Mrs Bradley smiled, displaying a mouthful of tobacco-stained and rotting teeth. ‘She’s better than all right; a right bonny little piece. Just look at this shock of red hair, an’ she’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I reckon she’ll grow into a little beauty.’ Noting the tears that were slowly trickling down the girl’s pale cheeks, she didn’t tell her of her concerns about whether the child would survive.

‘Can I . . . see her? J-just for a moment . . . please?’

Mrs Bradley frowned. She had explained to the girl that the babies were usually taken away as soon as they were born. It was easier that way because if the mothers didn’t see them, they couldn’t bond with them and it saved a lot of heartache. Yet how could she refuse the request if the girl was about to die?

Tentatively she approached the bed and pulling back the corner of the towel she leant towards the girl who lifted her hand and tenderly stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘I want her to be called Ruby,’ she said softly. She was shocked at the feelings that were coursing through her. For months she had longed to just get the birth over with so she could get on with her life, and yet now she had glimpsed this beautiful little human being, she didn’t know how she was going to be able to bear to part with her.

Mrs Bradley sighed. It was usually left to the adoptive parents to name the child but then, what harm could there be in going along with her wishes – for now at least – if it gave her some comfort? She nodded and as she left the room to bathe and feed the newborn, the girl on the bed turned her head to the wall and began to sob quietly, oblivious to the doctor as he battled to save her life.

Some hours later, looking haggard and weary, the doctor went downstairs. ‘I’ve managed to stem the blood flow but there is nothing more I can do for her,’ he told Mrs Bradley. ‘It’s all in God’s hands now. I shall call back tomorrow.’ He glanced at the baby, who was lying quietly in a drawer lined with a coarse blanket at the side of the fire.

‘Is that really necessary?’ Mrs Bradley looked disgruntled as she shuffled over to a tin on the mantlepiece to get his fee. Another visit meant yet another payment. ‘I’m sure as I can see to ’er now if the bleedin’s stopped. She’ll just want peace an’ quiet an’ feedin’ up to get ’er strength back. A few bowls o’ my chicken broth will ’ave her back on ’er feet in no time.’