‘I don’t understand, Bridget. It sounds to me as if you’ve got everything you hoped for. Yet you’re still worried. Why?’

‘Because I’ve known Tom for a long time. I know how he thinks. I know how hard it will be for him to let folk believe that Ruth is his. He’s a man of honour, you see.’

‘Then he’ll keep his promise to you. He’ll make you a proper family, just like he said.’

Bridget was not convinced. ‘He means well, but can he stand it? Living a lie twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Every time he hears the baby cry, every time I have to get out of bed to see to her, he’ll watch us. He’ll see me feeding her, holding her in my arms. Oh, Fan, I’m so afraid it will tear him apart. He’ll see me and Ruth, and in his mind he’ll see me and Harry the same.’

‘You can’t know that.’ Privately, Fanny thought Bridget might be right. ‘You have to give him a chance to prove he’s man enough to deal with it. You owe him that much.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ It was turning her inside out. There had been many times when she would have given anything to turn the clock back to before she became pregnant. Not now though; now the thought of being without that beautiful little bairn was too terrible to contemplate. ‘The truth is, I’ve only now realised just how much I love Tom. Harry was a mistake. Oh, I’m fond of him, and in a way I’ll always have a soft spot for him, but it’s not right, is it?’

‘Do you want to go home, gal?’

Bridget looked up, the tears glittering on her lashes. She brushed them away. ‘Oh, yes!’ Right now she wanted nothing more. ‘I want to make it up to him.’

‘Then stop torturing yerself.’ Taking Bridget by the shoulders, Fanny gently shook her. ‘You’re not even twenty-one, Bridget, and you’ve been through more than some women will go through in their entire lifetime. But you’ve survived, ain’t yer? There has to be a reason for that, don’t you think? I mean it, gal, don’t lie here punishing yourself about summat you can’t change.’

‘I’m frightened for him… for all of us.’

‘Look, Bridget.’ Fetching the child from the crib, she laid her in Bridget’s arms. ‘This is your daughter, gal, your own flesh and blood. Her name is Ruth Mulligan, and she’s a person all in her own right. She’s got nobody else in this world but you, and Tom. Think on that, gal, and everything else will come right.’

‘I’ve thought of nothing else.’

‘Then keep thinking it.’

Bridget promised she would. But the niggling fear ate away at her. Would Tom’s good will last? Or would there be a price to pay?

Nelly came rushing into the room with Fanny’s son held out at arm’s length. ‘The little bugger’s pissed all down my apron!’ she cried. ‘And after I’d near broke me arm rocking him to sleep.’