Bill Craig stood unsteadily before the mirror, ill and dazed, angrily beholding the deep, uneven tear along his temple. ‘Little bastard,’ he muttered. ‘I hope the divil don’t give you a minute’s peace.’ He might have deserved it, but that was no comfort. He might have saved a whole week’s wages that belonged to her. Even so, there were only two things on his mind right now. Firstly, he wished every curse on earth might pursue the bitch. And much more importantly, he had his work cut out to clean this place up before Mrs Craig returned. She was a clever, shrewd woman, who’d already accused him of hankering after Molly. As it was, he had to explain why she’d gone so sudden. Damn her eyes! Women were a curse, and that was a fact!

It was some weeks later when Mick came into Bill Craig’s café, asking after the one called Molly. He spoke to the surly proprietor at great length, but was made to depart heavy-hearted when he learned that Molly had left some time ago. And no, there was no man with her. Just three young ’uns.

He had thought to find her here, after the seaman had so vividly described her. The unfortunate thing was that the seaman had carried the information too long, having ‘met this lovely little floozy and spent a while drinking to me good fortune’.

Mick, though, was undeterred as ever. He would find his lovely Molly: for his love of her, for the Tanners who seemed so very anxious to talk to her and who had launched their own enquiries, and not least, for Molly’s own sake.

Chapter Eleven

The children’s laughter was a tonic to Molly’s heart. She had watched their playful antics and enjoyed their squeals of delight these past twenty minutes and more; minutes that had gone all too quickly, each one ingrained on her memory for all time. If she had nothing else in this world, she had her children and she thanked the good Lord for them.

Seated at the top of the stone steps that led down from Tilly Watson’s scullery to the enclosed yard below, Molly looked a sorry little figure. After those long weeks of hiding and scraping a living any way she could, her already slim figure was now pathetically thin, with the threadbare clothes hanging on her like a shapeless sack. Even the long, respectable shawl given to her by Tilly could not disguise the undernourished form beneath. But for all that, there was a unique strength about Molly’s pale, almost gaunt face, and a particular beauty that drew a body’s attention; especially the black eyes which were now drawn up towards the radiant sky of a lovely May evening. Certainly, to the young man who was closely regarding her from the parlour doorway, Molly’s special beauty outshone even the dazzling sunshine that spilled over her upturned features, highlighting the exquisite loveliness of that familiar face and awakening in him a deep aching desire that he could no longer suppress.