CHAPTER THIRTY
“There,” said Mrs Clapham, setting a cup of coffee down on the table. “You drink that. I’ve put a splash of whisky in it, to warm you.”
Smiling, Bessy lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. A wave of cosy security wrapped itself around her as the steaming hot liquid percolated through her body. “That’s delicious,” she said and smiled her thanks.
Miriam Clapham sat down opposite. They were in the back room of the little coffee shop, closed up for business before the usual time. “I think you should stay here tonight,” she said, her tone serious, her eyes like a hawk, penetrating.
Bessy tried to look away, but those eyes would not let her go. She wilted under their power. “I couldn’t impose upon you that way, Miriam.”
“Nonsense! It’s not an imposition, Bessy. You shoul
