Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
Her cheeks burned with remorse at the inadequacy of this explanation, but it was all she could manage. She looked up to see Aunt Hatt eyeing her over her teacup. Clearly, her aunt strongly suspected she was not hearing the whole truth.
But she put the cup down and said, ‘Well – it’s lovely to have you here. We never had any daughters, dear. I had a difficult time with that side of things – one of my great regrets. So you’ve no fear of not being welcome. But if you’ll be staying a little while, we’d better get you both settled in with summat to do, hadn’t we?’
Later, Harriet Watts climbed into bed beside her beerily snoozing husband.
‘That all seemed a bit serious,’ Eb murmured as his wife arranged the covers over herself, throwing the eiderdown off. He lumped about, turning on his back and yawning loudly. ‘She tell you what’s been going on? Can’t be anything that bad in that house of virtue, surely?’
‘I can’t exactly say she did,’ Hatt said.
‘What d’yer mean?’ He spoke through another yawn. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know.’ She settled on her back, sounding uneasy. ‘Whatever it is, she wasn’t letting on. Said summat about a falling-out with their father.’
‘Oh – that old stick.’
‘He wasn’t so bad – not in the beginning,’ Hatt said. ‘I think it was that babby dying, little John. His only son – and then Lil, of course.’
‘Yes.’ Eb sighed. ‘All the same – our Lil changed once she was with him.’
‘She was a lovely lady – you know she was. Even then.’
Eb sighed. ‘All that religious claptrap. You know what I say about—’
‘Yes, dear, I do. Every time.’
He chuckled, hands starting to explore the warm, soft body beside him. In a wheedling voice, he said, ‘Come on, Hatt – as we’re both so wide awake. D’yer fancy a bit of – you know . . . ?’
‘No, Ebenezer Watts, I don’t,’ Hatt said, firmly removing a wandering hand. ‘It’s late enough already and we’ve got to be up early.’
‘Never mind. It won’t take—’
‘Eb – no.’
There was another defeated sigh from beside her, as her husband gradually sank back into sleep.
Seven
Seven
The West Country, 1887
There were hushed conversations in the passage outside Mother’s room: Lucy the maid and Mrs Berry, the lady who delivered Annie to the world, their heads close together. They did not know that Margaret, aged two, could hear, tucked just inside the next room.
‘I don’t know if it’ll survive, it’s that small.’
‘It?’
‘A little girl. Scrawny as a rabbit.’
Days later, on a breezy April morning, Margaret gazed into the pram, hungry to see her new little sister. In her memory she was looking down from a great height. Mother must have picked her up to let her see.