‘Goodbye, darlings,’ Sybil cried, as she leapt on to the train. ‘Be good for Mummy,’ she said, waving out of the window.

‘Bye, Auntie Sybil,’ Ronnie and Sally called out, as they waved farewell.

‘I love you!’ Sybil sobbed, while the train gathered speed and a cloud of black smoke snatched the children she had grown to love so much from sight.

49. Zophony House

Shortly after Sybil’s departure, Rosie, taking a stroll in the garden, saw a smart little Ford drive up to Mary Vale’s front door; then an equally smart couple climbed out of the car; and less than an hour later Rosie watched them drive away with Sybil’s baby boy, clutched in his new mother’s arms. Feeling like a spy, Rosie observed their coming and going closely just in case one day – if Sybil ever enquired – she could tell her what happened the day her son left the place where his mother had given birth to him.

In the Home itself Sybil was barely missed. Never popular among her fellow residents, some even gleefully mocked Sybil.

‘A relief all round now that Her Majesty has gone.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘I certainly won’t miss her snooty looks.’

‘Nor her swanning around swinging her posh handbag.’

Rosie quickly put a stop to the girls’ catty remarks. ‘She was good to me and my kids,’ she reminded them.

‘Yeah, and it took some time,’ said one of the older residents, who had witnessed Sybil’s previous vindictive behaviour towards the Pickles family.

‘She made up for it a thousand-fold,’ loyal Rosie protested.

Because the residents unanimously liked Rosie they did as she requested and kept their unkind thoughts to themselves, but if the truth were told not one of them regretted seeing the back of Sybil Harwood.

A few days after Sybil’s departure a telegram arrived for Rosie, which sent the blood draining from her pale face.

‘I hope it’s not bad news, dear,’ said Sister Mary Paul, who had picked up the telegram from the telegram boy, who was standing on the front step waiting for an answer.

Knowing she was a slow reader, Rosie thrust it back at the nun. ‘You read it – it’ll be quicker.’

Adjusting her little wire-framed spectacles, the nun carefully read the contents of the telegram.

‘It’s from somebody called Lady Veronica Baldwin.’

Rosie crumpled with relief. ‘Thank God! I thought it was going to be bad news about Mick, my husband,’ she explained.

Mary Paul squinted at the tiny print. ‘She says, Dear Rose, can you please come to Windermere tomorrow? Would be grateful. Address below. Best regards, V.’

Sister Mary Paul looked up. ‘Shall we send a telegram back?’

Flushing with excitement, Rosie nodded. ‘Yes, please,’ she exclaimed.

‘What’s the message?’

Rosie looked flustered. ‘Is there a daily bus to Windermere?’

‘Yes,’ the nun replied.

‘How long does it take?’

‘About two hours,’ Sister Mary Paul guessed.