Not being naturally born to the genteel manners of a lady, Nelly loved to meander through the market, revelling in the shouts of the barrow-boys and other traders, and losing herself amongst the ordinary folk. She had another purpose also: to keep an eye out for the young woman who had crossed Emma’s path and left such a deep, lasting impression on her; on Nelly too and that was a fact. Today, though, she had scoured the many faces which had thronged the market-place, but none of them had matched the face of that young woman, with her strong, lean features and big black eyes that held a world of tragedy.

Over by the market clock stood the very person who was proving so elusive to Nelly: a poorly-dressed creature with a thin, anxious face and a belly swollen with new life. Beside her stood little Sal, a child of fair face and angelic blue eyes.

‘There y’are, darling,’ Molly told the child eagerly, ‘the barrow-boy’s making off soon… there’ll be a few juicy titbits left lying on the ground when he’s gone. You see if I’m not right.’

‘Can we have a Christmas tree, Mammy?’ Pinched by the cold, little Sal huddled into Molly’s shawl.

‘We’ll see, sweetheart, but you’re not to count on it, mind.’ Molly knew that even if they did ‘find’ a tree, it was more than she dared to drag it all the way back to Dock Street. Not with the birthing so close, and not with her feeling as weak as a kitten, the way she did. It was strange, she thought, how all the while she had been carrying little Sal and young Peggy, there hadn’t been a day’s discomfort. But this time it was different. Right from the start, she’d been violently ill of a morning, and the bairn seemed to lie so heavy inside her that it was like a dead weight pulling her down. There was something else too; a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She had scolded herself for even entertaining such depressing thoughts. ‘The others were lasses… this little rascal must be a lad,’ she had laughingly convinced herself. ‘It’s a known fact that fellas cause all the trouble in the world!’

‘If we get a tree… I can put my rag dolly on it… then she can pretend to be a princess, like the ones we saw in the shop window.’

‘Ssh, I’ve told you, we’ll have to see.’ Christmas was the worst time for Molly. It always hurt her when she couldn’t provide the things that made a child’s Christmas that much more special. But then, as far as she was concerned, Christmas was not special, it was no different from all the other days that ran into each other. Apart from the children’s birthdays. She always made a little fuss then, because if anything at all was worthwhile in her life, it was her babies. Glancing down at the child, she softly called her name. ‘Sal, you’d really love a proper tree, wouldn’t you, darling?’ When the fair, curly head nodded eagerly, Molly squeezed the tiny hand clutched in her own. ‘Then your mammy will get you one, sweetheart,’ she promised, thinking how it should be possible to pick up a few fallen branches and bundle them together to make a little tree.