His exhibition had gone down really well, although for her own portrait Mags had insisted on buying lengths of lace and wrapping herself in it. In the end the effect was tantalizing, as the contours of her body were visible as if seen through a mist. The painting was beautiful and had been bought by a wealthy Londoner, who wanted to know who the model was. Montel had told him it was his wife, to which the man expressed extreme regret, but joked, ‘If I was an Arabian, I would offer you all the camels in Arabia for her.’ This had made Montel laugh out loud when he had related the story to Mags.

Betsy had become more involved in the business than Mags had originally envisaged, because besides making a Scottish tammie hat each day, she helped with the pottery-making and had proved to be very talented at it, as well as artistic. Her paintings on the pieces of pottery were a realistic depiction of scenes around them. Montel had complimented her and given her tips. Now Betsy’s pieces were sought-after. She preferred this to working with the tartan cloth, which she found too thick for her sewing machine, and had to stitch the hats by hand, often doing it in the evening, with her girls making the pompoms for the top of the hats.

They engaged daily helpers to clean the house, cook for them and look after the children, and that and the employment of many knitters and seamstresses skilled at working with tartan meant they were all loved and accepted by the villagers, who saw them as furthering the prosperity of their neighbourhood.

But, joy of joys, Mags was certain that at last she was pregnant. She’d now missed two of her periods and was feeling very queasy in the mornings.

Opening her bedroom curtains let in the sunlight. Its warmth held the promise of a lovely late-May day. All the family were out, except for four-and-a-half-year-old Sibbie and two-and-a-half-year-old Billy. How different these half-siblings were proving to be, with Billy living up to her first assessment of him as demanding and determined to have what he wanted, and Sibbie being much more like her father’s lovely sister, Flora: gentle, kind and always giving in to Billy. Mags loved them both dearly, but felt guilt inside her concerning them. She had never been able to write to Flors to tell her and Cyrus that they had a niece and nephew. If only she had remembered Flora’s letter, with her address on it, when she had finally escaped and left Feniscowles. Susan could have got it for her. But since then Mags had become wary of entrusting Susan with something so important. She’d even cautioned Montel not to tell Susan exactly where they were, when he contacted her. If Susan knew, she might be forced to disclose it, under the threat of a heavy beating from Harold.

Putting her hand on her stomach, Mags prayed her little one was truly nestled there, and that all would be well. Maybe now, with so much time having passed and no trouble coming their way from Harold, it was possible to trust Susan with getting Flors’s address for her. There had been no news of any further beatings, and Montel had said that although Susan ached for Sibbie, she was otherwise very happy. Can I risk Harold finding out where Flors is? For sure, he would still harbour feelings of bitter revenge against Flors and Cyrus, and could bring terrible consequences down upon them for their continued incestuous relationship.