‘Warm water, lass,’ Maggie reminded her. ‘And a bucket.’

‘There’s boiled water in the pan. I’ll get it.’ With that Molly fled to the scullery and prepared the bucket for Maggie.

‘That’s fine, lass.’ Without disturbing Amy too much, Maggie washed and dried her. ‘The bleeding’s stopped for the while,’ she confided, ‘but yer mustn’t move in a rush,’ she warned. ‘There’s enough of us to carry yer to the wagon and lay yer flat in the back. Me and Molly will be with yer, so there’s nowt for you to worry about.’ Yet she knew from experience that both Amy and her bairn were in real danger.

With the raging pain having subsided for the time being, and the bleeding stemmed to a trickle, Amy felt more comfortable. ‘I’m losing the bairn, aren’t I?’ she asked. She had given birth too often not to know the signs.

Wisely, Maggie would not be drawn. ‘We shall have to wait and see.’ Wiping Amy’s sweating face, she gave a kind, crinkled smile. ‘You’ll soon be in safe hands now,’ she promised. ‘Till then, you do what old Maggie says and, God willing, you’ll come to no harm.’

In no time at all, Molly and Rosie were at the door and it wasn’t much longer before Charlie and Lottie arrived with the wagon. ‘I’ve laid a couple of blankets in the back,’ Charlie said. He was a big, rough-looking fella, with a drooping moustache and trousers to match. ‘She ought to be going in an ambulance,’ he argued. ‘That old wagon ain’t smooth over the cobbles, you know that.’ Like Frank, he was shocked to see Amy all curled into a ball and looking like death warmed over. ‘I’ll not be responsible if owt happens,’ he warned in a trembling voice.

‘Don’t be so bloody daft, man!’ Maggie tutted. ‘Just drive like you’ve a crate o’ booze in the back, an’ we’ll all be safe!’ Creaking and groaning as she struggled to her feet, she quickly got things underway.

‘It’s no use asking him to help.’ Giving Frank a cursory sideways glance, she marshalled the rest of them. ‘Lottie… fetch a pillow, an’ them towels and blankets. Put ’em in the back of the wagon, roll ’em up and make a kind o’ bed for yer mam to lie on. Hurry now, there’s a good lass.’ Time was passing and she was beginning to wonder if she’d done the right thing in not calling an ambulance.

It was a difficult job to get Amy up safely without starting the bleeding again, but they managed it. With Molly at her shoulders and Charlie beside Maggie at her feet, Amy was wrapped in a blanket and taken slowly along the passage and down the front steps. Outside, a few early risers had learned of the emergency. ‘God bless yer, lass,’ they told Amy as she was placed into the wagon. ‘Mind how you go now.’

They watched Molly and Maggie climb in the back, and waved as Charlie drove away at a steady pace. ‘Poor lass – she looked bad, didn’t she, eh?’ As they made their way to the mills, the women muttered of scoundrels like Frank Tattersall. More than that, they thanked their lucky stars their childbearing days were well and truly over.