The old woman held her breath. Unlike his wife, who was a charitable soul, Stanley Carter was known to be a hard man and she suddenly saw the fee for Ruby disappearing out of the window. But she hadn’t reckoned on Rita Carter’s desperate need for a child.

‘I beg you to let me take her.’ Rita was openly crying. ‘Just think of the help she could give in the bakery when she’s a little older,’ she went on cajolingly. ‘We can teach her how to make the bread and see to the ovens and all sorts of things.’

Stan scowled. ‘An’ how much are yer askin’ for her?’ he snapped at Mrs Bradley.

She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry. ‘I thought two guineas would be a fair price . . . it’d be three if she’d been a lad.’

‘Two guineas!’ He looked shocked, but then seeing the tender look on his wife’s face as she gazed down at the infant, he knew he had lost. She would never forgive him if he didn’t let her have the child.

‘Very well.’ Fumbling in his pocket he extracted some coins and flung them begrudgingly onto the old scrubbed table, then looking at his wife he snapped, ‘Well, gather the child and her bits together then, woman. I haven’t got time to stand about here all day. There’s work waiting to be done.’

‘Yes, of course, dear.’ Rita gently lifted the child from the drawer and after wrapping her tightly in her blanket she scurried towards the door.

Once they had gone, Mrs Bradley snatched up the coins and smiled. But then as she glanced towards the ceiling the smile was replaced with a frown. She was sorry for the baby’s mother, but the fact of it was that when the girl died, she would have to spend some of the money she had just made to pay for a funeral – and that consideration far outweighed any pity she felt for the girl who had shared her home for the last few months. Still, she told herself, she already had another girl lined up for a stay so she’d worry about that when she had to.

Humming happily to herself she went to put the kettle on, the coins jingling merrily in her pocket.

Chapter One

Chapter One

December 1885

‘Are them bleedin’ ovens all lit?’ Stan Carter asked shortly as he joined Ruby in the kitchen one cold, grey December morning.

‘Yes, Dad. And the kettle’s boiled for your tea. How is Mam this morning?’