Cover

Dedication

This book is for the newest member of the family, our beautiful Jaiah-Rose Webb, born 2/2/2021 weighing in at 2lbs 1oz. You are a blessing and my little miracle and I love you to the moon!

Mamar xxxxx

Prologue

Prologue

December 1870

‘There we are, luvvie, it’s a little girl.’ As the old woman straightened up from the bed with a newborn whimpering softly in her hands, the doctor glanced at her and solemnly shook his head. The child was tiny and weak and if he couldn’t stop the flow of blood that was coming from the mother soon, it was doubtful either of them would survive.

‘You should have sent for me sooner,’ he scolded gently. ‘Another niece of yours, is she?’ The doctor was no fool and he had a good idea where the young women came from, but on the odd occasion Mrs Bradley had called him out to them, she always introduced them as her nieces.

She nodded and sniffed, avoiding his eyes. She’d only sent for him when she could see that the young mother was slipping away. Doctors cost money, which bit into her profits from dealing with these girls whose babies she delivered, and the madam at the whorehouse who sent them paid her little enough as it was. Even so, she was saddened to see the state of the young woman on the bed. She shook her head. She’d delivered dozens of babies in her time; how could things have gone so terribly wrong?

Almost four months this girl had been staying with her now and she seemed to be a cut above the girls who had preceded her. They came with frightening regularity despite the birth control methods they practised, and as far as she was concerned most of them deserved no better. They would come to her once they became too big with child to earn their keep, then, once the birth was over, she would find homes for the babies – which meant yet more money for her – and continue to care for the mother until she was fit to return to work. Usually it wouldn’t be long before the next one arrived and the cycle would start all over again.

But this girl had not come from the whorehouse and the old woman could only assume that she came from a good family who had turned their backs on her until she had got rid of the baby. Now, as she wrapped the infant in an old towel, she looked at the little face approvingly. She’d have no trouble at all placing this one – if she survived that was.

‘I-is the baby all right?’ the young mother asked weakly as she sagged limply back against the pillows.