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heel.
    His voice followed her, low, as if he was still afraid of being overheard. ‘Take the food anyway.’
    She turned back. ‘If you can’t even speak to your brother, how can we accept your charity?’
    Another silence while he stared at her as if he’d never really seen her before. ‘You’re very proud, for folk who’re starving.’
    ‘We’re not starving.’
    ‘You may not be starving, but you’re all very thin and you have that hollow-cheeked look people get when they’re not eating enough.’
    Still Cassandra hesitated. She hated to accept charity, especially such grudging charity, absolutely hated it.
    Xanthe stepped forward. ‘I’ll take the sack, uncle, and thank you for it, too. We aren’t starving, but we are often hungry.’
    Cassandra marched away, ignoring the sack. Xanthe picked it up and followed her.
    When they were out of hearing, Cassandra said in a low, furious voice, ‘Why did you take it?’
    ‘Because Dad’s looking ill and needs better food. He’s as bad as you, trying to give us his share.’
    ‘We’ll have to tell him where we got the food.’
    ‘He’ll be pleased. It upsets him to be estranged from his brother.’
    Cassandra felt tears come into her eyes. Xanthe was right. With each month that passed, her father was looking older and more weary. Pride wouldn’t help him, but good food might. ‘I’ll take one end of the sack.’
    They’d all do anything for their father.

3
     
    T he following week their aunt wasn’t at the sewing class. Another woman was helping Mrs Burnham run it, a complete stranger who was introduced to them as Mrs Southerham.
    Cassandra recognised the name. The Southerhams were rich people who lived on a big estate outside the town, and Reece knew one of the sons. The new lady didn’t look down her nose at the young women who filed into the big room, more of them today than previously.
    Mrs Burnham ticked off the names of those attending, writing down the new ones while Mrs Southerham handed out the same kind of work as last time.
    Cassandra took the pieces of material which would form a pinafore and bent her head to her sewing, doing the best she could with the poor material.
    ‘It’s hard stuff to sew, isn’t it?’
    She lifted her head to see Mrs Southerham standing beside her. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m doing my best, though, truly I am.’
    ‘I can see that. Yours is by far the neatest work. Have you done any sewing before?’
    ‘Mostly mending. My mother taught me and as she died when I was fourteen, I had to take over the family sewing – and everything else, too.’ She’d given up mill work for a few years then.
    ‘I’ve never been inside a mill. The operatives work long hours, I gather.’
    ‘Yes, and it’s very hard work. But I wish I was back there earning a living, nonetheless.’
    Mrs Burnham came across to join them, giving Cassandra an unfriendly look. ‘Is there a problem here?’
    ‘Not at all. I’m just commending this young woman on her neat sewing. Such difficult material to sew, especially for beginners, and that fabric doesn’t wear well, either. I wonder who chose it.’
    ‘The Vicar. He doesn’t believe in pampering the pauper brats.’
    ‘Is it pampering to provide them with garments that are serviceable?’
    ‘He’s in charge of the charity work in this town and I’m sure he knows what’s best.’
    Mrs Southerham smiled. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not as sure of his omniscience as you are. I’ve never yet met a man who truly understands about sewing and dress materials.’
    A shocked look was her only answer.
    ‘Anyway, since this young woman already knows something about sewing, I wonder if I could take her to help me with the baby clothes I’m organising? Many of them need mending.’
    Silence, then, ‘If I may have a word with you first?’ Ignoring Cassandra, the haberdasher’s wife led the way across the room and the two ladies disappeared through the side door.
    Xanthe reached out to give her