‘D’yer mean to tell him?’

Bridget lowered her gaze. ‘No.’

‘Yer must be fond of him though, or yer wouldn’t have let him get yer in such a pickle.’

‘If it hadn’t been for the storm, it would never have happened.’

Fanny smiled, but not unkindly. ‘I’ve heard some excuses in my time, gal, but never that.’

Bridget had to smile too. ‘I know, but it’s true. When we got snowed in, it just sort of… happened.’ It all came back to her, the closeness of Harry, the scent of him, the way she felt when he put his arm round her. So good. So different from when Tom was that close.

Closing her mind to it, she went on, ‘We slept in the barn for some hours before Harry could go for help. We didn’t get home until the next morning.’ So many lies, she thought, so much deceit. ‘I never did tell Tom I’d been in the barn with Harry. He thinks I waited at the big house until someone brought me home. It worked out all right really, because Tom got snowed in too, and as luck would have it, I got home only minutes before he did.’

‘Let me get this straight. You’ve been made with child by Harry Little. Nobody knows but you and me. You haven’t told Tom, and yer don’t want to. Moreover, you’ve no intention of telling Harry either.’ Suddenly a knowing look came over Fanny’s face. ‘Ah!’ There was relief in her voice. ‘I see what yer after. You’ve come to yer friend, Fanny, because you think I might know somebody who could help rid yer of the little brat. And, as it happens, I do know a certain woman. She don’t come cheap, mind, but I can help you there, because I’m not short of a bob or two. Anyway, gal, if yer can’t help yer friends, who the bleedin’ hell can yer help, eh?’

Bridget’s face had lost colour with every word. ‘No! I don’t want to be rid of it! I want to keep the baby. It’s my flesh and blood. I want to hold it in my arms, and see it grow up to be a fine young person. Oh, no. I could never harm it.’

Exasperated, Fanny groaned out loud. ‘Well, I’m buggered! You’ve got me foxed now, an’ no mistake. If yer don’t tell Harry, an’ yer don’t tell Tom, an’ suddenly there yer are with a belly the size of God’s hill, there’ll be no hiding it.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, gal, whatever will yer do? Tom’s no fool. He’ll know when his wife’s about to drop a young’un on his bleedin’ doorstep.’

Bridget felt more confused than ever. ‘I can’t tell Harry,’ she said quietly. ‘We did wrong and that’s an end to it. It’s best if he doesn’t know the consequences. He’s got enough with his old mammy to look after. I won’t saddle him with more responsibility.’

‘He saddled you!’ When Bridget blushed to the roots of her hair, Fanny apologised. ‘Sorry, luv. I’ve a wicked tongue. So what will yer do then?’