“I came to check whether Bobo Carrington was ever here,” I said.

Her face lit up. “She was.”

“How do you know?”

“One of the maids is rather chatty. I don’t know how Bobo’s name came up but she said to me, ‘She was here, you know. Under another name, but I recognized her from her pictures.’”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Do you think there’s a chance I could talk to this maid?”

“I’ll go and see if I can find her,” she said. “Wait here. And if anyone asks, you’ve come to visit me.”

“Of course.” I watched her get up and walk to the door. I was still finding her news hard to take in. I felt shivery and moved closer to the fire. I was sitting with my hands extended toward the flames when Belinda returned with a sheepish-looking redheaded girl.

“This is Maureen,” Belinda said. “She’s from Ireland.” She turned to the girl. “This lady is a friend of Bobo Carrington’s.”

“Are you, miss?” she asked. “I was ever so fond of her. Of course, she didn’t use her proper name when she was here.”

“She was called Kathleen, wasn’t she?”

“That’s right, miss. That’s how we got friendly. She was originally from Ireland too. We talked about it and she knew the place I’d come from. Fancy that.”

“Maureen, I don’t suppose the child’s father came to visit, did he?”

“Oh no, miss. You rarely see a man in here.”

“And did she ever let on who the father was?”

“She didn’t say a word. But someone important, I know that. I got the feeling he couldn’t marry her because he was already married. But she did say it was all over between them. I know she wanted to keep the baby, which most of the ladies don’t. She said she’d like to buy a little house in the country and keep the baby out there. She said she’d got money saved up. Nobody need know. And you know what, miss? She suggested I might like to come and work for her—help take care of the baby.”

“Did she?”

“She did. But I haven’t heard from her since, so I have to think that she’s found someone better. A real nursemaid, maybe.”

She looked incredibly disappointed.

“Maybe someone in her family is looking after the baby,” I suggested.

“That may be right, miss. I know her mum knew about it.”

“Maureen, would you know where the office is? Do they keep copies of the birth certificates?”

She was looking at me strangely now. “No, miss. The birth certificates go straight to the county. We don’t keep many records here . . . and you can understand why, can’t you? The ladies come here because it’s private.”