anything for the little one that you wish to save.”
Margaret left Poppy with Carrie and rode to town in the family carriage so that she could bring back whatever she found at Molly’s. The family was still a few days away from arriving, and only Mrs Tarrow would be there to greet her at small fisherman’s dwelling. Margaret climbed the stairs with a heavy tread, her heart beating dully. The last time she had been here was the day she’d watched the life drain out of Molly’s eyes. Her palms felt damp and clammy as she knocked on the door.
Mrs Tarrow opened it. She looked better than she had the day Molly died, more rested with her hair neatly arranged at the back of her head. She was wearing a plain but clean dress, and already had the furniture and belongings arranged in neat piles around the room.
“Good, you got my message,” she said with a crisp smile, moving aside for Margaret to enter. Her manner had been an adjustment for Margaret, who was used to having her Somerville name and heritage all but revered in the small town. Mrs Tarrow had given her none of that reverence during their mutual care of Molly. In fact, she had gone out of her way to tell Margaret that she was needed in no uncertain terms. She seemed to understand the societal norms, but to not care much either way. “I am nearly done here, but I thought this chest would be of the most use to you and the girl.”
She waved to a small box fastened with a rusty lock. Margaret bent down beside it and opened it with some difficulty. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get these things back to Penelope.” She sifted through the contents. There were some shells, a few old letters, and an extra dress of Molly’s folded up on top of everything. She closed the box again. “I will bring this back. She may want them one day, when she has questions about her mother.”
Mrs Tarrow’s eyes held more knowing than Margaret was comfortable with. “You call her Penelope now?”
“She was re-christened a few weeks ago,” Margaret said quietly. She planned to leave the statement there, but then found herself confessing, “I think it was the wrong decision.” She was surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth – she hadn’t even admitted as much to herself.
“How is the little lass?” the older woman asked, sitting down on a chair. It was an invitation, that question paired with the sitting, as though she were telling Margaret that this was a safe place to share all that had happened. Margaret hesitated. She had not opened up to anyone since she was a young girl and Molly and Nigel were her trusted friends. She wasn’t certain she could let down her guard again, and yet she remembered the desperation of the last few days and how she had longed for someone to talk to.
In the end she sat, folding her hands primly in her lap. “She’s…adjusting.”
“By which you mean things are not going as you had hoped,” Mrs Tarrow said with raised eyebrows. She smiled at Margaret. “You need not fear – I have many faults to my name, but gossip is not one of them. I know enough secrets to scald the ears off this town, but I have no desire to share any of them. Your trust is too great a gift to risk.”
Margaret swallowed hard. “I think she’s sad,” she said lamely. “And angry. I don’t know how to help her.”
“How has she been feeling?” the woman asked.
Margaret sighed. “She’s been throwing things every day. She seems to like destroying everything in the house. We’ve moved all glass and ceramic and breakable items up out of her reach, although there’s no way we can do that for ever. She refuses to take a bath. She screams whenever the maid attempts to brush her hair, and she has already begun using coarse language that she no doubt learnt at the docks or amongst the village children. She hardly speaks three words together if she’s not screaming or acting up.” Margaret looked at her hands. “She says she hates me.”
Mrs Tarrow looked at her seriously for a moment and then said quietly. “I asked how she was feeling, and you answered with what she has been doing. My dear, the behaviour is only an indicator of a child’s needs, not a