‘There weren’t no gypsies nor vagabonds, I can tell you that… what! Some o’ them buggers would slit yer throat fer a shilling.’ Nelly was filled with confusion. ‘Aw, look darling… I don’t know how that there came ter be in this house, I really… don’t.’ Her voice tailed off and her heart-beat quickened. She felt the colour drain from her face. Molly! Of course. Molly and the lass, little Sal. But no! If Molly had come across a gold-piece like that, she would have quickly sold it! Nelly’s thoughts raced ahead. But Molly was a pickpocket all the same, there was no denying that! Happen she’d raided some gentlewoman’s purse and was holding on to the clasp until it might seem safe to sell it on.

‘What is it, Nelly?’ Emma had seen the look of astonishment creep over Nelly’s face and she saw it as a sign that Nelly had remembered something, or somebody. Now, as Nelly glanced up, Emma saw the rush of guilt in her homely face. ‘Out with it, Nelly. Who was it? WHO DID YOU BRING INTO THIS HOUSE?… Was it a ruffian? A thief? Who, Nelly? WHO?’

Nelly was beside herself. Marlow had agreed that Emma should not be told about the young woman and her child. But oh dear, dear! What to do? Nelly was made to recall how, years before, she had kept certain things from Emma; how she thought the girl-child had cried out and was plucked from the gutter by a passing vagabond. She had lived to regret keeping that information from Emma and then as the years passed, it was too late to do anything else. Now here she was, faced with another dilemma! Should she tell Emma about the young woman and the child who had used her son’s belongings like they were her own, or should she confess to Emma only a part of what took place… how she had tried to help Molly – just as she believed Emma herself would have done? What to do? Being afraid of hurting Emma in even the smallest way, and realizing that in revealing the truth to Emma, she would be going against Marlow’s sound advice, Nelly blurted out the first excuse that came into her head. ‘There was a ruffian here! And a thief too: Justice Caleb Crowther!’

Emma was shocked. ‘He was here?’

‘Came banging at the door, demanding ter see yer… ranting and raving he were, but I telled him to sod orf out of it!’ A tide of relief washed through Nelly on having given Emma enough to occupy her mind, while at the same time not having actually lied to her.

‘Caleb Crowther came here?’ Emma was quietly digesting this information; yet she could see no real link between her uncle, and how the clasp came to be here. ‘Did he come inside the house, Nelly?’ she asked.

‘Tuh!… A likely chance! Oh, he would have done if I hadn’t kept the bugger where he belonged… on the doorstep.’ Nelly thought the danger regarding Molly and little Sal had passed. But she made the mistake of looking too pleased with herself, too relieved, and too guilty – especially when she now saw Emma observing her with curious eyes. ‘I sent him packing, Emma gal,’ she finished lamely, visibly squirming beneath Emma’s scrutinizing gaze.