Remembering the baby Rosie had lost and what she herself had put her through, Sybil could only nod her head in agreement.

‘I’ve worked in service before,’ Rosie continued. ‘If I could pick up work in one of the big houses in Kendal or Lancaster, I wouldn’t be far away from the children.’

‘That’s a possibility,’ Sybil agreed, though she secretly wondered how much hard physical graft her frail friend could actually undertake: mopping flag floors, clearing and setting fires, working in a busy kitchen, lifting heavy pots and pans would very soon exhaust Rosie. She decided to consciously change the subject, at least for now.

‘I’m looking forward to our swim later on.’

Rosie gave a shudder. ‘You won’t catch me in that dangerous seawater,’ she declared.

‘It’s only dangerous when you don’t check the tide,’ Sybil told her. ‘I’ve checked today’s tides – we’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll sit it out and keep an eye on the picnic,’ Rosie joked. Rising, she shook out her creased dress. ‘Can’t hang around here, I’ve got chores to do.’

‘Me too,’ Sybil groaned. ‘That’s one thing I won’t miss when I leave here: all the wretched laundry!’

After finishing her laundry work a little earlier than usual, Sybil headed into the sitting room, where some of the morning papers were often left lying around. Perched in the window seat of the large bay window that overlooked the sweep of garden that ran down to the sea, now at high tide and swilling over the marsh, Sybil read the front-page war news, then turned to the society page, which she regularly skimmed for the occasional gossip about former debutante friends. Her eyes grew large as she read the headlines in a column at the bottom of the page: BRIGADIER MONTY BALDWIN AND LADY VERONICA BALDWIN TO SEPARATE.

‘Oh, my God!’ Sybil gasped, as she held the paper close to her flushed face so she could read the report. It has come as a shock to hear that the glittering couple, well known for their love of the arts and fine entertainment, are to separate. I’m told by close friends that it is an amicable arrangement between Brigadier Baldwin and his wife, Lady Veronica, who will have custody of their only child, Marigold.

Speechless Sybil could only clutch the paper with trembling hands.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she managed to splutter, before running out of the room in search of Rosie, whom she found covered in soot from her morning’s work cleaning out the Home’s grates. ‘Look!’ she cried and thrust the paper in Rosie’s face. ‘Read it!’

Rosie, who was a very slow reader and pretty short-sighted too, squinted at the paper. ‘What?’ she mumbled.

Impatient Sybil read the headlines for her. ‘Lady Veronica and Monty are divorcing.’

With a loud clang Rosie dropped the poker she was holding.

‘Can you believe it?’