Alice buried her face in the baby’s blanket, feeling the tiny thing squirm and wrestle for a moment with the bindings that held it.

No, Milli is dead and gone, killed herself.

But the words did not form in her mouth and could not be uttered, not now, perhaps not ever.

So Alice said nothing and after a time she patted the baby gently on its back and took a turn about the kitchen.

‘I have found the baby a home,’ she said, but Mrs Renfrew stopped her with a gesture.

‘Do not tell me. I do not wish to know. Whatever is the poor wee thing’s fate, it is no concern of mine.’

And so instead Alice said, ‘You have been a true and good friend to me and my sister, Mrs Renfrew, and I am grateful.’

These words felt awkward and oddly shaped in her mouth for Alice had few occasions to thank others.

But Mrs Renfrew dismissed this too.

‘I do not want your thanks. I want my money and whatever food these folk can spare.’ She ran a starved, almost manic eye over the cupboards and the door to the scullery. Her arms were so thin the bones themselves seemed to have shrunk, as though she had the skeleton of a bird, and how much nourishment she can have provided to the baby, who knew? The baby was alive and that was all that had been asked of her.

Alice put the baby against her shoulder and reached into the pocket of her dress and offered up a small pile of coins over which Mrs Renfrew cast a practised eye, then she went out to the coal scuttle and brought in the basket she had filled with all the leftovers she had been able to get her hands on that she thought no one would notice, though she was pretty certain Mrs Flynn had got wind of what was going on for she had turned the place upside down this evening looking for the remains of the roast duck from the day before, and when Alice had suggested a possum had got it or a fox, perhaps, she had raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Mrs Renfrew surveyed the goods critically but, perhaps realising there was no more to come, neither food nor money, she accepted it without complaint, pulled on her shawl and made for the door. ‘Listen, girl, you better warn that sister of yours to be careful,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Them people she borrowed from is still looking to make good on their loan and her being in Darlinghurst Gaol ain’t gonna keep her safe. If they catch up to her in there, they shall slit her throat, sure as sure, and if they cannot find her, they will slit yours instead.’