‘It’s those girls, those distant relatives of ours,’ said Bert. ‘Seem to be settling in.’

‘Shh!’ said the doctor.

Rose had started to sing ‘Just a Song at Twilight’. Other villagers came to join them. The evening air was soft with a hint of summer to come.

Then a smart landau came along and stopped. ‘What’s going on?’ cried an authoritative voice.

‘Lady Blenkinsop,’ muttered Bert gloomily. ‘We’re listening to one of my relatives singing,’ he said aloud.

Lady Blenkinsop listened as well. ‘Very good,’ she said at last. ‘They will sing for me. Fetch them out.’

What would Kerridge say to this development? wondered Bert. But Lady Blenkinsop, for all her airs and grand house, was only the widow of an ironmaster who had bought his title. And she never went to London.

The crowd waited until Rose and Daisy came out. There was a polite spattering of applause.

‘Come here!’ barked Lady Blenkinsop.

By the light of the carriage lamps, Rose saw a very small, sour-looking woman dressed in widow’s weeds.

Daisy suddenly wished Rose would look, well, more messy. Even in a plain white blouse and skirt, Rose looked impeccable and she had dressed her hair fashionably.

Daisy curtsied but Rose held herself ramrod-stiff and demanded in glacial tones, ‘Yes?’

‘Yes, what, my girl? I have a title.’

‘What do you want?’ asked Rose.

‘I want you and the other one to come and sing for me tomorrow afternoon.’

‘I am afraid we are otherwise engaged,’ said Rose. ‘Good evening to you. Come, Daisy.’

Rose turned on her heel and strode back into the house. ‘That uppity little minx needs a taste of the birch,’ fumed Lady Blenkinsop. ‘Drive on.’

Two days later, Bert was summoned by the police commissioner in York. Lady Blenkinsop had accused him of insolence.

‘I will go with you,’ said Rose.

‘You’ll make matters worse,’ groaned Bert.

Sally returned after seeing Bert off at the station. ‘Do not worry,’ said Rose. ‘If your husband is dismissed, then my father will support him.’

The policeman’s wife whipped round. ‘And you think that’ll solve the problem, lass? My Bert’s proud of his job. You’ve brought nothing but trouble.’

‘We must do something,’ whispered Daisy. ‘If only we could phone the captain.’

‘I could do that,’ said Rose. ‘I know we were told not to phone or write but I could pretend to be his cousin and talk in a sort of code. We must move quickly. We can’t use the telephone in the police station or the girl in the exchange might tell Bert. I know, we’ll get to Plomley. I’ll just tell Sally we’re going out for a walk. I do find all this use of first names rather peculiar, but Bert said it makes us sound more like family.’

They hitched a lift to Plomley on a farm cart.

It was an old-fashioned wooden telephone kiosk in Plomley, not one of the new boxes.

Rose got through to the operator and gave her Harry’s number, shovelled the required pennies into the slot and waited.