May shook her head and said no more. She could see the justice of Jeannie’s words, but the thought of all those children and the two women, all burnt to death, was too horrible to contemplate. To distract her thoughts she asked, ‘Where are you from, Dora? You’re … well, different, from most people round here.’

‘Different?’ Dora looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘You must have seen others like me. There are plenty of black faces in Liverpool.’

May thought back, to the days before she came to the workhouse. ‘You mean slaves?’

‘Brought here as slaves, yes. Free now … at least that’s what we’re told. Free to starve sometimes.’

‘But …’ May wrestled with this new concept ‘… but you’re not black.’

‘Not a black as my mother was, that’s true. But not as white as my father, either.’

‘Your father was a white man? But then how …?’

Dora patted her arm. ‘That’s enough questions. It’s a long story, and I don’t tell it ’less I’m forced to. Now, settle back and rest.’

Later on she came back, carrying the rag doll, somewhat singed but otherwise intact.

‘This was found in your bed when they were clearing up after the fire. Is it something you were given as a little child?’

‘Oh, no! It’s not mine. It’s Angel’s. She’ll be missing it. Can you take it to the nursery for her, please?’

Dora put the doll on May’s bed. ‘Best you give it to her yourself when you see her. I’ve got enough to do without trekking down to the nursery.’ Dora’s voice was firm but kindly.

May spent five days in the infirmary. On the fifth, the doctor came and took the bandages off her hands. May shuddered at the sight of them, but he said it could have been much worse.

‘Can you move your fingers?’

She tried gingerly. It hurt, but she could move them.

‘There you are,’ the doctor said. ‘You’ve been lucky. Just make sure you exercise them, even if it is painful.’ He stood up. ‘Right. No need for you to stay in bed. You can go back to your usual routine.’