While Eliza busies herself with the cafetière, I climb onto a high stool at the breakfast-bar end of a granite-topped island. There is a row of old servants’ bells on the wall, with an oval plaque underneath each one to indicate where the call is coming from. North Bedroom. Blue Tapestry Room. Dining Room. Study. Library. The Red Room. The Cabinet Room. Picture Gallery. The Chapel. Grey Dressing Room.

‘Most of the rooms those bells rang in are long gone.’ Eliza is arranging biscuits on a stoneware plate. ‘Our house is the sole surviving wing of a once-grand mansion. The wing was a late nineteenth-century addition.’

‘It still seems pretty grand to me.’

She laughs. ‘The central building and the other wing burned down in 1904. There was parkland, these huge grounds, but they sold most of it off and built on it. There’s a bit of the original garden left.’ She points to the right of her own garden, where the tops of several trees are visible on the far side of a tall brick wall. ‘Over there. Do you see?’

‘Yes.’

‘It belongs to the city, now. I love taking Alice there for walks and picnics.’ Eliza smiles at the flowered paper bag I’ve laid on the table. ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh. A little something I thought Alice might enjoy.’

‘How kind.’ She slips the book out of the bag. ‘Horton Hatches the Egg. I love Dr. Seuss – I don’t think I’ve read this one.’

‘It’s one of my favourites.’ There was a copy among the picture books that were part of my forgotten life with my parents, chosen by them. I kept those books in my childhood room. They are probably still there, alongside my father’s edition of A Tale of Two Cities, because I can’t imagine Milly letting anyone move them.

Eliza takes the chair beside me, gives my hand a squeeze. ‘I’m so happy you’re here.’ Her eyes look wet, as if tears are on the verge of spilling. Even now, a stranger’s kindness can sometimes make me cry. Does Eliza have reason to be that raw, too?

‘You must be homesick. Bath is much smaller than London – it’s lovely, but there’s so much we don’t have in comparison. When did you move in – I can’t remember if you said?’

‘I’m not sure I did. A month ago. My husband’s idea.’

‘It must be hard, being away from your friends.’

‘It is. Meeting you helps. I should probably say that I don’t usually pick up new friends in hospitals.’

I laugh. ‘Me neither.’

She reaches across, squeezes my hand. ‘It’s just, my husband—’ She bites back whatever she was about to say.

‘Have you taken Alice to some toddler groups? We have details for loads of them at the hospital. I can grab some flyers for you.’