Later in the afternoon Sibbie had taken a string of wooden beads to Susan. ‘Look. Montel made these for me, so that I can count them. Do you like them, Mama?’

Susan gathered her up to sit on her knee and Sibbie hadn’t left her side since, wanting Susan to bath her and put her to bed and proudly announcing to the other children, ‘I have a mama, too.’

This had helped Susan, and Sibbie. Even though Sibbie didn’t understand where Montel had gone, she revelled in having what the others had: a mama. Finally Susan was where she should have been all along – with her daughter.

Susan’s grief for Harold was not as evident as her grief for Montel and her sadness for Mags. She only mentioned Harold once, saying that she was glad his body was identifiable as she would have wondered forever; and that the arrangements had been made for his remains to be collected by the family undertaker, who would take them and lay them to rest in the Roford crypt in London. ‘I won’t be attending. He was ready to cast me out again, knowing that I had nowhere to go. Well, I knew I was coming up here, but I didn’t tell him that. The love I had for Harold all but died. I can’t come to terms with never seeing him again, but worse than that, he has taken away from me my best friend in all the world.’

‘We’re here for you, Susan.’

‘How can you say that, after all I have done to you, Mags? You should hate me.’

‘It wasn’t you – it was Harold. He sought you out. He lied to you, and to me, until he was wed to me. But let’s not go over it all, as it is too painful. I just want you and me to be friends. You were Montel’s greatest friend and, as such, are mine.’

Susan cried then. Some of her ramblings, as Mags held her, had been about being sorry; others had been about how stupid she had been; but most had been about the loss of her dear Montel. At this point, Mags’s own tears had joined Susan’s and, in this, they had cemented their friendship.

A cold hand came into Mags’s hand. She gripped Susan’s hand just as hard as she was already holding Betsy’s, as they watched the local vicar sprinkle holy water on Montel’s coffin as it lay in the gaping open grave.

A picture came to Mags of Montel sitting on the quayside, painting. So alive, so beautiful.

Tears streamed down her face. She wanted him back. She didn’t want him gone. She wanted the dream of them marrying to come true. But then their hearts were married, as were their souls, and although his soul was soaring high, she knew he would never truly leave her. He couldn’t. Their hearts were entwined forever. You will live on in your child, Montel.

This thought prompted more tears. A river flowed from her eyes, her heart and her whole body. Her very soul was bleeding tears. Montel’s voice came to her. ‘It iz that you must carry on, mon amour. Carry on for our child, and for Betsy, and for Susan, and for the children; they will need you. I will be with you – with you always.’