“So what?” Blackie demanded, further bewildered.

“Laura loves you, Blackie. I bet if you asked her, she’d marry you.”

Blackie was stunned. A peculiar look settled on his face. One that Emma could not read.

By April, the baby was comfortably settled with her cousin Freda in Ripon. If she had been surprised at Emma’s unexpected arrival on her doorstep, or shocked at her story, the loving and compassionate Freda had not shown it at all. Emma was content to know that Edwina had been left in capable hands, and that she would be looked after and cherished with complete devotion.

As soon as she was able, Emma had made her long-awaited trip to Fairley village, brimming with happiness at the thought of seeing her father and her younger brother, Frank, again, carrying thoughtfully chosen presents for them both and a bunch of spring flowers for her mother’s grave. She had bumped into her brother Winston on her way to the cottage; he’d been coming out of the pub and looked tall, handsome and resplendent in his naval uniform, on leave from duties in Scapa Flow.

Frank was dumbfounded to see his older sister, and overcome with emotion. He sped across the room, flinging himself into Emma’s outstretched arms with such velocity he almost knocked her over. She held him close to her, stroking his hair. He began to cry, sobbing as if his heart would break. She was at once startled and baffled, and she tried to soothe him.

“Frank, lovey, don’t cry so. I’m here, safe and well, and with presents for you too.”

He raised his freckled and damp face to hers and said, with a snuffle, “I’ve missed ye, Emma. Ever so much. I thought ye’d never come back. Never, ever again,” he wept.

Emma tried to comfort him. “Don’t be silly. I’ll always come back. I’ve missed you too. Now come along, stop crying and let me take off my coat. These are for you, love,” she said, handing him socks, a shirt and writing materials and a copy of David Copperfield. “I’m sorry, Winston, I didn’t know you’d be home so I didn’t bring you anything,” she told her elder brother.

Busying herself at the Welsh dresser, taking out the other items, she said, “These are for Dad. Where is he?”

She glanced from Winston to Frank, a look of joyous expectation on her face.

Winston’s eyes dropped to the floor and Frank stood gazing at her vacantly, clutching his presents. Neither of them spoke.

“What’s wrong? Why are you both so quiet? Where’s our dad?” Emma asked again. Fear began to trickle through her veins.

Winston lowered himself into the chair opposite her. He took her hand in his and held it tightly, watching her with concern and saying very gently, “He’s with our mam, Emma.”