Tobias followed Iris upstairs and waited on the landing, folding his arms tightly over his chest. He didn’t like the idea of introducing anyone to his wife, because frankly it made him feel embarrassed. All his life he had felt socially awkward, and as a grown up, he had continued to feel like he was the odd one out, barely a man. Now at last, he had a wife and child, like other men, and still he felt like a failure, for it was clear to anyone with eyes that this whole thing was a farce, even if Alice didn’t actively seek to embarrass him.

His gloomy meditation was interrupted when Mrs. Carpenter stepped out of her room. Tobias looked up, dropped his arms, tried to drop the frown, and told her: “This way.” He opened another door and led her in.

The room looked bare, with only a heavy wooden bed and a simple chair for furniture. There were no cupboards or chests to store any items, no writing desk, no comfortable armchair, not even a nightstand, only a round rag rug by the bed. Some clothes lay folded on the chair and a woollen shawl was draped over its back. On top of the clothes lay a carpet bag and on top of that what looked like a small bible and a prayer book. On the floor next to the bed, lay another book, with a cover that read: The Pilgrim's Progress from This World, to That Which Is to Come, by John Bunyan. The room seemed dark. There was a single window through which the diminishing daylight fell on heavy dark wainscot. The faded green and white flowery wallpaper above the dado offered meagre compensation.

But the most wretched thing about the room was its occupant, who half lay, half sat in bed, with the blanket drawn up to her chest. She looked young, barely past girlhood, though perhaps the fact that her long red hair was down in a messy plait made her look younger. Yet she lacked any of the animation or vigour of youth. Rather she looked pale and sickly and hardly there. Her sunken eyes glanced at Tobias and the newcomer for a moment, but then she looked away and pulled the blanket up to her chin, covering her nightgown.

“Tobias, I am not decent,” she whimpered.

“It’s just the wetnurse,” Tobias said, bitterly wondering when Alice had suddenly gotten interested in decency. “This is Mrs. Carpenter.” He turned to the wetnurse. “Mrs. Carpenter, this is my wife, Mrs. Appleton.”

“Alice,” the girl protested.