Fanny gawped at her. ‘Carrying somebody else’s baby? Yer never are!’ Her eyes were nearly popping out of her head. ‘By! I’d have bet me life that you weren’t the sort to cheat on yer old man.’

‘It was the first, and last, time.’ Images of Harry came into her mind, but she pushed them aside. ‘It was a terrible mistake.’

‘Aye. We all say that, don’t we, eh?’ Leaning forward in her chair, eyes pink from the brandy, Fanny was unnervingly direct. ‘If it don’t belong to Tom, who the bloody hell does it belong to?’

‘I don’t want to say.’ She would keep Harry out of the picture if she could.

‘Well I never!’ Smiling from ear to ear, Fanny sat back in her chair. ‘O’ course, it’s that randy old bugger yer work for, ain’t it?’ Clenching her fists she suddenly realised the seriousness of the situation. ‘Tom’s found out, ain’t he? That’s why yer here. The bugger’s thrown yer on the streets, ain’t he? By! I’ve a bloody good mind to take meself up to the big house and give that master o’ yourn the sharp edge o’ my tongue.’

‘It weren’t Mr Doyle.’

‘Eh?’ Fanny was puzzled. ‘If it ain’t Tom, and it ain’t the master, who else is there?’ Suddenly the light dawned. ‘My God! It’s Harry Little, ain’t it? I knew he fancied yer. I saw it in his face that morning in the grocer’s when he walked in and took you by surprise. I reckoned then you had a soft spot for him too, an’ now I know.’

There was no use denying it. Bridget knew Fanny would keep ferreting away until the truth was out. ‘I’m really worried, Fanny. I can’t eat or sleep, and I can hardly look Tom in the face any more. He’s sharp. He’ll know there’s something going on.’

‘What? Yer mean he doesn’t know?’

‘That’s why I’m here. What should I do, Fanny? If I confess about what happened between me and Harry, there’ll be murder, I know it. Tom’s a quiet sort of man, but if he thought I’d been bedded by another…’ She visibly shivered. ‘Oh, I daren’t imagine what he’d do.’

‘It’s easy. Don’t tell him.’ As far as Fanny was concerned, most things were black or white.

‘How can I not tell him?’

‘Tell him you’re with child, but let him think it’s his.’

‘I can’t.’

‘What d’yer mean, yer can’t? Unless you and Harry mean to run off together, I don’t see what choice you’ve got.’ Eyeing Bridget closely, she asked, ‘Have yer told anybody else?’

‘Not a soul. I wasn’t even certain myself until a few days ago when I started feeling sick and unwell. I was hoping it might all be my imagination, but I know it isn’t. I had to come and see you today, Fanny. I’ve got no one else to confide in.’

‘Hmm. So you’ve not told Harry then?’

‘No.’ She had hardly spoken to him since the night of the storm, and she would not allow herself even to think of her feelings for him, so great was her shame.