Opal Sharp stared down at Susie, her six-year-old sister, and gave her an encouraging smile, as she shifted the weight of her two-year-old brother, Jack, on her hip. He was fast asleep, although how he managed it she had no idea. She had wrapped him tightly in her shawl, then tied it about her waist, but despite the bitter cold she could feel the burning heat of him against her chest and she was gravely concerned. He obviously had the fever that had taken their father just days before, and she was all too aware that he shouldn’t be out in the bad weather – but she had had no choice in the matter.

The cottage they had lived in was tied to the farm that her father had worked for, and once he had died the farmer had turned up on the same day as the funeral, telling her that they must all be out by late afternoon. Left with no alternative, Opal had instructed Charlie to load whatever he could of their possessions onto the hand cart, and now they were in search of somewhere to shelter from the storm. The snow was coming down thick and fast, getting deeper underfoot by the minute and behind her she could hear fifteen-year-old Charlie grunting softly with exertion as he yanked at the handles of the small wooden cart. Thankfully a kindly neighbour had offered to take in the rest of their possessions until they found somewhere to stay.

‘I’d have you all ’ere in a sigh,’ she had told them sympathetically, ‘but I daren’t upset Farmer Gold or else my Stan might be out of a job an’ all.’

‘We – have – to – find – somewhere – soon,’ Charlie gasped. ‘I don’t know how much further I can pull this thing.’

‘We’ll find somewhere, you’ll see,’ Opal answered, with a confidence she was far from feeling.

They had already tramped for miles, first down the old Roman Road, then through the village of Hartshill. They had then slid and slithered their way down Bucks Hill and now they were on the ground known to the locals as Rapper’s Hole. It was nothing more than a wasteland of fields with an odd scattering of huts and dilapidated cottages scattered here and there, but Opal could think of nowhere else they could go. Even a run-down cottage would be some shelter from the cold, if they could only find one.

They trudged on, getting more dispirited by the minute. At last, a building suddenly loomed up out of the snow ahead of them and, dropping the handles of the cart, Charlie rushed towards it. It was what appeared to be a very old derelict cottage.

‘It’s empty,’ he shouted excitedly. ‘Perhaps we could rest here for the night, Opal?’