Isabel sat in the park and chatted to Benedict in baby talk. She made a point of sitting away from the nannies and they allowed for this. Initially, they had praised the child and tried to strike up conversations, but once they found out who Isabel was, they respectfully kept their distance as they realised she did not want company. Then the chatter about Mrs Dumas had reached their ears, through a grapevine of scullery maids, tweenies, and finally cooks and butlers, until the knowledge that Henry Dumas had saddled his barren wife with the child of an unmarried woman, supposedly a widow of good standing, had resounded around London. Now they watched her carefully, seeing her obvious love for the child, and were frankly amazed by it.

Briony got out of her cab and told the cab driver to wait for her. She walked into Barking Park with a feeling of excitement at the prospect of seeing Benedict. She was dressed all in lilac, her hair pinned up in glorious tendrils under a matching hat. She walked with a dignity that was envied by most of the women who saw her, and her small-breasted figure looked just right for the fashions of the day.

Isabel saw her walking towards her and smiled widely. Benedict noticed her and started to clap chubby hands together, crowing with excitement. Briony sat down on the bench and looked into green eyes so like her own.

‘How is he?’

‘Thriving. Look at him. He doesn’t stop eating and poor Sally is run off her feet looking after him. How are you?’

Briony peeled off her gloves and took her son’s hands in her own.

‘I’m OK. We open up soon, so I’m really busy.’

Isabel just nodded at this. The fact that Briony was to open a bordello shocked her more than she liked to admit.

‘How’s your mother?’

‘Funny you should ask that, I’m going to see her today. Eileen’s bad again. It’s a shame because she started to get well for a while. Kerry and Bernie are fine as usual, and poor Rosalee ... well, Rosalee never changes except to get heavier.’

‘Did your mother take Eileen to the doctor I told you about?’

‘Oh, him, yes. He wanted her put away, but we’ll never allow that. We’ll look after her.’

The two women were quiet now, both admiring the child in the perambulator.

‘His hair’s getting darker.’

‘Yes, but he’s still got your red highlights. I think he’ll probably be a dark brown, like me.’

Briony nodded. She’d noticed that Isabel often tried to point out likenesses to herself in the child and far from being irritated by it, felt sorry for her. If poor Isabel had had a normal man and her own children she would have been an exemplary mother, her treatment of Benedict proved that.