The vicar held a good service, knowing Charlotte and her roots in Austwick and the Craven community well. He remembered all her close family members, and spoke of her life without belying the heartache that had made her the strong woman she was. He gave his final blessing as the family gathered around the grave, and watched as those who wished to said their final farewells to the woman they loved and respected.

‘I’m glad that’s over.’ Harriet linked her arm into her husband Danny’s, and looked round at their daughter Rosie. ‘Are you going to the funeral tea with your father or are you coming home with me?’

‘Would you mind if I go to Windfell with Father? I’d like to attend, if I may.’ Sixteen-year-old Rosie looked at her father, hoping that he would back up her request.

‘Of course you can come with me, Rosie – and you should come as well, Harriet, despite Ben and Georgina having German measles. You know you have no excuse not to, really,’ said Danny quickly. ‘The housemaid is quite prepared to see to their needs while you are there. I heard her say so this morning,’ he growled at his wife.

‘Well, you heard wrong. Ben’s over the worst of it, but Georgina has such a fever that I fear for her. Measles is known for making a child’s heart weak, and I’ve known some children have fits because their temperature is so high! Do you think I’d risk my children with a common maid, when your mother is dead and there’s nothing further that can be done for her?’ Harriet’s face was full of fear, remembering the hurt and pain she had suffered over the death of two of her previous children, the twins Daniel and Arthur. She had always blamed herself for putting her work at Atkinson’s before their needs. ‘Have we not been through enough, losing two children? I will always blame myself for not always being there when they suffered. I should never have listened to your mother and Isabelle, when they assured me that the nanny would look after them while I worked at the store.’

‘Harriet, there was nothing we could do to save the two offspring we lost. It was the diphtheria to blame; the disease moved quickly and, even if you had been there with them, there was nothing you could have done. The doctor told you that, and he said you were beyond reproach. You cannot keep blaming yourself for their deaths, nor keep fearing the worst every time our children have a sniffle. Nor blame Isabelle, or my mother. No one knew that day how quickly the disease was going to strike, and how bad the weather was going to turn,’ Danny whispered quietly.

Rosie stood back from her parents. She was slightly tired of hearing her parents row, something they now seemed to do on a regular basis.