Once she was dressed and had checked that Charlotte was still fast asleep she climbed down the ladder and began the task of lighting the fires as quietly as she could. The only good thing about living there was that there was never a shortage of food. Pigs provided pork and bacon, the chickens laid an abundance of eggs, there was fresh milk each morning from the cows and the vegetable garden and orchard supplied more produce than one family could ever eat. What they didn’t need was taken to market and sold each week, which was the one thing that Amber had refused to do. She had no wish to be seen there and so the old lady had taken to going with the farmer, which suited Amber.

There was bacon sizzling in the old cast-iron frying pan and the tea was mashing when the menfolk appeared, scratching their bellies and yawning with their braces dangling about their knees. Amber hadn’t seen any of them even attempt to have a wash since she’d been there and as they entered the room the smell of stale sweat came with them. She hurriedly fried the eggs and slapped their breakfasts down on the table in front of them, then hearing Charlotte start to whimper she wiped her hands down the front of her apron and started to climb the ladder to the loft with the men’s complaints ringing in her ears.

‘I ain’t never knowed a bairn cry as much as that ’un. It’s enough to drive yer barmy!’ This was from the old farmer and she cursed under her breath although she knew deep down that it must be trying. Charlotte was no longer the happy child who had arrived there just one week ago and she still wasn’t eating properly despite Amber’s best attempts to tempt her, which was worrying her no end.

Once the child was dressed, she carried her downstairs and offered her some of the porridge that had been gently simmering on the range all night, but Charlotte turned her head away and in the end Amber gave up.

Thankfully the men left shortly after to begin their jobs so she settled the child down with a saucepan and a wooden spoon to play with while she cleared the breakfast pots from the table. The room looked very different now to when she had first arrived, for during the time she’d been there Amber had scrubbed and polished everything in sight – not that any of the family seemed to appreciate it. They seemed quite happy living in squalor so long as their meals were on the table, but at least Amber had the satisfaction of knowing that Charlotte was sitting on a clean floor now.

By the time the old lady appeared, her wispy grey hair standing about her head in a halo and still in her grubby nightgown, the pots were all washed and dried.