The night had grown chilly. Shivering, Molly drew the shawl close about her shoulders. She had sat there on the hard steps, their marble coldness striking into her and penetrating her very bones.

It seemed like an age that she had stayed there, thinking and worrying, searching for so many answers that would not come. Only one thing was certain to her. She had no choice but to make a new life for herself and the children, and in a place so big and which teemed with so many people that she and the children would be as difficult to find as a raven up a chimney.

London Town! The decision was made, and Molly felt better for it. But when? Dare she wait until she was stronger and had perhaps got together a few shillings? Or was time running out too fast now? Was the law closing in on her at this very minute? The thought made her tremble. And what to do about the bairns? In her deepest heart, Molly knew that Tilly was right. If she were to head for London with three young ’uns on her skirt-tail, it would certainly make things that much more difficult. But then, Molly reminded herself, she had travelled many foot-weary miles, through town and countryside alike, every step of the way followed by three pairs of little feet, all as determined and brave as her very own.

All of these memories brought a gentle smile to Molly’s face, and a grateful warmth to her heart. But she could not ignore Tilly Watson’s warning. She would be all kinds of a fool not to realize that trudging the roads and finding the occasional stopping-off place was altogether different from searching for both a permanent home and a secure position which would provide for them all. What employer would take her on with three young children beside her? And one a cripple. It was hardly likely.

Try as she might, Molly could not resolve her dilemma. Her task might prove impossible with the children along, but, oh dear God above, how could she leave them behind? Even in the safe hands of the good woman who had taken them in.

Suddenly Molly’s terrible anxiety was thrust away by the thought of Jack. Jack-the-Lad! Jack the Waster! The boy who had never become a man. Too much of a coward to face up to life. The dreamer who had cruelly deserted them.

Molly had no illusions left where that was concerned. Jack would never be back. She knew that now, and all of her worries were swamped by the anger such realization brought. Molly had loved him so. Idolized him! And in her blind love she would never have dreamed of a day when her feelings could be any different.

That day had been in the making when Tom was born and her man had fled at the sight of his tiny, deformed son. It hurt Molly to remember. She wondered whether she might ever forgive Jack for that. One thing she did know: her love for Jack had begun to die on that night, until now there remained in her heart only a cold, empty place where that love had been. To set eyes on him now would never revive that love. Instead it would only bury it for ever, along with any future they might have had.