‘If I’m deceitful, I’ve you to thank for it.’

‘Get out!’ Shaking with rage, Edward Morris clenched his fists on the desk. ‘Go to your widow – and God help her,’ he added, his voice heavy with meaning.

Suddenly the tension in the room became almost palpable. ‘Don’t, Father,’ said Bob, his face white. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Does she know about it?’

There was fear in Bob’s eyes. ‘Don’t rake it all up, not now, after all this time. Please, Father. It won’t happen again, not now I’ve found someone worthwhile.’

‘You haven’t told her, have you? No, of course you haven’t, or she would never have agreed to marry you.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘You can’t have forgotten how we were hounded out of our home, and all because of you. The shame of it killed your poor mother.’

‘Please, Father. I promise you. It’s different this time.’ He was a small boy again, and his father was the master. ‘It wouldn’t do you much good if the truth ever got out. Of the two of us, you have the most to lose.’

‘Of course, you’re right. I would be foolish if I let it be known, even to rid ourselves of this poor widow who can’t see what’s before her eyes.’

‘I love her, Father. I really do.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. I hope and pray for both our sakes that you really have put it all behind you.’ Weary now, he looked away and bowed his head. ‘Get out. I want nothing more to do with you.’

Chapter Ten

On the first day of November, Bridget delivered Ruthie to the charity school.

The matron seemed a stern woman, but in truth her crust of hardness hid a kind heart.

‘Name?’ She sat before them in her office, pen in hand, and a form a mile long in front of her.

When Ruthie hesitated, Bridget gave her a nudge.

‘Ruthie Mulligan, ma’am.’ Ruthie did not want to be here at all.

‘Age?’

‘Seven, ma’am.’

‘Date of birth?’

‘August… er… August…’

Bridget came to her rescue. ‘August the fourth, eighteen fifty-one, ma’am.’

She received a hard stare, a wag of the finger, and the strict instruction, ‘Let the girl speak for herself.’

Resuming the interrogation, the matron went on, ‘Do you know what the Bible is?’

‘Yes, ma’am. It’s the book of the Lord. But it’s hard,’ Ruthie added innocently. ‘I don’t understand it very well.’

‘Hmm.’ Another long entry on the form. ‘Now then, Ruth Mulligan, aged seven. Do we have a queen or a king on the throne?’

‘A queen, ma’am.’

‘Good girl.’ Matron actually smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you know her name, do you?’

‘Yes, I do, ma’am.’ Ruthie’s chest puffed out with pride. ‘She’s called Queen Victoria.’

Matron’s face positively beamed. ‘Wonderful!’

‘Mammy told me.’ Ruthie gave Bridget a big smile, and was quickly reprimanded.

‘Look at me, girl!’ With the tip of her fingers, Matron drummed the desk top. ‘Count to ten.’

Ruthie did so.