‘I don’t know,’ she answered quietly, and stood waiting for the kettle to boil, suddenly looking plaintive. After filling the teapot, she sat down at the table, waiting for the tea to mash.

Blackie went to the cupboard, took out two cups, and sat down opposite her. He noticed at once that she was looking sad. ‘Hey, Miss Emma, what’s troubling ye?’

‘Well, it’s just …’ She paused, stared at him, her worry now most apparent. Finally, she answered him. ‘I’m just a bit concerned about the baby not being christened.’

Blackie was thunderstruck, stared at her, obviously uncomprehending, and then he began to laugh. Eventually, he calmed himself. ‘Why should that matter to ye? After all, ye’ve been telling me for months that ye are an atheist.’

‘I am!’ Emma cried. ‘But I don’t feel quite right about it, and the baby might believe in God when she grows up, and she might be angry with me if she finds out she wasn’t baptized.’

Realizing she was being genuine, in earnest, Blackie said, ‘Go and see the vicar at Christ Church.’

‘Oh, I can’t!’ Emma replied. ‘The vicar would want her birth certificate. That is the custom. And since I don’t have one he’ll realize Tinker Bell is illegitimate. He cannot know that. No one can! Promise me you’ll keep my secret, Blackie, please.’

‘Sure an’ I will, but are ye going to say Winston, your husband, is the father? ’Cos he’s far away on the high seas, according to ye.’ He raised a dark brow questioningly.

‘Of course not, but I could. I was pregnant when I came to Leeds, remember.’

‘Aye, I did forget for a moment. Let me put me thinking cap on, mavourneen. Meanwhile, could ye pour the tea, please?’

She did so, biting her inner lip, suddenly growing more worried. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? One thing was certain, she wouldn’t put his name on the birth certificate. She did not want her child ever to be linked to the name Fairley.

The two of them sat in silence, drinking their tea. Suddenly, Blackie sat up straight, as an idea came to him. ‘I’ve got the solution! We’ll have our own christening, I am thinking,’ he shouted in a cheerful voice. ‘Bring me a bowl.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’ Emma’s brow came together in a frown. ‘Our own christening?’

‘Since ye are so troubled about the bairn not being christened, I am goin’ to do it meself.’

Disbelief flickered in Emma’s eyes. ‘Would it be proper? Would it be a real christening, I mean?’