Harry Lang muttered something surlily enough, but he did pick up a lamp from somewhere, and held it out for her to see the rest of her way by, and Jessie clambered down the remaining stairs in comparative comfort.
"You'd better give the kid something to eat, and pack her off to bed as soon as you can," he said.

"She's pretty well fagged out, and so am I," he added.
Jessie looked round to see to whom he was speaking, and saw standing in the doorway a little thin woman, with a sharp, cross face, and dull, tired eyes, eyes which looked as though they never brightened, or lost their look of weary hopelessness.

This was her stepmother.
She gave no sign of welcome, no word of comfort to the child, yet, somehow, Jessie's heart went out to her a little.

It might have been only that in her terror of her father, she was ready to cling to any one who might stand between her and him.
"There's bread and butter--" "Bread and butter!" roared her husband, "is that all?
Do you mean to say you haven't got anything hot and tasty for me after all I've been through to get this brat here, for nothing in the world but to help you to do nothing all day long--" "There's plenty for you," she retorted coldly.

"I was speaking of the child.