Had Ben been kept in the police station overnight like Lottie’s husband, or worse, brought before a magistrate, his pride might have been broken. Perhaps it would even have forced him to reflect on his actions. But that was not what had happened. He had walked out of that police station and returned home with his head held high, certain in the knowledge that justice had prevailed.

Only one thing had shaken and humiliated him, and had brought the some degree of self-inspection in its course. Upon returning home and collecting his children (Will had gone to Maggie’s; Bram was staying with Rose and Andrew), he had learned that Anne had been entrusted to the care of Lottie Better-than-thou Blacke. It made no sense. If Rose or Maggie couldn’t house another, Anne could have gone to aunt Mary’s. She was family after all. His brother’s widow was sensible, well-mannered, and most importantly… he was on speaking terms with her – all qualities Lottie did not possess… Ben had decided Lottie was too much to handle after all the events of the day. He still had to work out whether there was any truth in that rich gits words about Tobias. He would go over in the morning.

The result was that he had barely slept. Not only had concern for Alice and questions about his own role in the situation eaten away at him. Past and possible future conversations with Lottie had also cluttered his still waking brain. Occasionally, he felt angry with Anne for using this situation to go to the Blackes’ against his explicit orders. More often, he felt bad for having forbidden it for so long. Most of all he felt ashamed: ashamed that it had been necessary in the first place for Anne to go somewhere else because her father had gotten arrested, ashamed for his past behaviour towards both her and Lottie, ashamed for his childish stubbornness in not relenting.

The truth was, he had regretted the argument and his own behaviour for quite some time now, and part of him had wanted to relent. He had come to see how miserable Anne was for not being allowed to go over to Oswy street. The poor child had come to cling to Lottie like to the mother she didn’t have, and he had taken that away from her over his own conflict with Lottie. He had been happy when young Kate had come to apologise for her words and he was able to allow the girls at least to interact without ‘giving in’. He had debated with himself, even prayed for a change of heart, over exactly that stubborn inability to ‘give in’. But he had not been able to get himself to approach Lottie and smooth things over. Lottie was hardly the first person to criticize his parenting, but her criticism had cut deepest. When she criticized him, it felt as though Hannah stood before him and condemned him for how he had failed their children over and over again. The scene at the harbour and Alice’s situation came to mind again. Oh he felt it often. And he had felt it tenfold during his short, haunted sleep that night. When had woken up early the next morning, it was clear to him what had to be done.

And so when he knocked on the Blackes’ door that morning, he was in quite a humble and conciliatory state. Then Lottie greeted him with an insult and the fragile cup of reconciliation almost cracked. He opened his mouth. But as if by divine intervention, he was distracted for a moment by the sight of Bill Blacke sneaking out of the house with his shoulders drawn up and his eyes cast down.

What the hell...?

His mouth hung open stupidly before he recovered, the sting of Lottie’s words mostly gone. “Thank ye, Lottie, for lookin’ after our Anne for t’ night…” he said as kindly as he could. “I’ll take her off yer hands now…”