Neither Patrick nor Blackie said a word. They waited until the tears stopped and she patted her eyes with her handkerchief.

‘But she has recovered, or rather is recovering, isn’t she?’ Patrick let his steady gaze rest on Sarah, aware that things were not right with her. ‘She is on the mend, surely?’

‘From the beating, yes, and the cuts and bruises have been properly treated.’ Sarah cleared her throat several times, and finished a little unsteadily, ‘However, during her general examination, the doctors found a lump on the side of her stomach. Angela has cancer.’

Patrick and Blackie were stunned, and it was Blackie who got up and went to Sarah, put his arms around her. ‘I’m so terribly sorry to hear this, and I will help ye any way I can.’ He kept calm, but he was reeling from shock, and filled with worry for Angela.

Patrick also stood. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on, and make a pot of tea. Then we can talk a bit longer. I too will help you, Sarah, and help Angela as well.’

‘Thank you, Patrick.’ She looked up at Blackie, and asked, ‘Can you forgive me, Blackie, for thinking it was you?’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he answered in a quiet voice. His anger had fled when he had heard this awful news about the beautiful woman who filled his thoughts.

Blackie was unable to sleep that night. He lay in his bed, his mind restless, his sorrow enormous. Cancer. The most dreaded of all diseases. Nobody ever spoke about it; they pushed it away, buried it deep inside. Everyone mentioned their fear of consumption, which some people called tuberculosis, and of pneumonia and typhus too. But never cancer.

He clenched his fists; his body was so tense it was rigid. How could Angela, of all people, have cancer? Surely it was a disease of the old? She was only twenty-four. Young. Vital. Full of life. There had been no sign of illness.

Grasping at hope, he thought for a moment that perhaps the doctors had made a mistake. Could the diagnosis be wrong? He pushed himself up in the bed, and put the pillow behind his head, thinking hard. Mistakes could be made. That he knew. She might not have it.

A deep sigh escaped him, and he slumped back down. Harrogate Hospital was one of the best, with good doctors … Could it be treated? This new thought gave him a quick rush of hope once more, then it slid away.

The problem was his ignorance. Because no one talked about it, no one had any information. Only doctors knew the details, and the cures, if there were any. Who could he ask? Where could he go?

He squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly, in his mind, he saw her image. The shining light-brown curls, the wide translucent blue eyes, so full of warmth, her delicate features, her vivid smile, her happy laughter.