She had to admit there was sommat about Mr Roford – he seemed to hypnotize womenfolk. Look at how Mags adored him, despite knowing that he was being unfaithful to her. Aye, and knowing of his behaving badly with me – though I never told her all of it.

But for Betsy the worst thing of all was having to admit to herself that, deep down, she knew she’d be hard pressed to refuse him, if he came on strong and they were alone. Even though she knew it was likely that Bill might soon be able to look after her in that way.

Eeh, dear God, don’t let me. Don’t let me ever give in to Mr Roford. It’d be the worst betrayal of me lovely Mags and me lovely Bill. But Harold Roford had touched something deep inside her, and it was something she didn’t think she could fight. Look at me now, thinking of him when me ma lies on her sickbed . . . Dear God!

As soon as Betsy had asked Mags, medical help was arranged. And now Dr Lange, who was known to Betsy, as she had dealt with him through the welfare facility at Witherbrook’s mill, was gathering his instruments into his case, having examined her ma.

Once downstairs, he said, ‘I’ve given her something that will keep her asleep for a couple of hours, Betsy. Now she is going to need twenty-four-hour care – can you manage that?’

‘Aye, we can, Doctor, but . . . well, for how long? I mean, I don’t want to lose her – none of us do – but we don’t want her to suffer like this, either.’

‘I understand. To be truthful, it isn’t something any doctor can predict, but I would say that Mrs Parkin has very little time left in this world. If she is a Christian and God-fearing, I would fetch a priest or vicar to her, as that often helps to settle the dying and assists them to pass in peace.’

Betsy held on to the back of a chair. Looking past the doctor, to Ciss, she could see that the truth about their ma’s condition had hit her sister, as if for the first time. Finding strength that she didn’t know she had, Betsy took charge. ‘Aye, we’ll do that, as Ma is God-fearing and says her prayers every night, even if going to church sticks in her craw, as it seems to be the domain of the rich, instead of welcoming and helping the poor. Nevertheless, I knaw as she’d like some prayers said over her. You run down to the church house, our Ciss, there’s a good lass.’

Ciss didn’t protest. She went to the back door as if she was in a dream and got her coat off the hook.

‘Take me umbrella, lass.’

As Ciss picked up the umbrella, Betsy thought of Mags. The umbrella had been a present from her. Not many people of Betsy’s standing owned an umbrella, and she was very proud of it. But it also reminded her that she would need to hurry back to her job as soon as she could, as there was a special dinner party tonight and she was to oversee everything.