At that point, Emma’s son came running from the house to greet her and she was saddened by the fact that she had not been blessed with more children. As she swept the laughing, sturdy little fellow into her arms, Emma felt a pang of guilt. He was so strong and healthy, so cherished and provided for. How very different must be the lives of those two children that Nelly had described. How hard must be the existence of a young mother who was made to steal in order to feed her babies. In her prayers, Emma never failed to give thanks to God for having made her life easier. Now she prayed he might help her to find this young woman so that life might also be made a little kinder for her.

Chapter Three

‘Well, if it isn’t Molly! A sight to brighten a fella’s day. But I’m surprised you dare show your face in broad daylight, you tinker. What shameful antics have you been up to now, eh?’ The friendly, taunting voice sailed along the wharf, causing the dark-haired young woman to stop and turn around. When her black, mischievous eyes alighted on the familiar brightly coloured barge moored nearby, she began sauntering towards it, her unhurried pace dictated by the tiny infant in her arms and her steps hindered by the slight, fair-haired girl trotting closely beside her. ‘You’re never meaning me, are you?’ she laughed. ‘Why!… I’m an angel if ever there was one.’

Straightening from his labours aboard the barge, the burly young man regarded her closely as she drew near. ‘There were a fancy lady asking after you, Molly, my darling,’ he said, with a lop-sided grin. ‘Done up like royalty she were… and real keen to make your acquaintance, I reckon.’ Mick Darcy was mesmerized by Molly’s dark beauty, and by that particular graceful way she had of moving. The nearer she came to him, the more his heart turned over. She may be painfully thin, he thought, and dressed in threadbare rags, but there was something magnificent about her; classy was how he would describe the lovely Molly. Classy, and, as far as he was concerned, sadly unattainable.

Mick lost count of how many times that waster, Jack-the-Lad, had run off and left her, only to return and put his feet under Molly’s table again. The truth was, she loved the blighter. And love had a nasty way of blinding a body until they saw only what they wanted to see. It irked him though to see how Molly had been used by that rascal time and again. By! If the fellow was here right now, at this minute, likely as not he’d get the full weight of a fist in his lying mouth! The bugger didn’t deserve such a loyal, bonny lass as Molly. Oh, if only she’d give him the chance to look after her, he would make her life that much more comfortable, treat her special, he would. But her heart belonged to Jack-the-Lad, and there seemed no way of winning it over. All the same, he wouldn’t give up. He wanted Molly, loved her. He had patience enough to wait for the right moment in which to make his move.