The carriage driver’s pleasure was short-lived, however, when suddenly there came the sound of slamming doors and angry voices, followed by the unsightly appearance of Justice Crowther as he rushed out of the gates and instructed the flustered driver, ‘Breckleton House… and be quick about it!’ As he climbed into the carriage he was clearly heard to say, ‘So, she’s gone, has she?’ Then he laughed out loud. ‘Well, she can take refuge where she likes, but she’ll never get the better of Caleb Crowther! Never!’ Yelling out another instruction to ‘make haste, you fool… there’s no time to lose’, he flung himself into the seat and slammed shut the door.

In a moment the carriage was thundering past the very spot where Molly and the girl remained, not daring to move a limb. When little Sal glanced up at Caleb Crowther’s stern, granite-like features, she instinctively cowered, clinging to her mammy’s skirts and holding her breath until the carriage was out of sight.

After what Molly considered to be a safe passage of time, she and the girl emerged from their hiding place and went at hasty speed down Park Street and on into Blackburn town. Molly’s dark thoughts were relentless in their condemnation of Nelly, who had very nearly tricked her into believing that she was a genuine friend. How cleverly Emma Tanner’s companion had wormed her way into Molly’s confidence. How despicable that the woman had used little Sal in such a way; plying her with books and ‘learning’ when all the time it was probably a way of trying to gain the child’s confidence, loosening her tongue, hoping to pry valuable information out of her, with regard to where they lived and other useful snippets that would lead the Justice right to their front door. Oh, dear God above! What now? Molly’s mind was in turmoil. What now? What now? The question had no sooner come into her mind than it was on her lips. ‘Sal… did you ever speak of Dock Street to Nelly?’ She drew the girl to a halt. ‘Did she ask you questions? Did you tell her anything?’

Little Sal shook her head, her vivid blue eyes looking up at Molly, a deep frown etched into her forehead. ‘I never told her about Tom,’ she said, ‘and I never said anything about Dock Street.’ A look of guilt wrote itself across her face and she lowered her gaze.

‘But you did say something, didn’t you, Sal?’ Molly had sensed her daughter’s fear and was careful to speak more softly. ‘What did you tell her? I need to know. Did she ask you questions, Sal?… What did you tell her?’ Her voice was marbled with such anxiety that the girl lifted her gaze.

‘I only said about that time when Peggy hid in the cellar and we all thought she was lost.’

‘What else?’

‘I told her it was Tilly Watson’s cellar.’ The girl hesitated, before adding quietly, ‘And I said we sometimes go down Eanam Wharf and play on Mick’s barge.’ She smiled brightly, as though a weight had been taken off her small shoulders. ‘I never said no more, honest, Mammy. I haven’t got us in trouble, have I?’