‘Yes, a nursing home in Leeds,’ Matron answered. ‘That at least is authentic,’ she assured the sergeant, as she wrote down the address on a slip of paper.

‘We could make a few initial enquiries,’ the sergeant said, as he pocketed the information which Matron handed to him.

In a burst of fear, Matron asked, ‘Do you think anything untoward might have happened to Miss Mann?’

‘Difficult to say with the little evidence we have to hand,’ he admitted. ‘Were there any men involved with Miss Mann?’

‘Certainly not that I and my staff know of,’ Matron answered.

‘Well, we’ll see what we unearth in our enquiries, Sister,’ the sergeant promised. ‘And we’ll keep you notified of any significant developments.’

In the post-natal ward, Ada, oblivious to the presence of the police, had been falling in love with her sweet-faced daughter. The breast-feeding, which had been initially tricky, was now well established and Ada was beginning to feel strong and healthy again.

‘When can I go home?’ she asked Dora, who was helping her give little Catherine a bath.

‘When Matron says so, missis, so don’t go pulling rank.’

After Ada had wrapped her daughter’s little wet body in a warm towel, she dried her on her lap, then set about making her nappy.

‘When I used to make other babies’ nappies,’ she said with the safety pin gripped firmly between her teeth, ‘I was a dab hand, but with this little wriggle-bottom I feel all fingers and thumbs.’

‘Settle her down gently and smooth her skin like this,’ Dora said, as she traced a line along Catherine’s kicking legs. ‘Now lift her bottom on to the terry towelling, do the triangular cross-over and secure the pin in the middle.’

‘There, done,’ Ada exclaimed in delight.

Taking a small white nightdress with fasteners at the back, Ada slipped it around her daughter, then held her in her arms for yet another cuddle.

‘I could do this all day long,’ she purred, as she sniffed her daughter’s silky-soft tawny-blonde hair.

‘And ruin her,’ Dora chided. ‘I remember my boys, one on each breast, hungry as lions.’

‘You must have been exhausted,’ Ada cried.

‘Oh, I was,’ Dora assured her. ‘They were both on the bottle at three months, but you never forget those precious days.’

Ada gazed down at sleeping Catherine, with her delicate eyelashes fanned out over her warm pink cheeks; no, she would never forget these perfect, precious days.

After she had returned Catherine to her crib, Ada set about helping Dora dispose of the bath water and wet towels.

‘You should be resting,’ Dora yet again chided.

‘You’re short-staffed, remember?’

Dora nodded. ‘Matron’s promised to advertise Sister Mann’s post,’ she informed Ada. ‘We can’t go on like this, that’s for sure.’

‘That’s a relief,’ Ada said. ‘Edith’s really left us in the lurch.’