‘Well, it was more his mam. And the others followed suit, for a peaceful life, Davey said.’

‘Ah.’ Amy nodded like a wise old sage. ‘She was jealous, I bet. Some mothers are like that with lads. I’m lucky, Frank’s mam is grand and we get on like a house on fire. Better than with me own mam sometimes although I’d never tell her that, bless her, but she can be right bossy, especially us working together.’

Once back at the inn Amy disappeared to the kitchen, only to appear again a few minutes later with soup and rolls on a tray for Rose and Betsy. ‘Mam kept it from lunchtime,’ she explained. ‘She thought the bairn would be tired after playing with our Daisy’s lassies and want an early night.’

Tessa was right. Betsy ate the rolls and soup half asleep and was soon tucked up in bed. Rose sat looking at her daughter for a long time, stroking the small forehead and just drinking in the sight of her child. How Davey would have loved seeing Betsy grow up, she thought sadly. When she’d been pregnant he’d admitted he’d like a little lass he could spoil and who would be a daddy’s girl.

Rose sighed. So much had happened since the accident but now she felt the future was clearer. She had a plan. She would pay for however many days she needed here at the inn while she looked for somewhere to rent – that wasn’t a problem – and she would find out how you went about having a stall at the market too, and search out where the cheapest ingredients for her food could be bought. Every farthing would matter.

She needed to keep as much of her nest egg in the bank as she could, but of necessity there’d be furniture to buy, along with equipment for the kitchen and so on. She’d purchase a couple of linen aprons and mob caps too; it was important to be tidy especially if you were selling food. She’d make sure she was clean and presentable at all times.

Her heart began to thud harder with excitement. Amy might have been jesting when she’d suggested the market stall and she’d clearly been dubious about the success of such a venture, but that didn’t matter.

Rose drew in a long, deep breath. She needed an undertaking like this, something that she could pour her heart and soul into, leaving her little time to think about the miller and what had happened at Rowland’s Gill mill. During the day she tried to banish the dark thoughts of what she had done, but through the long night hours they came to haunt her, disturbing her sleep and causing her to wake more tired than before she had gone to bed.