As Edith searched for the right-sized gown for Rosie, she thought with regret of the irksome links she still had with her mother. Ideally, she would have liked nothing more than to never communicate with Mrs Mann again, but Edith knew that in order to keep her happy (in other words, drunk) she had to regularly supply her mother with money. Without it, Mrs Mann would unquestionably kick up a stink, start asking questions, possibly even drag herself to Harrogate and make mortifying enquiries at Edith’s genteel former place of work. The thought of her mother bumping into Charles or any of her posh colleagues, reeling drunk and slurring her speech, brought Edith out in a hot sweat. Cunningly she made sure that she never sent any correspondence bearing her Mary Vale address – that would be asking for trouble. The appeasement money she allocated to her mother was in the form of a postal order sent from the post office in Kendal; though Edith was uncomfortable with the fact that the postmark would appear on the envelope, she comforted herself in the knowledge that her mother wouldn’t know where Kendal was, and would probably be too drunk to catch a train or a bus these days even if she did. No, Edith couldn’t risk upsetting her mother while she was working at Mary Vale; she would bide her time and wait until she was absolutely sure that any gossip surrounding her scandalous affair had run its course; then she would look for work elsewhere and start to withdraw from her family altogether.

After Sister Mann’s thorough bed-wash and change of clothes, exhausted Rosie lay back against her bank of pillows.

‘Dinner’s on the way,’ Edith announced.

With no appetite at all, Rosie smothered a groan; she wasn’t looking forward to her dinner at all, and she certainly didn’t want it delivered by Sybil Harwood. Forcing a cheery smile, Sybil laid the tray down on Rosie’s bedside. ‘Here we are, tasty liver and onions, make sure you eat up – it’ll do you the world of good.’

As soon as Sybil was out of sight, Rosie grimaced as she pushed the tray aside. She wouldn’t trust that young madam as far as she could throw her, and for all her hearty words there was a wary look in Sybil’s eyes that suggested the feeling was mutual. Little did Rosie know that the snooty young woman wheeling the loaded dinner trolley up and down the ward was desperate to make friends with her for reasons she could never have imagined.

23. Sweet-talking Rosie