‘I never knew! I never knew ’er were as bad as that – honest! If I’d known . . . I were just busy and she was laying quiet, so I thought . . . I never done ’er no harm!’

Mary Poole sat beside the little coffin in the Pooles’ cramped room, rocking back and forth, tearing at her hair, repeating the same words over and over. She seemed unable to hear what anyone said, she was so lost in her distress.

Margaret and Annie had arrived for the funeral to find the household in disarray, so they hurried to arrange things in time. The family seemed stunned. When they arrived, Den was feeding Nellie from a bowl of bread-and-milk slop. Little Ivy stood near her mother like a lost soul and Wilf Poole was hunched by the unlit range on a chair, smoking Woodbines, lifting one foot then the other from the floor, his face twisted and his body squirming as if in torment.

‘That’s very good, Den,’ Margaret said, going over to him.

The boy looked up at her with blank, terrible eyes. Nellie, who was too young to know what was going on, accepted mouthfuls with a wide-eyed, wondering expression.

‘Mrs Poole,’ Annie said, touching her shoulder. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

Mary Poole let out a howl and flung herself forward, curling in agony.

‘Don’t let ’em take my little Ada – they always take my babbies away.’

Annie looked across at Margaret, too appalled for tears. Startled, Margaret knew she had never seen her fiery sister look more helpless or distraught. Before Ada’s death, it had been a few days since Annie had seen the Pooles. She had not known how bad Ada still was. Mary Poole did not know what to do and in the excitement of Wilf coming home, they had not seen how bad Ada was. Despite all this, Margaret could see that Annie blamed herself for not having called in a doctor.

Among all the joys, sorrows and human passing they had seen working in the village, none had felt as heartrending and despairing as this.

Mary Poole could not take it in at first. She had torn upstairs that evening when Annie and Lizzie came down, taken the chill body of her little girl in her arms and shrieked at her, pleading with her to wake up.

‘’Er can’t’ve gone!’ she cried. ‘’Er was just ’aving a rest!’ She looked wildly round at Annie. ‘I thought ’er was getting better! I never knew, miss – I dain’t! Don’t go telling anyone I done wrong by ’er!’

‘I won’t, Mrs Poole,’ Annie said shakily. The idea that Mrs Poole might think she would report her to the police for this awful tragedy came as another shock on top of this terrible thing that had already happened.

Downstairs, Wilf Poole sat, stunned. Already a man of few words, any that he had left had dried up.