“We do, and I wonder what the world is coming to. All of us in this street miss Mrs. Farrar.”

“Were you close, you and Mrs. Farrar?”

“Always on good terms, and recently she came to talk to us, just as we were moved in here. She was the voice for the children you see.”

Something told me to tread carefully, to wait and hear what Mrs. Arkwright would have to say. If I seemed too eager, too nosey, she might clam up. Yet I took the risk.

“What was Mrs. Farrar’s connection to the Bluebell?”

“She was one of the trustees. When it came to closure, she was outvoted by the others, by Mr. and Mrs. Brockman and Mr. Dell. It broke her heart. She came to talk to me about it. When she started, she couldn’t stop. She was here till midnight, saying the same things over and over. And my man with work in the morning.”

“What did she say?”

“She said subsidence didn’t make a noise. She knew this because as a girl she worked in a house where they woke up one morning and the back garden was gone, and just a big hole. They were lucky to be alive.”

An unwelcome thought came into my head. As a motive for murder, robbery of Mrs. Farrar’s paltry takings did not convince me. Silencing a trustee with a willingness to speak out was a different matter.

“Tell me about the terms of the trust, Mrs. Arkwright.”

“Nay I can’t do that ’cos I don’t know. That trust was set up a lot of years ago by a man with a good head on his shoulders. He knew that fools and money are soon parted. He put his brass in safe places until it grew and grew. And there was a lot of money in that trust when they wound it up. Oh they said to Mrs. Farrar that there wasn’t, but she had a head on her shoulders as well.”

Mrs. Farrar had tried to stop the closure of the children’s home, and failed. Any other person may have given up. She seemed unlikely to do so.

Mrs. Arkwright’s hand went to her mouth. “I shouldn’t be saying this. We could be out on our ear.”

I rose to go. “Mrs. Arkwright, what you say won’t go farther than this room. May I ask the same of you?”

“You can that, lass.”

“Then we’ll talk another day.”

I put on my coat.

She touched my arm. “Mrs. Brockman’s your friend. Might you find out about the children?”

“I’ll try.”

“And I won’t rest until Stephen’s let out of that place.” She walked me to the gate. “I made sure all the Bluebell lads washed their necks. Last night I woke from a dream about Stephen. He was in his cell. I lifted his chin, and I heard myself saying, I’m glad to see you’ve a clean neck.”

Chapter Nineteen

There is no better way of having a person on your side than to promise a flattering portrait. Alec, the railway enthusiast, was sitting on a bench by the stable door, wearing Sunday-best trousers, an old woolly, and a tweed cap.