Their expressions of amusement slip into fear as I bear down upon them, something burning through me. I’ve not thought what I shall do when I catch them. They turn and run into the arms of a woman who rushes towards them, gathers them behind her and meets my eye with a sickened look.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. They’re just babbies, they mean no harm.’

‘They were throwing rocks. They hurt my sister.’

‘I – I know, I’m sorry. I’ll thrash them, I promise, just please don’t – please don’t curse an illness upon them.’

Tears brim in her eyes. The children hide behind her shabby petticoats, that are patched and worn. I embrace the growing fury, a throbbing of anger that draws me up tall and brings the whisper of black words to the edge of my tongue. The woman cowers before me as though I were the one throwing stones.

I lift my chin and hold out my hand. Wait. She closes her eyes, drops her head and then fumbles in her petticoat to produce her pocket. Holds it out to me, shaking so that she struggles to open it, but there’s no need. I can see the thin, soft material holds no coin.

‘Please,’ she says. ‘I’ll come to your mam and spend all that we can spare. My – my husband ails and cannot recover, she perhaps has some tonic that will …’ Her voice trails off, and I drop my arm, drop my gaze from her stricken expression. Turn away from any sympathy that rises in me for her situation, her sadness, her despair. When they treat us this way I become the very creature they fear me to be.

I walk back towards Annie and, as the woman scuttles past with her children, we approach Samuel Finch, the netter, and his wife Nelly. They are young, newly wed and without children yet. Not ones that Mam has mentioned either way, and I decide to try our chances.

Annie widens her eyes and droops her mouth. She’s filthy, face smeared with dirt, leaves caught in the clump of her hair. I pull her finger from her ear.

‘Excuse us, sir,’ I say, reaching out to touch his arm. The cloth under my hand is thick and warm.

They stop and turn towards us. He shakes me off and I know that my optimism was a mistake. Still, we must try.

I hold Annie in front of me. ‘My sister’s hungry and we’ve nowt to feed her. It’s been days and she’s just a little lass, so sweet and never marding.’

He glances around. She looks at Annie, her eyes big and gentle.

‘I wouldn’t ask but she’s weak and hungry and if we could only beg a small kindness from you good people, we’d be—’