She was about to turn away when the man said quietly, ‘That was bad luck, lass. Them shipyards are dangerous places.’ He stared at her for a second or two more and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Look, my sister runs a guest house near Saltwell Park but there’s not much doing usually through the winter months. I dare say she might have a room but it’d be payment in advance, mind.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Rose hesitated. She didn’t want to spend precious money on a cab when she could walk or take a tram. ‘How far is it?’ she asked awkwardly.

Hubert Dodds prided himself on being a good judge of character and he’d bet his last farthing the bonny little piece in front of him was a respectable lass even though she was on her own with a young’un. The story about the husband dying rang true, but it seemed odd she didn’t have any family to help. Still, it was none of his business, although he dare say Beattie would want to know the ins and outs before she agreed to take the lass in. With this in mind, he said, ‘I’ll take you there, no charge. It’s only right to make sure I haven’t sent you on a wild goose chase with the bairn an’ all.’

Rose’s face flooded with fresh colour. ‘No, it’s fine. If you just give me directions—’

‘Lass, I’ve a daughter about your age and I wouldn’t want her tramping the streets with a bairn and bags and no one to give her a hand. Come on, hop in.’ So saying he took the bags out of her hands before she could protest further and then helped her into the interior of the cab that smelled of leather and pipe smoke with faint undertones of horse, replying to her flustered thanks with a brief smile. Aye, she was a nice little lass, he was sure of it, he thought as he climbed into his seat. He just hoped Beattie agreed with him. She was prim and proper, was Beattie, and if she felt the story about the husband wasn’t true, that’d be the end of that. Perhaps he shouldn’t have opened his big mouth in the first place – the missus’d be sure to tell him that when he related the events of the day – but the lass had looked so lost and forlorn. The vicar had preached about the Good Samaritan only this last Sunday, he’d remind Elsie of that if she gave him any grief.