‘Stand back, Herbert, give Margaret some air. The shock has been too much for her. Summon a maid to bring some tea. She needs a hot, sweet drink.’

Mags felt the doctor take her pulse. Her cheeks were wet, and yet she hadn’t known that her tears had spilled over.

‘Margaret, you need to talk to someone. I know a young woman who has taken a great interest in the trauma experienced by people returning from the war. She is trying to develop a programme that will help them cope. I’d like to refer you to her. Not only would it help you, but you could help her – guiding her as to the kind of help that is needed.’

Is that it: Am I going mad? Me? Capable Mags, am I insane? No!

‘I’m all right. I’m sorry. It was just the shock. I – I never suspected . . . well, anything this serious. I can’t take it in.’

When the maid entered, they fell silent. The sound of the tea being poured echoed around the room. Once the maid had bobbed a curtsy and left them, Mags watched the doctor spoon in a further two teaspoons of sugar, to add to the one that already laced her cup. A widower, the doctor always wore his wedding band, and the gold caught the light as he stirred the steaming liquid.

The ring reminded her that soon she would be married, and doubts crowded in upon Mags once more. Taking a gulp of her tea, she grimaced at the sweetness of it, but the second sip began to steady her, and she drank the rest as quickly as the scorching heat of it would permit. While drinking, she didn’t have to talk. But it didn’t stop her mind working. And right now it was nagging her with the truth about her fiancé, Harold – now estranged from Flora.

‘Margaret, you’re shaking again. Have you drunk your tea?’

‘Yes, but I could do with another.’

‘Ah, you’re showing signs of recovery now. What do you think of my suggestion?’

‘I – I don’t think so. Thank you. I’m all right; it’s just the stress of arranging my wedding, being away from my fiancé and taking responsibility for the mill. I will be fine.’

‘Well, you do seem overloaded. And to hear such terrible news now about your mother was probably just too much for you. Let’s see how you go over the next few weeks, which won’t be easy ones for you. You will need to call on all the inner strength that I know you possess, in order to come to terms with your mother’s condition and to help her, too. Maybe – though I hate to suggest it – you might think about postponing your wedding? I was pleased to learn that your future husband is also in the cotton trade, as it always helps if you have the same interests. He’s part owner of the Roford mill, isn’t he?’