‘Actually . . . no, I ain’t anymore.’ Amber flushed. ‘The, er . . . father o’ the baby has offered to have it fostered out to a good family. I was still fer takin’ it to the foundlin’ home but then me an’ Mrs Carter were out one evenin’ an’ we saw the children from there. They were bein’ taken for a walk an’ they seemed . . . oh, I don’t know, sad, I suppose. They were dressed in these plain brown shapeless dresses an’ the girls all looked as if someone had put a basin on their heads an’ cut round them. It weren’t that so much that upset me though – it were the look in their eyes, they all looked so . . . hopeless.’ She shook her head to clear the memory. As much as she had hated the thought of Barnaby Greenwood having anything to do with the child, she had known the evening she saw those children that she had made the right decision for the child’s sake.

‘So, the father . . . he must have some money if he can afford to have the child fostered out?’ Alice looked at her daughter long and hard, and Amber felt herself flushing. ‘An’ would I be right if I were to take a guess an’ say that I think the father o’ this bairn is Barnaby Greenwood?’ Alice was no fool and she had come to that conclusion some time ago. It had to be him or one of the staff who worked at the big house, for Amber rarely saw anyone else apart from on her days off, and once he’d started turning up at her house, her suspicions had hardened.

Amber nodded miserably, there was no point in lying, and Alice sighed. ‘But yer mustn’t tell me dad or the lads. They must never know about this baby, let alone who the father is!’ Amber pleaded desperately.

‘Huh! Do you really think I’d be so daft?’ Alice snorted. ‘Why, if word were to get out one or t’other of ’em would make mincemeat of him. He should be ashamed of himself, takin’ advantage of a young girl like that. But have you given any more thought to what you’re goin’ to do once this is all over?’

‘I had thought o’ workin’ wi’ the herrin’ girls,’ Amber admitted. ‘But the herrin’ season is almost over now so I’ll have to think o’ somethin’ else. One things fer sure though – I won’t be goin’ back to Greenacres, even though the gaffer has assured me that he’ll not set his hands on me again!’

She stared miserably towards the window for a moment before admitting, ‘I had thought o’ headin’ fer London. They reckon there’s lots o’ jobs to be found there.’