‘Life, Nelly… I’ve been thinking about life. How good it’s been to me, and how bad.’

Nelly was compelled to broach the subject of Molly, because unbeknown to either of them, the very same suspicions that had been plaguing Emma had also been tormenting her. ‘I’ve been doing that an’ all, gal… y’know, thinkin’ about how good life’s been to me. In particular, how fortunate I was to have come across such a friend as you.’ She saw that Emma was about to intervene. ‘No. Let me finish, Emma darlin’. Y’see, I ain’t never been entirely honest with you all these years. There’s sommat I want to get off me chest, like. Sommat that yer ’ave ter know… an’ I’m not altogether certain, mind… but well… I’ve a feelin’ it all might ’ave some bearing on Molly.’

Emma’s attention had been wandering, but now at the mention of Molly’s name, she grew excited, leaning forward in her seat. ‘What is it, Nelly?… What have you to tell me that might relate to Molly?’ she urged.

Swallowing hard, Nelly prepared to launch into an account of how she suspected that Emma’s new-born was still alive when the prison-waggon carried them away. But at that moment the room was filled with the sound of bedlam. ‘Nelly! Help me, Nelly!… Let me in, please!’ The desperate cries were accompanied by a series of other, more violent noises like the kicking of a boot against the front door, together with the familiar, if more desperate sound of the heavy iron knocker being crashed again and again into its metal base.

‘Good Lord above!’ exclaimed Emma, her face ashen as she scrambled out of the chair. ‘Who on earth is that?’ Even before the last word was uttered, she was collecting the lamp from the mantelpiece and hurrying from the room.

‘Sounds like bleedin’ old Nick himself,’ declared Nelly, staying close behind Emma, ‘though I don’t know why the bugger might be callin’ my name!’ In a moment of panic, it had crossed her mind that the sins of the past had caught up with her.

It was no time at all before Emma and the doubting Nelly were in the vestibule and struggling to reach the upper bolt of the front door when Marlow – awoken by the uproar – rushed to Emma’s aid. The parlour maid and the cook stood some way behind, both unkempt and wide-eyed, with the maid squashed close to the other woman, fearful that upon the door opening some unspeakable creature might clap its eyes on her and devour her instantly. Even so, when Nelly insisted that these two return at once to their beds, they went away most reluctantly, their curiosity threatening to get the better of them. They had no sooner gone a few paces than the door was opened, and a sobbing mite fell forward into Nelly’s arms. ‘Gawd almighty!… It’s little Sal… Molly’s bairn!’ Nelly clung to the small, trembling figure. ‘What is it, child? Where’s yer mammy? What yer doing here?’