Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

to leave its tiny prints there, Emily did not notice the laden milk-cart approaching.

      But now, as the infant began squealing and struggling to get out of her arms, Emily looked up. ‘What’s wrong, eh?’ Following the direction of little Cathleen’s gaze, she saw him over the hedge: Danny Williams, the local milkman, his familiar head and shoulders bobbing up and down with the movement of the cart-horse as it plodded its way through the snow. ‘It’s Danny!’ Emily laughed out loud. ‘You saw him coming down the lane – that’s why you’re so excited!’

      At that very minute the mantelpiece clock struck eight. ‘Right on time,’ she said. ‘I should have known.’

      Having recently returned from three years away fighting in the Transvaal, Danny had left the Army to take over the milk-round from his retired widower father. The Williamses were a popular family hereabouts, and when Danny had collected milk from neighbouring farms, he always dropped in for a cuppa at Potts End. He and the horse both enjoyed the break. Dedicated and reliable, he was never known to be late.

      ‘Hmh!’ Emily smiled into her daughter’s eyes. ‘I do believe you’d rather see Danny than have a white Christmas.’ Nuzzling the infant’s mop of dark hair, she wasn’t surprised to see the joy in those bright blue eyes as they caught sight of Danny in his lofty seat. ‘Always pleased to see him, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ she asked, and the child’s spontaneous bubble of laughter was enough of an answer.

      Over this past year, since Danny Williams had returned from South Africa, he and Emily’s child Cathleen had struck up a warm friendship. At first, Emily had been wary, but Danny’s natural humour and honest nature soon allayed her fears and won her over.

      ‘You’d best get down, while I put the kettle on.’ Lowering the child to the floor, she turned towards the range. ‘He’ll be wanting his cup of tea.’

      ‘Aye, an’ he’ll be wanting a muffin too, I’ll be bound.’ That was Aggie, having entered the kitchen from the adjoining room. ‘You see to the child,’ she suggested, ‘while I mek us all a brew.’

      Tugging at her skirts, little Cathleen let her mammy know she wanted to go outside. ‘I can’t let you go out just yet,’ Emily chided. ‘We don’t want you squashed under the wheels of the cart now, do we, eh?’ The very thought sent shivers of horror through her.

      Holding the child close, Emily took a moment to observe her. Cathleen was a year and nine months old now, and every minute spent with her was pure joy. It seemed astonishing to her that this darling little girl, with her laughing blue eyes and shock of dark hair, had been conceived out of fear and hatred.

      At first, after a hard and painful birth, it had been impossible for Emily to accept her. For weeks afterwards, Emily had turned her back on the newborn, leaving Aggie to nurse, bath and cuddle the child. And that dear woman never complained. ‘You’ll tek to the bairn when you’re good and ready,’ she declared. ‘You see if you don’t!’

      She was right because, little by little, Emily had come to realise that the child, like herself, carried no blame for what had happened. The miracle to Emily was that neither in physical appearance or nature, did Cathleen show any trait of the man who had forced himself on her mother.

      Since that dreadful day, and for some reason known only to himself, Clem Jackson had kept his distance. That much at least Emily was grateful for. But if she had hated him before, she now loathed him with a vengeance.

      There had been many times during the days and months following the rape when she had yearned for someone to confide in: her mother, her grandfather maybe. Even John, if he’d been here. Deep down though, she knew she could never tell anyone. Clem had threatened all manner of retribution if she so much as mentioned his name in the same breath as the child. And so, fearful of the consequences for her family, Emily had suffered the worst ordeal of her young life, without recourse to the comfort of being able to tell someone the truth of what had really happened.

      At the pubs where he drank with his cronies, in his evil way, Clem had spread the word that John Hanley was the one who had got his niece pregnant, and soon it was common knowledge. Emily for her part neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead she kept her own counsel. The time would come when the truth could be told, she promised herself. When John came home, they would put the record straight together. That was what she believed, with all her heart. And yet, after two years and more without word or sight of him, she had no choice but to believe that John had deserted her.

      Lizzie Hanley had taken umbrage at the rumours and no longer had any dealings with Potts End. Too proud to beg for news of John, Emily threw herself into her work, and made the child and her family her life.

      The hatred and fear of Clem Jackson were always alive in her. But she was ever thankful that there was no sign of his character in little Cathleen; only a strong, brave heart filled with love and the joy of living, and a natural kindness that endeared the tiny girl to all who met her.

      Inevitably, Emily grew to love and adore her – as did her grandad and Aggie, who quite naturally believed the child to be John Hanley’s. Never in her wildest nightmares did Aggie suspect that Cathleen’s father was her own brother, Clem. Since the tragic stillbirth of her son, and the disappearance of her husband, Aggie now took life as it came, and refused to overreact to something as natural as pregnancy, within or without a marriage ceremony. Children were gifts from God, to be cherished – that was her view, and she cared nothing for the opinion of others.

      ‘Danny!’ Cathleen’s small voice swept away Emily’s troublesome thoughts.

      ‘All right, sweetheart.’ Clutching the child to her, Emily looked out to return Danny’s friendly wave.

      The two of them followed his progress up the lane. Because of the recent snowfall, the wheels made no sound on the ground, though the dozen or so milk-churns on the cart rattled and clanged as the horse picked his docile way towards the gate.

      When at last both horse and cart came to rest, that great old cob straightaway began pawing the ground with his hoof. The smell of hay from the back made his stomach rumble. ‘Behave yourself now!’ Danny leaped down, his boots skidding in the soft snow. ‘Hang on, me ol’ darlin’,’ he told the horse. ‘You’ll get your breakfast, never fear.’

      Unhooking a haybag from beneath the cart, he strapped it round the horse’s ears, whereupon that great gentle animal dipped his nose into the bag and began contentedly munching. He had earned his breakfast and meant to enjoy it.

      By the time Danny tapped on the back door, Aggie was ready with a fresh brew of strong tea, and a plate full of home-made muffins. ‘The tea’s mashed!’ she said, beckoning him to the kitchen table. ‘Get that hot tea down you, son,’ she urged Danny as they all took their places. ‘By! You look frozen to the bone.’

      ‘Nay, I’m used to it,’ Danny assured her. ‘Mind you, it feels like there’s a bad night in the making. I noticed the hedges are beginning to stiffen with cold. Come dark there’ll be ice on the lanes, you can count on it.’

      Aggie chided him, ‘And there’s you with only a thin jacket and muffler to keep out the cold. It’s time you got yourself a warm overcoat, my boy!’

      ‘Ever since Africa, I can’t stand to be smothered,’ came Danny’s reply. ‘As long as I keep working, I’ll be fine, so I will.’

      Holding out his arms, he spoke to the child. ‘Is there a cuddle and a kiss to go with my tea and muffins?’ His gaze fell on Emily. In his heart it was her he wanted; her and the child both, for he had come to love them dearly these past months.

      Releasing the child, Emily watched her go to him. She saw the affection in his kind grey eyes, and the way his ready smile enveloped Cathleen as they cuddled close. ‘Now this was worth waiting for,’ he joked. ‘Tea, muffins, and a pretty girl’s arms round my neck – what more could a man ask for?’ Again, his gaze fell on Emily, and knowing what was on his mind, she looked away.

      Lately there had been warm stirrings in her heart for him and, for so many reasons, this