Nelly had to make a decision. One of the most difficult she had ever encountered. Would it help Emma, in her grief, to believe that somewhere she might have a daughter? Oh, it was true that, if the newborn had lived on that fateful night, she was no longer an infant but a full-grown young woman in her twenties. And what kind of young woman was she, Nelly wondered. Why! She might turn out to be the worst kind of gold-digger, who cared nothing for who her real mammy might be, only how much she was worth. The idea frightened Nelly. Besides which, she reminded herself, after all these years it would be nigh on impossible to trace Emma’s daughter. It might be as well then to leave it be. Let the past and its secrets lie buried where they couldn’t do no harm. ‘Who are you to decide on it?’ Nelly asked herself indignantly. ‘It’s fer Emma ter decide.’

But before Emma could decide, she had to be told, Nelly mused. If she were to be told now, after all this time, she might just want to know why she had not been told years before, why all that time ago Nelly had lied to her. Would she understand that Nelly had only kept the truth from her in order to make her exile that much easier? Or would she condemn Nelly for betraying her? Nelly was in a terrible dilemma, because Emma’s friendship meant more to her than anything else in the world. Yet she knew in her heart that Emma had a right to know the truth, especially now, when she believed herself to be childless. But then Nelly asked herself another question: suppose Emma’s grief were eased by the news only to discover that the young woman had disappeared off the face of the earth and couldn’t be traced – wouldn’t that only add to Emma’s pain?

‘Oh, dearie me, Lord,’ Nelly murmured, peering out of the carriage window to the shifting clouds, ‘You’d best tell me what to do soon… ’cause I ain’t got no idea at all which way to turn!’ She knew that, either way, it would not be easy for Emma. On top of which, in a few months’ time there was this blessed court case involving Emma’s uncle, Caleb Crowther. Nelly bristled with anger at the thought of that man. She believed beyond a shadow of doubt that all of Emma’s troubles were securely rooted in his black heart. ‘May the devil take you,’ she muttered through clenched teeth, ‘for it’s with him that you belong.’

Chapter Six

‘You little sod!’ Tilly Watson wrenched her son from the cupboard, where he was on tiptoe in the process of secreting a freshly-baked jam tart into his trouser pocket. ‘One each… you know well enough what Joey said, my lad! And it’s his hard-earned money that keeps us all from starving… so you’ll do as he says, you greedy little bugger, you!’ When he twisted his fat little body from her and attempted to stuff the whole tart in his mouth at one go, she snatched it from him and lashed out with a swipe of her left hand – as a consequence the tart was well and truly mangled in the tussle. When Tilly’s random swipe caught him a good cuff round the ear, the boy was sent reeling sideways to fall in a heap on top of the two small onlookers, who were filled with glee at seeing their greedy brother well and truly chastised. When he landed on them and all three crumpled to the floor in a jumble of arms and legs, they collapsed into fits of hysterical laughter that had both Tilly and Molly laughing also. Peggy and little Sal hugged each other and quietly giggled; though they carefully hid behind Molly’s skirts and seemed unsure as to whether Tilly’s temper was safely spent.