The other two had similar stories. Rose listened in horror.

‘But did not the nuns confront the fathers of your children?’

‘That’s not their way,’ said Cissy. ‘The women always get the blame. They work us like slaves and then, after the babies are taken away from us for adoption, the nuns find us places as servants. We either put up with it or we’re out on the street.’

Their sad stories had taken up most of the rest of the morning. Just before Sister Agnes appeared, Daisy said, ‘I’m going to give those nuns a piece of my mind.’

‘Don’t,’ said Rose. ‘They’ll punish you.’

‘What? That bunch o’ crows?’

On the road back, Rose listened with growing apprehension as Daisy sounded off to Sister Agnes about the state of the unmarried mothers.

In the convent, Sister Agnes turned to Rose, ‘Go to your cell. You, Daisy, come with me.’

She marched Daisy up to a wide landing. The community room was on one side and the bakery on the other, and on the wall was a great black crucifix.

‘Kneel down and kiss the floor,’ commanded Sister Agnes.

‘No, I won’t.’

Sister Agnes opened the bakery door. ‘Sister Monica! Come here.’

A large burly nun emerged. ‘Daisy is in disgrace and refuses to kiss the ground. She must take her penance.’

Daisy found herself grabbed by strong arms and her face was thrust down towards the floor. She fought and kicked and struggled but her face was pressed down on the wooden landing.

‘Hold her there for an hour,’ said Sister Agnes calmly.

Daisy wriggled and fought but Sister Monica appeared to be as strong as a stevedore. At last all the fight went out of Daisy and she lay on the floor sobbing. After an hour, she was marched down to the chapel and ordered to pray.

When she was finally allowed to go back to her cell, she found Rose darning socks. Rose listened in horror as Daisy described her punishment.

The usually cocky Daisy looked broken. ‘Let’s try to get out of here,’ she said.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment,’ said Rose. ‘They will be watching our every move. I think we should behave like model ladies until their fears are laid to rest. Then, when they feel secure, we shall find a way to leave here.’

Daisy began to cry. ‘Hush,’ said Rose, hugging her. ‘We’ll find a way.’

As the end of March approached, Harry’s relief at having Rose somewhere he knew she was safe began to ebb. His brief infatuation for Dolores seemed like a bad dream. He felt guilty at having paraded her at the opera. He had employed a new secretary with impeccable credentials. Her name was Miss Fleming. She was in her forties and worked like a machine. He called on Kerridge periodically, but the man who had followed Rose to Thurby-on-Sea appeared to have disappeared into thin air.

Kerridge said he had contacted the French police but they had been of no help whatsoever. Dolores Duval’s lovers had been very powerful men. But they did volunteer the information that Dolores Duval had left a will, leaving everything to a certain Madame de Peurey.