Isobel reddened. ‘Just a touch.’

‘You still haven’t moved upstairs, so I was going to suggest you choose some paint for your old room.’ Ann pointed to the room above the scullery. ‘The one you have been so determined not to give up. But I’m now wondering if that will be necessary.’

Isobel sighed and got to her feet. ‘Miss Ann, sometimes you are so sharp you’ll cut yourself.’

‘I’m right, though, aren’t I?’ Ann took a last mouthful of tea. ‘It’s about time you had a little happiness, and if Keith and I can find it so unexpectedly, then why not the two of you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Now, have there been any letters? Post that came when I was away?’

‘On the hall table. It’s all next to the heap of hats and gloves that you left there last night.’

Ann went to investigate, returning with the five envelopes.

‘A bill. Another bill. An official letter about . . .’ she tore open the envelope, ‘ . . . repairs to the pavement. Yet another bill. And,’ she paused, ‘a hand-addressed letter from person or persons unknown. How intriguing. I hope this is a nice surprise and not something unpleasant.’ She turned the envelope over and examined the back. ‘Thick paper. No seal. No return address. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. Pass me the bread knife before you go upstairs, there’s a dear.’

But Isobel had already left. Ann leaned forward and grabbed the knife herself, shaking the crumbs from the serrated edge.

Chapter 43

October 1931

When Isobel came back downstairs, she found the scullery door wide open. A brisk breeze was coursing through the kitchen, causing the fire in the grate of the range to burn more brightly than it had before. The opened envelope lay on the table. She assumed the door had been blown open by the wind and went to close it, but was surprised to see Ann standing at the bottom of the garden, leaning against Finlay’s plum tree. She seemed to be slumped against the trunk, using it for support.

Isobel pulled her cardigan more closely around her. ‘Is everything alright?’ she shouted. There was no response. She hurried up the path which led to the far end of the garden. ‘Is everything alright?’ she called again.

Ann didn’t seem to hear the words, and it wasn’t until Isobel was standing right in front of her that she looked up. She held out the letter and shook her head, as though she had run out of words.

Isobel took the sheet of paper and steered Ann back towards the house. It really was too cold to be standing about outside without any stockings on.

‘Read it,’ demanded Ann. ‘The absolute cheek of it.’ She had changed from being silent to positively sparking with anger.

‘What?’

‘Just read it. I can’t . . . just read.’