Molly really did have a soft spot in her heart for this outspoken and unpredictable woman. Now, as Nelly ranted on about Miss Warburton, the cook, Molly quietly observed her. She wasn’t certain how old Nelly was, although she thought it must be somewhere not far off fifty years; yet there was such life and enthusiasm about her that a body could be forgiven for thinking she was much younger. Only the deepening wrinkles etched into her face, and the streaks of grey that coloured her wispy brown hair belied the possibility. She had told Molly how ‘I used ter be thin as a pikestaff in me younger days’, but there was little evidence of that now, because the ‘pikestaff’ was thickly padded with round, bulging parts and a somewhat ‘bouncy’ bustle. Even in her pretty silk and taffeta dresses with their ribbons and frills, Nelly could never be taken for a ‘lady’. But it took more than fancy clothes to make a ‘lady’, thought Molly now; if she were ever asked, she would say that this genuine, warmhearted creature sitting here now was more of a ‘lady’ than any one of those living in their posh houses and riding in their coach-and-four.

‘I said… why is it that yer never want ter talk about yersel’?’

Nelly’s question surprised Molly, who straightaway was on her guard. She must never forget that Nelly was Emma Tanner’s very best friend, and that this was the Tanners’ house, where every wall had ears. And where there were ears there were mouths, and where there were mouths there was gossip. Gossip had hanged many an innocent creature before now!

‘What do you mean?’ Molly asked, feigning ignorance of the older woman’s intention to draw her out.

‘Don’t you come that business with me!’ Nelly chided good-naturedly. ‘I’ve done it too often mesel’ not to know what yer up to. What I said was… yer never talk about yersel’, do yer? Keep yer secrets close ter yer chest, don’t yer, eh?’ She stared at Molly in a forthright manner, and when Molly stared back with a defiant look in her shining black eyes, Nelly laughed aloud and rocked in her chair. ‘Yer little bugger!’ she declared, wagging a finger. ‘Yer don’t intend giving much away, I can see that. But yer ain’t gonna get the better of me.’

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t want to do any such thing,’ Molly replied quietly. ‘I don’t talk about myself because… there’s nothing to talk about. There aren’t any “secrets” to “keep close to my chest”,’ she lied.

‘All right then, me darlin’… don’t get agitated.’ Nelly was irritated with herself, because she had succeeded in frightening the lass… the very thing she’d wanted to avoid. Her old heart was touched by the way Molly was unthinkingly twisting her apron round and round her finger. And those eyes! Dark, handsome eyes that seemed to see right inside you. Of a sudden, Nelly was astonished to be thinking of Marlow Tanner! He had eyes like that, black eyes that spoke volumes. A funny little shiver ran down her spine as she slyly regarded Molly, with her thick, dark tousled hair and so exceptionally beautiful; even with black lead up her arms from doing the firegrate, and with that stiff, unattractive apron over her secondhand clothes. Nelly felt instinctively that there was something here, some strange, inexplicable quality – or secret – about this young woman that she hadn’t yet fathomed. But she would get to the bottom of it, because she wouldn’t rest until she did.