“And taking a big risk myself. No, Kate, harsh as this may seem, I want a baby from a good source. There wasn’t one Bluebell child I would have wanted, none I could have taken to my heart.”

I tried to think fast, and avoid involvement without seeming unkind, or shocked at her callousness. After all, I had never considered adopting. It must be something that begins to loom huge, large as life—because that is just what it is. Life.

“Then if you’re set on it, I’m sure you’ll persuade Benjie.”

“One infant might jump out straight away, so to speak. Benjie would be more detached than I in considering lineage and so on.”

I doubted anyone would be more detached than Gertrude.

In one of those sudden insights that might turn out to be completely wrong, I wondered if the existence of Alec confirmed Gertrude’s feeling that barrenness was her burden, and not Benjie’s. Benjie had brought Alec to Thorpefield Manor. He was a potential heir. Gertrude could not have missed the Brockman family resemblance.

Fortunately, she left that subject hanging and asked me about my fascinating project.

“Let me take a picture of you, on the window seat—that outfit is just perfect. And as soon as Benjie comes home, if the light’s still good, I’ll capture the two of you for posterity.”

“He’ll like that. He’s had rather a lot on his mind lately.”

I resisted the urge to appear to curious and ask what was on his mind. There would be a better moment for that.

“You both take a good photograph. I think young Milly will too. She tells me she’s a Sunday school teacher, so perhaps I’ll photograph her in her Sunday best.”

“Oh take her in uniform, her best is rather shabby. But I suppose that won’t show up in photographs.”

“Everything looks better if the light is kind.”

“Did Milly look after you?”

“Perfectly.”

“If you’re not accustomed to having a maid, I suppose you won’t mind her clumsiness.”

“What is her background?”

“She’s the late child of a feckless widowed mother. For a short time, I had a girl from the children’s home, where they were properly trained, but she turned into a rude minx when she realised she could find work in the mill.”

A shaft of light made the window seat the perfect spot for Gertrude. I chatted, hoping to make her feel less self-conscious when I took her photograph. “It’s such a shame that the Bluebell Home had to close.”

“Yes it was a blow.”

“I would have liked a picture.”

“We might have one somewhere, in the Trust Fund files.”

“That would be good. And there’s a camera club in Rothwell. I’ve met some of the members from there. I’ll probably say hello to one or two, offer to include some of their pictures. Snappers can be jealous of their own territory.”

Gertrude laughed. “You’ll endear yourself to them I’m sure.”

Benjie arrived home while the afternoon was still light. He is one of those men who must bend over backwards to prove that his wife’s widowed friend is the person he is most delighted to welcome into his home.