‘She’s upstairs, miss,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Where’s your dad?’ Daisy asked warily. ‘You said he was dead drunk.’

‘He’s out in the yard, miss. Fell flat on his face on his way back from the privy. We couldn’t move him, so we left him there.’

The screams from above were getting louder and Daisy headed for the stairs. ‘We’ll worry about your dad later. You stay here and look after the young ones. I’ll see what I can do for your ma.’ Daisy hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, but she went upstairs anyway.

Mabel Green was lying on a bare mattress, the double bed being the only furniture in the room apart from a chest of drawers. The stub of a wax candle shed a feeble, flickering light on the woman’s distorted body as she writhed in agony. Plucking up all her courage, Daisy went to stand at the bedside. ‘I’m Daisy Marshall, Mrs Green. I’ve come to sit with you until the midwife arrives.’

Mabel opened her eyes and she reached out to grasp Daisy’s hand. ‘Are you an angel?’

Daisy shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not, but I’ll see if I can make you more comfortable. Just tell me what to do.’

Mabel closed her eyes and her grip on Daisy’s hand tightened until Daisy was certain her bones would break. A low moan turned into a scream, and Daisy was tempted to run away, but seeing the woman’s pain and distress she forced herself to be calm. She stroked Mabel’s matted hair back from her forehead, murmuring words of encouragement, and she flexed her fingers when Mabel’s grip slackened and she was able to pull her hand free.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Green, the midwife is on her way. She’ll help you.’

‘She’ll be drunk at this time of night,’ Mabel muttered. ‘You must stay, miss. You’ll have to help birth my baby.’

‘Of course I’ll stay,’ Daisy said, trying to sound confident. ‘Can I fetch you something to drink. A glass of water, perhaps?’

‘Or a tot of gin.’ Mabel uttered a throaty laugh. ‘Send Alfie for a mug of water – my throat is parched – but don’t leave me.’ She grabbed Daisy by the hand as she turned to leave the room. ‘Call out for him. Alfie’s a good boy, he’ll do as you say.’

Daisy did as she asked and after a minute or two Alfie came clattering up the stairs with a tin mug, although he had slopped most of the water on the floor in his haste.

‘Is she going to die, miss?’ he asked nervously.

‘Of course not,’ Daisy said with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘Go downstairs and try to keep the little ones from fretting. I’m sure Mrs Maggs will be here soon.’

He glanced anxiously at his mother, but a low moan from her made him take flight. Daisy closed the door behind him, as Mabel’s screams grew louder. Her pains seemed to be getting closer together, and although Daisy knew nothing about childbirth, Mabel was able to give her instructions in between contractions.