everything the doctor had told her.