“Benjie, that’s what you’re going to say. Of course I have. You were there. You witnessed the vows. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, and more. Old houses suck you dry, they make demands, and you cannot leave because there is an obligation. It’s not even my house. If Benjie dies, it would have gone to a cousin, but I hope to soon have a son and heir.”

It would be foolish to challenge her here and now about what Mrs. Dell saw and heard. Such hearsay would not stand up in court, and Mrs. Dell would rather die than damn her son in public. They must have had help. Raynor would have done Benjie’s bidding. Benjie stayed in the background covered with his cloak of respectability.

“It must have worried you that Benjie might have acknowledged Alec Taylor and made him his heir.”

“I thought you saw the family resemblance. Every day I look at a stable boy, who is very bright, good-looking, turning into a clever mechanic, and that’s all he will ever be.”

“At least Alec Taylor looks like Michael, not Benjie.”

“You mean no one will know. But I know. Raynor knows. He pities me. I can’t bear pity, and I loathe that boy.”

“That boy” was outside the window, talking to a man with a pushbike. An advertisement board on the cycle basket proclaimed a shop name: Picture This. When the man turned his head, I saw that he was Maurice Lewis, here in person to deliver my remaining photographs. But there was one secret I wanted to crack.

“Gertrude, how did you know that Mrs. Farrar had written to Harry Aspinall about the closure of the Bluebell Home?”

“Who told you that she had done so?”

“It doesn’t matter who told me.”

“Everything was done properly. Mrs. Farrar was outvoted. It was too late. Harry Aspinall had notice of that meeting and every other meeting. He took no responsibility. I wish he had come. He might have shared the blame for closing the home, instead of it all being directed at me. Though of course men are allowed to be prudent and consider the balance sheet. A woman is simply hard-hearted. Believe me, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

And I wanted to believe her. Perhaps Mrs. Dell was mistaken.

She took my arm. “I’ll walk you to your car. And don’t leave it so long next time. If you’ve had enough of this place, let’s meet for one of our lunches.”

Raynor was beside us. “Shall I escort Mrs. Shackleton? I do believe you and Mr. Brockman are missed, madam.”

Gertrude sighed. “Hasn’t he come out yet?” She leaned to kiss me. “Must go, Kate.”

“Goodbye, Gertrude.”

Raynor remained obtrusively attentive. “I will have Milly gather your belongings. Shall we send them on?”

“Yes that would do.”