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teens, when Samuel Forrester had employed a private tutor to further her education at The Folly and a further house that he owned in London where he spent part of each year.
    Now that the time for her to leave was approaching, Molly was quite looking forward to Mary working at Forrester’s Folly. No doubt she would come home and tell them tales of the happenings there, and Molly and Bessie enjoyed a good bit of gossip as much as the next person.
    It was later that evening; the meal was over, the pots were washed and put away, and Molly was sitting at the side of the empty fireplace with the back door open enjoying the balmy summer night as she stitched yet another little petticoat for Amy. Every now and then a giggle from Amy or Toby, who were sitting at the table doing sums on a wooden abacus, made her look up and smile, and without thinking she offered up a silent prayer of gratitude. All in all, life was good and she had a lot to be thankful for. The youngsters’ heads, bent close together at the table, made a pleasing contrast. Toby’s fair hair, straight as a poker, and Amy’s deep auburn curls seemed almost joined as they worked in harmony to do their sums. And it was as she gazed at them that, for the first time, Molly had a premonition of things to come. It was something in Toby’s eyes as he looked at Amy. The youngsters looked for all the world as if they belonged together. Molly was a great believer in fate. What would be would be. And on that thought she returned to her sewing and left the children to themselves, with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Chapter Three
     
    Amy and Beatrice stared down the lane expectantly. It was Mary’s first day off from Forrester’s Folly since she had started her new job and they had been waiting for her for over an hour.
    ‘She can’t be much longer,’ complained Amy, pushing her damp curls from her forehead. The sun was blazing down and both little girls were hot and sticky. Luckily they didn’t have to wait much longer, for minutes later, Mary turned the corner in the lane and came into view. Delighted, both children flew to meet her and Beatrice hugged her sister tight. At sight of them, Mary’s eyes filled with tears and a huge lump formed in her throat. The first week had not gone at all as she had imagined it would. The hours were long and hard; she missed her family and was suffering from a severe bout of homesickness. But not wishing to upset the children, she smiled at them as best she could and pointed to the basket on her arm.
    ‘I’ve got some rare treats in here for yer,’ she told them. ‘Cakes left over from yesterday teatime. Cook let me bring them for yer.’
    ‘Cor, can I have one now?’ asked Beatrice, her eyes shining greedily as she reached for the linen cloth covering the basket.
    Mary laughed and gently slapped her hand away. ‘No yer can’t, yer little madam. You’ll wait till we get home, so there.’
    Beatrice pouted but then as Mary grinned at her she laughed and soon side-by-side they reached the little row of cottages.
    As Mary passed, the neighbours called a greeting through their open doors and the girl waved back. Before she had even managed to get to her own door, Bessie flew out to meet her and caught her in a fierce embrace then, holding her at arm’s length, she surveyed her quizzically.
    ‘Are yer all right, love?’ Her voice was loaded with concern as she noted Mary’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes, but the girl smiled bravely.
    ‘O’ course I am, Mam, why wouldn’t I be?’ Arm-in-arm they entered the cottage. Within seconds the children were swarming around the basket like a plague of locusts and minutes later, every last crumb of the dainty tarts and pastries were gone.
    ‘By, they made short work o’ them,’ laughed Bessie as Mary managed a weak smile. Now that all the goodies were gone, the children, apart from Amy and Beatrice, ran back outside, almost knocking Molly over in their haste as she