‘I remember her being laid out on a white bed in the parlour – this was when we lived on Albany Street, not far from where you are now. Her eyes were open, and she looked so beautiful. It seemed so strange that she did not breathe or move.’

Sarah had no difficulty imagining what had just been described. She had helped to lay out Mary Catherine’s tiny body.

‘She was the first to be buried in the family plot, at Warriston Cemetery. Now her sister lies with her and I wonder how many more of my children I will lay to rest before I die myself.’ Mrs Simpson paused, looked down at her hands. ‘And yet some mothers give them away. Hand them over to strangers.’

Sarah was confused for a moment until she realised that they were now talking about the foster children, illegitimate issue of patients in Dr Simpson’s private practice who Mrs Simpson helped place with other families. It was seldom openly discussed but the household staff knew about it.

‘I write to them, you know. The mothers who give their children up. Let them know about the child’s progress. I don’t know how they stand it.’

‘I suppose they have no choice.’

Sarah felt the conversation was drifting into difficult territory. She had her own opinions about wealthy men who refused to publicly acknowledge their own offspring.

‘I understand the Quintons have adopted one of your charges,’ she said.

‘Yes. They have no children of their own and so agreed to take the child. A little boy. They have moved into a large property on Castle Street. Took over the lease from a friend. I think that their intention had been to rent out rooms to students, but Mary Quinton tells me that so far no boarders of suitable quality have been found.’

‘I can imagine Mr Quinton is exacting in the extreme with regard to the suitability of potential tenants,’ Sarah said. ‘He seems most fastidious in every regard. But is he quite sure about the missing money? Is it possible he could be mistaken?’

‘He assures me he has checked the accounts several times over.’ This was said emphatically, as though questioning Mr Quinton’s book-keeping skills was in some way sacrilegious. ‘He is in no doubt, and all of a sudden I don’t feel quite at ease in my own home.’

Sarah felt uncertain of herself, wary of being given a role she was not prepared for, nor qualified to hold. Was she being spoken to as a friend? Was Mrs Simpson seeking counsel or merely a receptive ear? And when she felt in better spirits, would Sarah revert to being seen as housemaid and nurse? She felt the need to escape from this conversation and got to her feet.