His temper rose, but telling himself to go steady he replied in a tone as quiet as hers had been. ‘Like I said, you must be exhausted and no one can think like that. I’ll leave you to have an early night.’ He paused a moment, as though waiting for her to say something, and when she remained silent he pulled his cap on his head and walked to the door, opening it and stepping into the snow-covered yard without another word.

She waited until he had gone into the back lane before quickly crossing to the door and locking it, sliding the bolts across the top and bottom for good measure. It was the first time since she and Davey had moved in that she had locked and bolted the door – no one did, it was unheard of – and once she had done so she stared at it, shocked at herself. Did she really think she needed protection from Nathaniel? She didn’t have to think about the answer and with it came the realization that she was frightened of him, that she had always been frightened of him deep down but when Davey was alive she had buried the panic and unease because, as Davey had been fond of saying, Nat was like a brother to him.

A little cry from Betsy broke in on her thoughts and she lifted the baby from her pram, settling her on the clippy mat in front of the range propped up with a couple of cushions where she happily played with her wooden rattle. After making herself a pot of tea, Rose sat down in one of the armchairs, staring at her daughter. Betsy would grow up without her father now. She would never know the da who’d adored her. She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t. Her poor bairn. And why had this happened to Davey when there were lots of bad men out there, men who couldn’t give a fig about their families?

She wallowed in misery for a few minutes, but then in spite of herself the look of delight on Betsy’s face at the sound the rattle made brought Rose out of the pit of despair. Whatever it took, she would provide for her daughter and keep her safe, she told herself fiercely. It was up to her now. When she had met Davey she’d been working as a kitchen maid for the grand sum of two shillings and sixpence a week, but there must be better paid work she could do? In a factory perhaps, or cooking and cleaning for one of the big houses Hendon way? No one would employ a woman with a babe in arms but maybe Mrs McKenzie would be prepared to take care of Betsy during the day if she came to a monetary arrangement with her? It would benefit them both.