Mrs. Compton poked at the searing meat and then the potatoes with the same spoon and beckoned one of her assistants. “Do not let that burn,” she instructed, pointing at the sauté pan. “I’ll be back in a tick. Put some of these mushrooms in with the pork,” she added, taking the box from me and thrusting it at the assistant. “Have someone chop ’em for you.”

Mrs. Compton wiped her hands on her apron, leaving dark streaks alongside those already there, and ushered me out of the kitchen.

I caught sight of Mrs. Shaw—the woman who’d entertained Grace while I’d spoken to Mrs. Compton. She looked puzzled when she spied me, but turned to say something to another maid, her voice lost in the din, and seemed to forget about me.

Mrs. Compton led me outside into the cold, not stopping for her coat. We moved into a narrow passageway between buildings, the wind driving straight down it to whip our skirts and the loose tendrils of Mrs. Compton’s gray hair.

“I’m very worried, Mrs. Holloway. About the children, as Elsie told you.”

“Can you be certain they are gone?” I asked. “Gone in a sinister way, I mean.”

“No.” Mrs. Compton wrapped her hands in her soiled apron. “I just know the matron said there’d be two less for dinner for the time being. I have to be so careful with my portions, you understand.”

I did, indeed. A cook had to measure out and account for every spoonful. If the exact amount of food purchased did not reach the master’s dining room table, she could be accused of stealing the difference either to sell or eat herself.

The budget at the Foundling Hospital would be vigilantly controlled. I imagined the extra two helpings would not be distributed among the other children, but the amount of food purchased would simply be cut, until the next children filled the gap.

“Have you asked what happened to them?” I asked.

“I’ve tried but it ain’t easy. I think that Bessie knows something. She’s been jumpy all week, especially when the police were here.” Mrs. Compton wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “The police came to tell us about poor Nurse Betts. A wicked world it is, Mrs. Holloway.”

“I agree.” I thought of poor Nurse Betts, dying with strangers, and wondered if her family, from whom she was estranged, regretted that estrangement now. Inspector McGregor likely went to speak to them himself. I hoped he’d broken the news kindly. “Did the police have any idea who killed her?” I asked.

“They say not. Nurse Betts had gone to a dreadful area, from what they said. Could have been any villain. It’s such a sad thing. She was so fond of the children.” Unashamed tears trickled down Mrs. Compton’s cheeks.