Rose had been looking forward to this moment for weeks. ‘Well,’ she said softly, ‘I thought there might be a little girl that I know who would like to go to the pantomime this afternoon, but of course I could be wrong?’

Her answer was Betsy flinging herself on her as she screamed with delight. ‘Really? Really, Mam?’

‘Really, my pet.’ Disentangling the child, Rose kissed the top of her head. ‘Now eat your porridge, and we’ve got bacon and sausages and black pudding today because it’s Christmas Eve.’

The look Betsy bestowed on her was so blissful that Rose had to laugh. She had already lit the fire in the front room so it was warm in there, and once Betsy had finished her breakfast and got dressed, they played for most of the morning with a doll’s house she had bought her the year before, the Christmas tree in a corner – which they’d decorated with tinsel and glass baubles and tiny silver bells – casting a festive glow over the room.

For the first time since Alexander Bembridge had come to her stall at the market, Rose felt relaxed. In spite of telling herself she was being ridiculous, she’d been on tenterhooks every day expecting he might appear. She was probably making a mountain out of a molehill after what Cissy had said, and the chances were that he didn’t like her in that way at all, but nevertheless she knew she had been as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. But now she had four days with Betsy and she intended to make the most of them.

She couldn’t wait to see Betsy’s face on Christmas morning when she saw what Santa had brought her – a little shop with real scales, a beautifully dressed baby doll, a number of storybooks and games, and a big jar of all Betsy’s favourite confectionery including the whipped cream bonbons and lemon squirts she was particularly fond of. It was going to be a lovely Christmas.

After lunch they got ready for the pantomime, Betsy hopping about like an excited cricket and quite unable to stay still while Rose did the child’s hair and put a new velvet ribbon on her ponytail of curls.

It was snowing again as they left the house, big fat flakes that warned of more to come. Betsy skipped along at her mother’s side as though she was on springs, causing several passers-by to smile understandingly. When they reached the Royal Theatre they joined the crowd of people in the foyer of gilt-edged mirrors and dark red velvet, Betsy’s eyes nearly popping out of her head at the splendour of it all.