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supper. It’ll give you a taste of what to expect in the future, should you choose to
disobey me again.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hannah said meekly.
    Mrs Bramwell rose from the couch, her keys jangling. For a moment she stood looking down at the girl. ‘Why did you do it, Francis?’
    As in the workhouse, Hannah realized that they would all be addressed by their surname. But, just as she always had, she refused to refer to her friends in such a way.
    ‘Jane’s ten, ma’am, but she’s small for her age an’ very shy and frightened. I was just trying to look after ’er. She’s got no mother or
father.’
    ‘So, why does that make her different? You’re all orphans.’
    Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m not. I’ve got a mother. She—’
    Mrs Bramwell’s mouth dropped open. ‘You – you’ve got a mother?’ Hannah blinked. The superintendent made it sound as if it were another crime. ‘But – but
you’re all supposed to be orphans. From the workhouse. Paupers.’
    Hannah smiled. ‘Oh, we’re from the workhouse, and we’re certainly paupers. But my mam’s still there.’
    ‘Is she indeed?’ Mrs Bramwell murmured.
    ‘Yes, ma’am, and . . .’ Hannah took the plunge. ‘And I was wondering if there was any work here for her. She’s worked in a silk mill, but I’m
sure—’
    Hannah got no further. Mrs Bramwell shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh no. We can’t have any relatives of the apprentices here. It’d lead to all kinds of trouble. Oh no, it’s
out of the question, and if you take my advice, you’ll keep it very quiet that you’ve got a mother. Mr Edmund wouldn’t like that at all. Goodbody’s only supposed to send
orphans.’
    ‘Why?’ Hannah asked candidly.
    Ethel gasped. ‘You’ve got some cheek, girl. You’d better learn to watch your tongue, else you’ll find yourself spending more time in the punishment room than out of
it.’
    ‘But why should he only send orphans?’ Hannah persisted.
    Mrs Bramwell gripped her arm. ‘Never you mind that, girl. Just learn to do as you’re told and not ask so many questions.’
    The superintendent marched the girl up the stairs to a little room at the end of the attic storeroom. She opened the door with a key on her bunch and thrust Hannah inside. ‘We’ll see
if an hour or so in there’ll teach you a lesson.’
    The door slammed, the key turned in the lock, and Hannah was alone. The whitewashed room was completely bare except for a rough blanket thrown in one corner on the cold, bare floor. Hannah went
to the window and looked out. Night had fallen in the dale. There was no pauper’s gold illuminating the hillside now and sparkling on the river. The blackness was complete.
    She pressed her forehead against the cold pane and began to sing softly. ‘Abide with me; fast falls the eventide . . .’
    About to turn away, Ethel Bramwell paused in astonishment and stood still. ‘Bless me,’ she murmured. ‘The child is singing.’
    Never, in all her born days, as she would tell her husband later, had she ever heard any child sing when locked in the punishment room. Cry, scream, rage, bang on the door to be let out, but
never, ever, had she heard them sing!

 
Five
    Hannah was let out in time to go straight to bed. When she entered the dormitory, Jane ran straight to her, arms stretched wide, tears running down her face. ‘Oh,
Hannah, I’m so sorry, it was all my fault.’
    Hannah hugged the girl. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, kissing the top of Jane’s head and stroking her long brown hair, now released from its plait for the night.
‘It’s not as bad in there as the room at the workhouse. At least there’s a window. I ’spect it’s quite a nice view in the daytime.’
    ‘But aren’t you hungry?’ Jane’s mouth still trembled. ‘You missed supper.’
    Hannah laughed and rubbed her stomach. ‘What, with all that stew Mrs Grundy gave us? No, I’m fine. Now, let’s get you into bed. Dry your tears and we’ll snuggle