Jeremiah frowned. ‘Hm, well it seems to me that what has happened to you isn’t all your fault. You were led astray by someone who should have known better and I can see why you couldn’t stay at home,’ he said cautiously. ‘But what are you planning to do with the child once it’s born?’

‘I, er . . . was goin’ to leave it on the steps o’ the poorhouse,’ Amber admitted in a small voice.

‘I see.’ He stroked his chin as the kettle began to sing. ‘Look, I’m going to need to think about this. Go back to the house. Mrs Carter will take care of you and we’ll talk more tonight when I get home.’

Amber nodded and on feet that felt like lead she slowly left the shop to retrace her steps. Once she had reached the house again, she took a deep breath and this time when she knocked on the door it was opened by the maid. Mrs Carter had obviously told her about Amber’s visit and she ushered her into the hallway just as Mrs Carter came bustling along towards her.

‘Ah, you’re back then. Did you manage to see your uncle?’

‘Yes, thank you, he told me to wait here till he got home from work.’

‘Then we must get you something to eat to tide you over till dinner time. You must be hungry,’ Mrs Carter said, not unkindly, and turning to the maid she asked her, ‘Bring some bread and cheese and a pot of tea into the drawing room, would you please, Biddy?’

Biddy nodded as she stared at Amber curiously. She was a short, plump woman who Amber judged to be in her mid- to late-thirties. She was neatly clad in a plain grey gown over which she wore a white apron, and her mousy-coloured hair was covered by a white mob cap, which sat askew on her head.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ she answered as she turned away and Amber noted that she had a severe limp that made her waddle from side to side as she set off in the direction of the kitchen.