Poppy, her daughter. Margaret’s heart lurched at the way Molly said her name, as though she was speaking about a crown jewel that she treasured more than anything else in the world. Poppy had come into Molly’s life after a dalliance she’d had with a mystery gentleman. Molly had never told Margaret who the man was, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She had been marked as an outcast from the moment her child began to show beneath her loose dresses. Everyone had talked about the fisherman’s daughter with loose morals. Her father had been shunned before his eventual death, and Molly had been forced to exist on a meagre pension that was barely enough to keep her and Poppy alive.
Margaret had stayed a true friend, but she had been forced to do it on irregular visits to escape her father’s disgust of the friendship. And she had been unable to give all the help she desired. She thought sometimes of the man who had caused all the pain, Poppy’s father.
He had disappeared long before Molly knew she was with child, and when Margaret pressed for her to reach out to him and tell him of the little one, she would only ever say that she had, once, and that she had received no response. “He owes me nothing,” Molly said over and over.
Margaret thought about that mystery man and felt bitterness in her heart. He had not faced everything Molly had endured these past four years. He had been able to play his part in the indiscretion and then disappear into whatever life he led without any repercussions. He had not given a penny to support the mother and daughter. He had not given his name to clear her reputation. And he had not been there to hold her hand as she faded away from this world. It was grossly unfair.
“What about Poppy?” Margaret put her hand over Molly’s, clasping her reassuringly.
“You have to help her,” Molly whispered, tears in her eyes. “You have to help her for me.”
“I will,” Margaret assured her. “Of course I will always be here for you both.”
“No,” Molly said insistently, the tears coming hard and fast now. “No that’s not enough, Maggie. You have to take her. You have to take care of her. I don’t have any other family but a few aunts and uncles in the country who have no spare place in their homes for a cast-off child. She will be sent to an orphanage or end up on the street. You have to promise me, Maggie, that you’ll care for her.”
Margaret felt a lurch in her stomach at the thought. She knew nothing about children, and she suspected the care of a child like Poppy, whose heritage was such a mystery but for the scandal of it all, would be a world of difficulty.
“I don’t know anything about children,” she said.
Molly’s grip tightened. “You know that you are her best chance,” she said desperately. “Don’t deny me this, not now.” Her face crumpled. “Please, Maggie. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough for my one indiscretion? I have been fully repaid for all the laws of society that I broke. But she is a precious innocent and does not deserve to be cast out as I have been. You can help her, Maggie. Please.” She broke down into a fit of vicious coughing. It was worse than any Margaret had seen yet. It shook her fragile frame and, in the end, a small trail of blood was left on her pillowcase. Margaret laid her handkerchief over it and took Molly’s shoulders in a gentle grasp.
“It’s all right,” she said, wanting to calm her friend. “I promise. I promise I will take care of her.”
Molly took a deep, shuddering breath. “You will? You will not send her away?”
“I will take her into my own home,” Margaret said. Even as the terrifying words slipped out of her lips, she knew that they were right. Whatever the future held, she felt strangely tied to this little girl. “Now rest, Molly. Please.”
Molly’s eyes slid closed and she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her breath short and ragged. Margaret usually left after a brief conversation and the dropping off of the food. But she felt something heavy in the room that day and could not bring herself to do it. She heard a noise when evening was beginning to fall, a slamming of the door downstairs and the halting sound of little feet on