Sarah looked at Mrs Simpson and saw the dark circles under her eyes, the worry lines creasing her forehead. She realised that she had been concerned about the toll that the recent accusations against him might have been taking on Dr Simpson, but had failed to consider his wife. The loss of a doctor’s reputation could have catastrophic consequences for his income. Was that why there was so much concern about the missing money? She had assumed that it was an insignificant amount that had gone missing, but now thought that perhaps it was a more substantial sum than she had initially supposed.

‘I will do all I can to help,’ Sarah said, though how such a thing might be achieved she wasn’t sure. Her responsibilities seemed to be multiplying. ‘However, my time is necessarily divided between here and Albany Street, and I suspect that I might have to be at home a little more now.’

Mrs Simpson looked sympathetically towards her.

‘Is Archie getting worse?’

‘He has good days and bad. More bad days of late.’

‘I am sorry to hear that. It must be terribly hard for you. You are so young and so recently married. This should be a time of joy for you and I fear that it is not. But then we all have our crosses to bear, our losses to grieve, do we not?’

Sarah nodded, though she tried not to feel sorry for herself. Despite the likely difficulties to come, she had no regrets. She would rather have her time with Archie cut short than never have had him at all.

‘If there is a further deterioration you should perhaps consider moving in here, where we can help you look after him.’

Sarah was touched by Mrs Simpson’s thoughtfulness amid all the other problems she was wrestling with.

‘You know that I am no stranger to illness,’ Mrs Simpson continued, ‘having nursed my children through the worst of diseases. Of course, you know this. You were here when Mary Catherine died.’

‘Yes, I was,’ Sarah replied. And unlikely to forget it. Carried off by scarlet fever before her second birthday.

‘We lost a child before that too,’ Mrs Simpson went on. ‘Our first born, Maggie.’

Sarah knew the fact of this but not the details. She sat back in her chair, thinking that the best service she could offer Mrs Simpson today was to listen.

‘It haunts me still. Before her fourth birthday, she was attacked with measles and then seized by a very bad form of sore throat. She could neither eat nor drink, took nothing for days. It was so heart-rending to witness her restlessness and distress, not being able to do anything to relieve her. Her demise was almost a relief to us all in the end.’

She looked at Sarah, tears in her eyes, the pain still raw despite the years that had passed since it happened.