‘It goes on to say that you gave birth to a boy in the following May’ – Mr Wilkins glanced at her sympathetically and cleared his throat – ‘and that he was born dead.’

‘But he wasn’t! He wasn’t, I tell you! I heard him cry. I saw him waving his little arms, but they took him straight away from me and I never saw him again!’ Cissie had leaped to her feet and there were tears on Lavinia’s cheeks as she rose to put her arms about her. This was what she had feared.

‘It’s all right, Cissie,’ she soothed. ‘Try to stay calm. We believe you, don’t we, Mr Wilkins?’

He nodded, his eyes sad. ‘Yes, of course we do, my dear. It’s an unfortunate truth that most of the babies that were born here back then were certified stillborn although some of their poor mothers swore that they weren’t. After Augustus Crackett was dismissed, an investigation revealed that he had been running a very lucrative business on the side selling the little mites to childless couples. However, I’m afraid that this knowledge doesn’t help us. We have nothing to go on. No way of knowing where your little man may have gone.’

Cissie began to sob then. Harsh wracking sobs that shook her frame as all her hopes turned to ashes.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Branning.’ Mr Wilkins looked so genuinely distressed that under other circumstances, Cissie could almost have pitied him.

He was strumming his fingers on the desk and then something occurred to him. ‘There is just one person who may be able to help you,’ he said. ‘If she’s still alive, that is. As you can appreciate, many staff have come and gone over the decades, but when I took over about fifteen years ago now there was one lady who had worked here while Augustus Crackett was in charge. She retired about five or six years ago now and must be approaching eighty. I remember her telling me once that she was responsible for looking after the babies that survived until Crackett found new families for them, but as I said … she may not still be alive.’

‘But it would be worth finding out,’ Cissie said, her voice ragged. ‘Could you tell me where she lived?’

Rising from his desk, he approached another cupboard. ‘This is the information I have on the staff,’ he muttered. ‘If I still have it, that is. A lovely woman she was, if I remember rightly. Ada Marshall was her name … Ah!’ He held a sheet of paper up and smiled from ear to ear. ‘Mrs Ada Marshall, Bluebell Cottage, Ansley Common, Nuneaton. Not far away at all, thankfully.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Cissie said as she mopped at her tears. At least there was a tiny ray of hope again now, and she would never be able to thank him enough.

She and Lavinia rose from their seats then and Mr Wilkins saw them to the front door personally. Once there, he shook hands with both of them and told Cissie, ‘I wish you luck, Mrs Branning, and I will pray that you will be successful in the search for your son. Now I will bid you a very good day, ladies.’