She got up, throwing on her clothes any old how, eager to go up on deck and see her new home. But her body betrayed her, rebelling at such haste. Clapping her hand to her mouth, she fled to the water closet. When she returned to the cabin, she found Miss Pershore sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, staring at her as if she’d grown two heads. ‘You’re expecting a child, aren’t you?’ she demanded in a tone of both triumph and disgust. ‘Yes, I am.’ ‘I’ve wondered all along whether you really did have a husband, because you never talk about him, and that’s not natural. I think you’re just saying you’re a widow to escape the consequences of fornication!’ Cassandra drew herself up to her full height and stared down at the scrawny, scowling woman. She’d tried in vain to get on with Miss Pershore, to stay polite, but if she let this accusation go unchallenged, her child would be labelled a bastard and the stigma of that would ensure the poor little thing would be treated badly throughout its life.
