‘Tea, is it?’ The grinning woman wiped the table and stared at Molly as she settled herself in an upright chair by the door. It occurred to her that here was a streetwalker, looking to pick up a client. But then she saw how proud were Molly’s lovely features, even in spite of her poor, unkempt appearance.

‘Yes please… and a muffin.’ Molly had suddenly felt hungry, which wasn’t surprising considering that in order to preserve her meagre savings, she had denied herself food all day. Besides which, she was loath to leave the busy, lamplit streets. A terrible feeling of loneliness had settled on her. For some strange reason, she felt restless and deeply disturbed, filled with a terrible sense of impending doom. The night was sultry, but Molly was cold.

‘All right, are you, dearie?’ asked the woman, setting a mug of steaming tea before her. When Molly nodded and smiled back, she went on, ‘We ain’t got no muffins left. But if you look along the counter there, you’ll see there’s all manner o’ pies… apple tarts and barm-cakes. Now then, you just tell me what takes your fancy, dearie.’

Inching forward in her chair, Molly let her dark eyes rove over the mouth-watering delicacies, her hunger like a sharp pain inside her. Her glance went from the barm-cakes to the apple pie. Then to the newspaper pages that lined the shelf beneath. The headline of a particular report blazed from the page.

CHILDREN ABDUCTED

JUSTICE OF THE PEACE

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING

Ashen-faced, Molly came closer. Her sense of horror was realized when she read:

The distinguished Justice of the Peace, Caleb Crowther, now retired, is wanted for questioning by the authorities.

In the early hours of yesterday morning there was a break-in at the home of Mrs Tilly Watson of Dock Street, Blackburn, Lancs…

At that point the words disappeared beneath the folded paper. Half-crazed with fear, Molly tore at the shelf, spilling plates and pastries as she frantically tugged to loosen the paper. Oblivious to the loud protests and screams from the woman behind, Molly read on:

Mrs Watson herself was brutally attacked, and a number of children were forcibly removed from the premises. No charges have yet been made.

The newspaper was dated some two weeks previous.

‘Hey! What the bloody hell d’yer think yer playing at…! POLICE! HELP! POLICE!’ The woman had been both astonished and terrified at Molly’s puzzling behaviour. When, wide-eyed with shock, Molly pushed past her to run on to the streets, she yelled and shouted, threatening to heap all manner of punishment on Molly’s head. But Molly couldn’t hear her. All she could think of was that he had got her children. THE JUSTICE HAD GOT HER CHILDREN! Dazed and shocked to the very core, she was aware of only one thing: she had to get home. She must get home… must get home!

Having carefully avoided the many horse-drawn carriages that thundered along the busy roads to converge on Piccadilly Circus, Mick Darcy leaned against a lamp post, where he drew out his pipe and proceeded to light it. He was foot-sore and exhausted by the many miles he had covered these past weeks.