Amber nodded, her gaze fixed on Charlotte who was happily rolling about the floor with Socks, oblivious to what was happening. Thank goodness for that at least, Amber thought, and wiping her eyes and nose she went to put the kettle on.

Minutes later a familiar face appeared at the door. It was Trampy Ned and she suddenly realised that she hadn’t seen him since before the night of Bertie’s attack.

‘Mornin’ missus.’ He nodded towards Mrs Jennings.

‘Mornin’, Ned.’

Amber cut him a large slice of apple pie and wrapped it in a piece of muslin. When she handed it to him, he looked at her with a worried frown as he saw her eyes, which were red and swollen from weeping. ‘Would you like a cup o’ tea? I was just about to make one,’ she asked him.

He swept the old hat off to reveal sparse grey hair that stood about his head like a halo, but he backed away. ‘No, thanks, missus. I’ll be on me way now. Ta-ra.’ And with that he took flight.

Mrs Jennings smiled. ‘Poor old thing. He ain’t had much of a life, as he? Still, he seems content in ’is own way an’ at least lots o’ the townsfolk look out for ’im.’ She herself was often supplying him with food when he visited the farm and she knew that, like Amber, she was just one of many.

*

The next few days passed in a blur of misery for Amber. Every day she walked down to the police station whilst Mrs Jennings watched Charlotte and the sergeant allowed her to have a few minutes with Barnaby, who was trying his best to keep his spirits up. Finally news came that the magistrates were due the following day and a cold hand gripped Amber’s heart.

‘Listen, I want you to know that if anything should happen to me, you and Charlotte will be secure,’ Barnaby told her soberly when she visited him that evening. The sergeant had informed her that he was due to be taken before the magistrates at eleven o’clock the following morning and she intended to be there to hear their decision.

‘Don’t talk like that,’ she said, shaking her head.