‘We’ll build it up again, Betsy. And we’ll have a special room that will exhibit Montel’s paintings. We will keep and preserve them, and will never sell any of them. They will be for us and everyone else to enjoy, and a memorial to Montel. And, Susan – as Montel’s legal widow – you will inherit his share and be part of the business, too.’

‘No! I don’t deserve that, and you know I wasn’t his proper wife.’

‘I know you were the saving of him, and that’s what matters. He told me that, but for you, he would have died in the gutter. And he loved you dearly; and, if not biologically, he was a father to your daughter. So accept it, with my love. Together we can come through this.’

‘Aye, it’s our only way, Susan. And you’ve nowt else, lass. Mags is offering you her hand and her heart, and so am I.’

Susan smiled and nodded. Her red-raw eyes didn’t reflect her smile, and Mags knew it would take a while for all of them to smile again from the heart. She wondered if she herself ever would again. But she knew she would come through. She’d throw herself into sorting everything out first and would then rebuild her life, although she had doubts that it would be here, amongst the folk she’d come to love.

At that moment she heard joyful shouts of ‘Ma, Ma!’ And fainter ones of ‘Mama, Mama . . .’

She looked a little to the left and saw Betsy’s girls running down the hill, calling to their mother; and Sibbie and Billy running for all their might behind them, calling out ‘Mama’. Billy had been taught this term of address by Montel.

The children’s cries were a mixture of joy and relief. Mags knew all that had happened hadn’t passed them by. They lacked an understanding of it, but felt the sadness of missing Montel and knew he was never coming back to them.

Her heart went out to them, and they gave her another reason to carry on. I’m to secure their future, too. And that of my unborn child. And she knew that her future path was set. It wasn’t the one she’d thought to tread – at least, not without her beloved Montel by her side – but it was one she would take with courage, and with Montel’s spirit inside her.

Chapter Thirty

Mags walked round the rooms of what was once her happy family home in Feniscowles, but now felt more like the lair of the Devil that had betrayed her. Most of her mother’s and father’s furniture was in store, put there by Harold and replaced with pretentious pieces that were meant to speak of grandeur. Her anger was such that she wanted to physically throw it all outside and make a bonfire of it, but she’d schooled herself to be sensible over the disposal of everything.

A year had passed, and in that time the house had been looked after by the staff, so it wasn’t musty. It was found that, of her father’s fortune, only debt remained. All had been gambled or squandered by Harold.