After giving the new resident a brief introduction to the running of the Home, seeing her weary expression Ada suggested she continue the conversation the following day, when Sybil would be more refreshed. Completing her duties on both the ante- and post-natal wards, Ada then shared supper with the residents in the dining room before she busied herself helping Sister Mary Paul to clear away the dishes.

‘Well, what do you think of the newcomer?’ the old nun whispered the second she and Ada were alone together. Before Ada could open her mouth to reply, the old nun rushed on. ‘From the look of her, with her fine clothes and posh voice, I’d say she’s in for a bit of a shock.’

Arching her fine black eyebrows, Ada said, ‘Now, now, Mary Paul, we’ve had rich girls here before and they’ve all survived.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Sister Mary Paul answered lugubriously. ‘But Miss Harwood looks like the sort that’s used to getting her own way, and that attitude won’t go down well at Mary Vale.’

‘Everyone here is in the same boat,’ Ada grinned as she patted her tummy. ‘And that includes me too!’

Just a mention of Ada’s pregnancy sent the nun off at a tangent. ‘I’m worried to death about you leaving here,’ she blurted out. ‘You need taking care of,’ she declared indignantly.

Seeing the nun agitated and upset stirred Ada’s gentle heart, and, drawing Mary Paul into her arms, she hugged her tightly. ‘Darling Sister, I’m no different from the thousands of other pregnant women all around the country who are on their own.’

‘Why can’t you stay here with us?’ Sister Mary Paul implored with tears in her eyes.

‘Because I can’t live in the single room in the convent building, and I certainly don’t want to join the residents in the Home,’ Ada patiently explained for the umpteenth time. ‘I’ll go back home to Leeds when the time comes for my baby to be born – now please stop worrying.’

Sister Mary Paul gave a grudging smile; if she could have had her own way, she would have locked her beloved Ada in the pantry and kept her there until she went into labour.

Upstairs in the privacy of her single room, Sybil unpacked her clothes and hung them in the rickety old wardrobe: cashmere twinsets, pretty dresses, pleated skirts, brand-new black suede court shoes.

‘Ridiculous!’ she scolded herself out loud. ‘Did you think you were going to the Ritz?’ Running her hands along the line of clothes, she sighed miserably. ‘This lot hardly fits me now – goodness only knows what size I’ll be by the time I give birth.’