“A month ago, after my last letter to you. You needn’t pretend to be surprised, because you’re not. You suspected. That’s what brought you.”
Nan felt faint with the shock of the realization. She tottered and stretched out her hands to save herself. Glory ran forward and put her arm round her. “Dear Auntie.” Nan drew Glory’s head against her shoulder, sobbing. “Oh my dear, my poor little girl!”
Jehane looked on unmoved, merely saying in her hard flat voice, “If there’s any crying or fainting to be done, seems to me I’m the person to do it. But I’m past all that.”
Nan quieted herself. “It so shocked me. I—I didn’t mean to make a fuss. But won’t you tell me how it all happened?”
“Nothing to tell. It’s just Ocky with his lies and promises.”
“Oh, don’t say that before the children about their father.”
“I’ll say what I like; they’re my children. They’ve seen everything.”
Nan looked round and saw sympathy only in the eyes of Glory. Moggs, balancing herself by her mother’s skirts, piped up and spoke for the rest, “Farver’s a naughty man.” Even her mother was startled by the candor of this endorsement; turning sharply, she caused Moggs to tumble on the floor with a bump. Moggs began to yell.
Grateful for a diversion in any form, Nan knelt and comforted the little girl. Jehane watched her indifferently, as though all capacity for kindness had left her.
When peace was restored, Nan said, “You’re coming home with me, all of you.”