Making up her mind suddenly, she said, ‘Well, now that’s clear I see no reason why I can’t offer you a room, Mrs Shelton.’ Glancing at Hubert, she said, ‘Go and bring Mrs Shelton’s luggage in while I put the kettle on. I think we could all do with a cup of tea.’

Hubert wasn’t about to argue. As he scurried into the hall, Beattie said, ‘Sit down, Mrs Shelton. I’ll show you the room after you’ve had a hot drink – you must be tired after your journey.’ Betsy’s squirming and whimpering having reached a new pitch, she added, ‘Is the child hungry?’ and when Rose nodded, continued, ‘Sit here and feed her and I’ll see to it that you are not disturbed. Come along to the kitchen at the end of the hall when you’re ready.’ And so saying she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Rose sank down onto one of the sofas, her legs feeling weak with relief that they had somewhere to stay. Slipping off her coat, she undid the buttons of her blouse and put Betsy to the breast. It was snowing more heavily outside, and again thankfulness flooded her that they’d found shelter. What the room was like or how expensive it was didn’t matter right at this moment. She’d escaped. They were safe.

Chapter Eight

Over the next day or so Rose realized that she could have done a lot worse than a room in Mrs Harper’s establishment. The house itself was a two-storey, semi-detached residence in a tree-lined avenue, and as far removed from the narrow terraced streets in the centre of Gateshead as Buckingham Palace to the East End of London. Apparently Mrs Harper had married well, and on her husband’s untimely death at the age of thirty-five had been left with a small nest egg in the bank and the marital home bought and paid for, but a need to earn some kind of income to enable her to continue living in the house she loved. Hence her taking in paying guests, normally through the summer months.