Glenys smiled at the little girl, but she too was growing tired, and suddenly she realised her own position. At present she was the nearest thing to a relative the two children had, and they treated her with affection and respect. But if this old couple really were her charges’ grandparents then they were bound to look upon her in a different light. Glenys, who had always known she was a foundling, realised that once the children were settled in this beautiful countryside they would have no further need of her. Oh, they had kind hearts and a great many good intentions, but things would change, and she was not at all sure that, for her, it would be for the better. But though she hesitated for a moment she chided herself for so doing. It would be shabby indeed to grudge the children success, so she pinned a bright smile on her face, took Mo’s hand, and set off at a smart pace along the high-banked lane. ‘I think you’re right, Mo,’ she said. ‘Best foot forward, troops.’

They followed the twistings and turnings of several small lanes, and would have missed the farm altogether but for the weathercock twirling on top of the big old barn as the wind caught it. Glenys saw that both Jimmy and Mo were looking tired, but as she pushed open the rickety gate which led into the neglected front garden Mo tugged at her hand. ‘Look!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Auntie Glenys, look!’

Glenys’s eyes followed the little girl’s pointing finger, but her brain could make little sense of Mo’s excitement. The front of the house was clad in shining ivy, whilst the ground at their feet was scattered with the scarlet and gold leaves of a Virginia creeper. But when she stepped forward to examine the door more closely, she saw what the child had been pointing at: a tiny white rose, paper thin on its bare twig. Not the rose of high summer, indeed, but none the less a rose for all that.

Chapter 11

GLENYS REACHED UP to an old brass knocker, a bull’s head, green with neglect, and rapped sharply. Then she turned to Mo. ‘You’re a very observant little girl. I’m sure you really are right, and this is your mother’s old home. But why are we standing here waiting for someone to open the door? Mrs Evans told us that the old couple had moved to the back of the house. Come on.’

The three of them left the door and turned into an overgrown pathway which led to the farmyard itself. There they paused, looking around them. What they could see was shabby but not neglected; Glenys glanced towards the farmhouse and noted that the red-and-white chequered curtains that hung at the windows of what she guessed to be the kitchen were faded but clean. Then a dog, a black and white border collie who had been lying on the cobbles, jumped to its feet and gave a warning growl, wagging its plumy tail.