At which point her thoughts drifted to Rosie Pickles. Though she had scoffed at the idea of Rosie once being Lady Veronica’s lady’s maid, she nevertheless couldn’t stop herself from wondering if it were actually true. Given the circumstances, it would be useful to get to know somebody (even a servant) who had known Monty in the past. Previously, she wouldn’t have given the time of day to Rosie, but now, Sybil calculated, Mrs Pickles might be able to recall some juicy, useful gossip about Monty. The question was how on earth could she approach a woman whom she had been consistently rude to and whose children she had effectively (by her lies and plotting) exiled from Mary Vale?

21. Happy Days

Lying on her hospital bed and fretting about her children, Rosie inevitably started to think about her husband. Life hadn’t been bad when Mick had been around; he had religiously brought home his pay packet (from the various building sites he worked on) every Friday tea-time, when they had always had fish and chips from the corner chippy for supper. In those days little Ronnie had been biddable while Sally had only been a baby. For the umpteenth time Rosie wondered what had happened to her husband. She had seen him some months ago – the baby in her womb proved that – but, apart from a brief letter telling her that he had arrived safely back at the barracks after his home leave, she had heard nothing until the letter came from the Army reporting Mick ‘Missing in Action’. But what did that really mean? Had Mick been shot during a charge and fallen down dead into a ditch, never to be seen again? She had read of men being captured by the enemy and thrown into prisoner-of-war camps, where they lived in appalling conditions, eating rats and starving to death. The very thought made her blood run cold and sent her troubled mind spiralling into further fear and confusion. Lost in dark thoughts, she jumped when Dora came bustling into the room.

‘How are we?’ the kindly nurse asked cheerfully.

‘Worried sick about my children,’ Rosie confessed.

‘You should be thinking about your own health, lovie,’ Dora urged. ‘You’re not stuck in that bed for the fun of it; we’re trying to sort out that anaemia of yours and build up your strength with good wholesome grub.’

Sticking to what was troubling her, Rosie persisted, ‘The Reverend Mother was kind enough to show me the letter that Mrs Larkin had written telling her that Ronnie and Sally have settled in well,’ she told Dora. ‘But I need to know how they really are.’ Her big eyes filled up with tears as she gazed beseechingly at Dora. ‘Do you think you might have time to pop by and see them for yourself?’