Rose glanced down at the small head with its riot of chestnut curls, and as she did so, Betsy looked up at her and smiled. Her big brown eyes with their thick lashes were so trusting it made Rose’s heart ache. What was she doing dragging her daughter to yet another new place? she asked herself, but then what choice did she have? She’d been so happy when Betsy was born, knowing her child would have a secure family home and lots of love, something she herself had never experienced growing up in the workhouse. She’d imagined her path was set for life – having more bairns in the years ahead and being a good wife to a man who loved her. And then, in just one day, everything had changed. Davey was gone and she had to be mam and da to their precious daughter.

Shaking herself mentally, she became practical. She had to find somewhere to stay for a while until she got the lie of the land. Not another guest house like Mrs Harper’s, something more impersonal. A hotel or an inn. She didn’t want to face any questions or probing into her background, especially after what had happened at the mill.

Without any clear idea where she was going she began walking, a bag in each hand and Betsy still clinging to her skirt. They’d only gone a short distance when she saw an inn, the Bee Hive. To the side and front of the building there was a mini market going on, a few women in shawls and bonnets sitting by their baskets of potatoes and other vegetables, nattering away in the sunshine. A number of stalls were scattered here and there and she stopped in front of one, buying a small bag of treacle toffee for Betsy. They sat on the low stone wall fronting the courtyard of the inn for a while; then, deciding to take the bull by the horns, Rose picked up the bags and with Betsy in tow, made her way over and through the big brass-studded door of the premises and into a large oak-beamed room. It was mid-afternoon and most of the tables were empty, but a couple of old men with fox terriers at their feet sat nursing pints of beer by the empty fireplace, and a smart-looking gentleman was sitting at the bar talking to the buxom barmaid.

As she stood hesitating by the door, a small rotund man with a bulbous nose came out of an archway to the left of the bar and seeing her, walked over. ‘Can I help you, lass?’ he said, his eyes lingering on her bruised cheekbone for a moment.

‘I’m – I’m looking – I wondered if you had a room vacant?’ she stammered, feeling out of her depth as both the man at the bar and the barmaid stared at her.

‘A room, is it? For just you and the bairn?’