‘I didn’t even know Uncle Max was alive, let alone living locally,’ he said as he gave in with a sigh and steadied her down the steps and along the path.

‘Just goes to show you don’t know everything, young Terence. Now get a move on.’

Her expression was grim as she watched her grandson run back into the hospital. She always got her own way in the end – but she was dreading what she might find when they got to Killigarth.

*

Rebecca was as surprised as her mother to learn that the reclusive and rather mysterious Uncle Max had turned up injured at Killigarth Station with – of all people – Sal Davenport. But once Granny Gwyn and Terry had left the hospital to go to find him, she had pushed all thought of him and Sal to the back of her mind and thrown herself back into work.

She was like an automaton, refusing to rest, to eat or even think, knowing that if she stopped she would go mad with worry over Danny and her father, and she had to stay strong – not only for herself, but for her mother.

Amy Blake had come in some time before with George and her mother to offer help and support while their menfolk went to fight the fire. Amy had been her usual sympathetic and sweet self, offering comfort and understanding. But neither she nor George could shed any light on where Danny might be.

Becky found great solace in her friendship with Amy, for although they rarely managed to spend time together because of the distance between them, their bond had never weakened. They’d known one another since childhood, had shared the joys of falling in love, been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, given birth to their sons within the same year – and grieved together when they were widowed. They both had loving families, but it was to each other that they turned in times of trouble, knowing they would find true understanding.

Once the hospital got busy and Rebecca was needed on the ward, Amy had hustled George off to the hospital kitchen, where she got him drying the dishes for Frances Baker and laying supper trays while she orchestrated the cooking of the evening meal and the making of endless cups of tea.

The casualties had begun to come in thick and fast, and not just from the fire. The tension was at breaking point among the women in Morgan’s Reach, and accidents were inevitable. Annie O’Halloran had tipped over a pot of boiling water and badly scalded her arm; another woman almost severed a finger as she was hurriedly trying to open a can of corned beef, and two more had sustained fairly serious injuries while attempting to calm a horse that had taken great exception to being harnessed into the supply dray.