In the early hours of the morning, Christy’s mother lay on the cot in his attic, looking small and old. She had lost the baby she had been carrying. That was apparently what the argument had been about. March couldn’t see why he should deny himself his conjugal rights and ignored the consequences. Well, the consequences were gone now, and the child that might have been his little brother or sister gone before they had chance to draw even the smallest breath. Christy’s eyes stung as he blinked back tears again. His mother didn’t cry. She just lay silent and still, one hand resting on her belly.
He turned as the kettle over the fire boiled and he poured the water onto the herbs that the neighbour had given him. Mrs. Wainwright was a kind woman with a huge family, a loving husband, and she s
