Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. “I’m sorry. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. Your life, and that of your child, are in my power. ” Her eyes were lit with humour. ” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours.
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