‘She got into trouble. Fell victim to some silver-tongued charmer who promised her the world and instead left her in a world of trouble. If she had just come to me … but she panicked, I suppose. She never said anything.’ He rubs the back of his neck. ‘I came home from work one evening and found her soaked in her own blood. She had tried to get rid of it, found a woman who said she could help. Oh, she’d done away with the bairn all right, her with her knitting needle, and in doing so she had turned our Jenny’s insides into a pin cushion. There was no saving her. She was seventeen. Barely more than a bairn herself.’

‘Jack … I’m so sorry …’

He spins around. Backlit by the sun, his expression is concealed in shadow. ‘So, when I say you can’t go to some backstreet abortionist, I mean it, lass. I’ll not let you go.’

‘But, Jack, there’s no other way.’

‘Aye, lass, there is. There is another way.’ He catches his breath. ‘You could marry me.’

The shock of his proposal is a physical blow that sends her staggering back.

He draws away from the door into the shade of the barn and in the even light his features are once again discernible and reveal the earnestness of his offer. ‘Now this might sound mad, like, but hear me out, that’s all I ask.’

‘Jack, I like you, I really do …’ he cannot tell whether Gwen is fighting tears or laughter, ‘but marriage would be for the rest of our lives … Marriage is forever, Jack.’

‘Nee, lass. Not necessarily. I’ve good reason to suspect this marriage wouldn’t be forever.’ He can see now that he has frightened her. Her eyes dart past him; she is like a trapped deer looking for escape. He curses himself for his impetuosity. He gathers his arguments and allows his passions to drain away. When he starts again, his voice is soft, his manner calm. He has one chance, he realises, one chance to avert a looming tragedy.