There seemed to be only a front door and that was of course locked. How about windows? There were windows in both the downstairs rooms, but they were nailed down as if for a siege. As far as she could see, if there was another window it was upstairs, and she dared not go up there.

As if to remind her of the hopelessness of her position she heard Matron unlock her bedroom door. Like lightning, Margaret dashed back into the kitchen.

‘Margaret!’ Matron called. ‘Margaret Thursday!’

Margaret came out into the passage. ‘Yes. What is it?’

‘I forgot to tell you. I like some potatoes with my meat. I like them cooked together.’

‘I haven’t seen a potato,’ Margaret shouted.

‘I have to keep them from the children. There are four in a bag behind the coal bucket.’

‘Mean old beast!’ Margaret muttered to herself. ‘Even grudges the children potatoes.’ However, it was no good fighting Matron until she had something to fight for, so she found the potatoes and a box with some cutlery in it, selected the sharpest knife and sat down to peel the potatoes.

Peeling potatoes is a quiet job and it gave Margaret time to think. If there was only one door and that was locked and Matron had the key, and no window which would open, somehow the front door key must be taken off Matron. What about the orphans? They had to be let in and when they were in, were they the sort who would fight? She must make some plans. The ropes which had tied her were still lying where they had been dropped. She could roll them up and hide them; then, if Matron noticed they were missing, she could pretend she had tidied them away. Although she had at that moment a sharp knife in her hand it never crossed Margaret’s mind to use it as a weapon; she had been well brought up and knew fighting with knives was wrong. But she did remember the broken knife she had found in the tap room; she would hide that away in the top of her stocking, it might be a tool to force open a window if there was one.

In the house in which Margaret was brought up from the time the rector found her, Hannah, the maid, had taught her what she described as ‘womanly things’. How to keep a house, how to sew and how to cook. Margaret was not by nature domesticated, but she was fond of Hannah so had done her best to learn. She had not learnt a great deal of cooking, but enough to cook a piece of beef and, with two old ladies in the house, she was more than accustomed to laying up a tray. But in this awful house where was there a tray?

Suddenly she realized this was a wonderful chance to look around. Leaving the meat and potatoes to simmer she ran up the stairs. At the top were two doors: one was open. She glanced into the room, which smelt horrible. It was, she supposed, the children’s room. It was very dark for there seemed to be no windows and, as far as she could see, there was nothing in it but one bucket and piles of old torn sacks and rags. Unwillingly she turned to the other door and knocked.