The little one was on the floor beside her, lying asleep on a coat, but there was no sign of Den or the twins. The woman, who Annie saw was younger than she had thought, looked up at her in a hunted way. Her face was very thin and sickly-looking and her fair hair hung in wisps. She did look a little better than she had the day before.

In the dim light through the one window facing the yard, Annie saw anew the poor state of the place, this cramped little room leading to a small scullery at the back. There was only a brick floor, pale green walls and a rough wooden staircase to one side curving up to the floor above. There was the range, the table and two chairs, the one armchair and a rickety-looking cupboard. Apart from a worn peg-run by the range there was little else. From outside in the yard came the sharp bangs – interspersed with curses – of the man chopping up lumps of wood, who they had passed on the way in.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Poole,’ Annie said politely. ‘I’m glad to see you looking better.’

‘Was you the lady helping us last night?’ As she raised her pinched face, Annie glimpsed, past the careworn and sickly look, a sweet girl who must once have looked much as Lizzie did now. ‘I was feeling that bad I never even said thank you.’

‘It’s all right,’ Annie said, wondering about the water supply again. She knew from her reading that diarrhoea was often a killer in these big city neighbourhoods, brought about by contaminated water. But not everyone in the family was ill, so perhaps this was not the cause. ‘You did look very poorly.’

‘We weren’t the only ones in the yard,’ Mrs Poole said. ‘This one’s not right yet, neither.’

Her face full of worry, she looked down at the sleeping child.

‘’Er’s hardly keeping anything down. ’Er keeps crying and I can’t get a thing done – it does for my nerves. At least ’er’s quiet for the moment. I don’t want . . .’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’ve lost a few, see, with the fever and that.’

Annie looked at her, horrified realization of what she meant dawning on her. How many children had Mrs Poole had altogether? she wondered. The woman seemed so helpless.

‘You’re giving her boiled water?’ Annie said, kneeling to look at the baby, trying not to wince as the floor hurt her knees.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Poole said. ‘’Er’s had a bit.’

‘Perhaps she should see a doctor?’

‘No-o . . .’ It was a moan. ‘I ain’t got money for food, let alone . . .’ Mrs Poole’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, lady – I don’t know what to do. My little boy went – just at the age this one is.’