The girl straightened without looking round. ‘I’ve gotta go but take it from me, you wouldn’t want to work here anyway. He’s all right but she’s a tartar.’ She made a face and then turned, her voice prim as she called, ‘Coming, Mrs Howard.’

Rose thought about what the little maid had told her on the tram on the way back to Summerfield Avenue. She decided she wouldn’t tell Mrs Harper what she intended to do. The hirings didn’t sound altogether respectable – at least, someone like Mrs Harper might not think so – but she couldn’t afford to be choosy. The train fare to Gateshead, the rent for the room, the tram rides she’d taken looking for work and having to buy something to eat in the evening had all bitten into her small stash of money at an alarming rate. She was frightened. She glanced down at Betsy snuggled on her lap. And she’d begun to dream about her earlier life in the workhouse again, dark nightmares that caused her to wake in the middle of the night whimpering with terror. Suddenly it didn’t matter what people might think of her if they saw her standing with Betsy at the hirings; the only thing that did matter was securing a roof over their heads.

At some time during the night she awoke in a panic realizing she hadn’t asked the maid what time the hirings began. After worrying about it till daybreak she decided she’d just have to leave for Birtley as early as she could on Monday morning.

Saturday and Sunday passed slowly with flurries of snow now and again which prevented Rose leaving the house, worried as she was that Betsy would get chilled and catch a cold. She was praying that the worst of the snow would hold off until after she had been to the hirings. She felt sick when she thought about it, of standing with Betsy hoping someone would employ her and everyone assuming the worst about her, but she had no choice. The workhouse was forever on her mind now, much as she told herself she would never willingly walk into its dreaded confines. But could she let Betsy starve instead? She was in no doubt that Mrs Harper’s opinion on the matter would be along the same lines as those of the man at the clothing factory; the landlady had made it clear a couple of times that their staying at the guest house was purely temporary, and Rose felt that this particular fount of the milk of human kindness was rapidly running dry.