When I was a child at Gateshead, Bessie the nursemaid used to say that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble to come. For a whole week now I had dreamed of a small child every night, and perhaps Bessie was right, as a message came from Gateshead.

It appeared that my cousin John Reed, who had spent and wasted all his money and some of his mother's, and been in debt or in prison Most of his life, had killed himself a week before And then Mrs Reed, whose health had been badly affected by worrying about her son, had suddenly fallen ill when she heard of his death Although she could hardly speak, she had recently managed to express a wish to see me And so my cousins Eliza and Georgiana had sent their coachman, Robert, to bring me back to Gateshead

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