nothing, as she was not feeling at all well. ‘But tell me, were you and your husband happy?’ asked Miss Betsey.
This made my poor mother feel worse than ever. ‘I know I wasn’t very sensible – about money – or cooking – or things like that!’ she sobbed. ‘But we loved each other – and he was helping me to learn – and then he died! Oh! Oh!’ And she fell back in her chair, completely unconscious.
Peggotty, who came in just then with the tea, realized how serious the situation was, and took my mother upstairs to bed. The doctor arrived soon afterwards, and stayed all evening to take care of his patient.
At about midnight he came downstairs to the sitting-room where Miss Betsey was waiting impatiently.
‘Well, doctor, what’s the news? How is she?’
‘The young mother is quite comfortable, madam,’ replied the doctor politely.
‘But she, the baby, how is she?’ cried Miss Betsey.
The doctor looked strangely at Miss Betsey. ‘It’s a boy, madam,’ he replied.
Miss Betsey said nothing, but walked straight out of the house, and never came back.
That was how I was born. My early childhood was extremely happy, as my beautiful mother and kind Peggotty took care of me. But when I was about eight, a shadow passed over my happiness. My mother often went out walking, in her best clothes, with a gentleman called Mr Murdstone. He had black hair, a big black moustache and an unpleasant smile, and seemed to be very fond of my mother. But I knew that Peggotty did not like him.
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