They took their leave and once Ben had settled them in the carriage he asked, ‘Where to now?’

‘Ansley Common,’ they said in unison and then they smiled at each other.

Suddenly a proverb that the Reverend Lockett had quoted at the Sunday morning Service sprang into Cissie’s Mind:

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

Proverbs, Chapter 13 verse 12

Chapter Thirty-Three

‘This is it, I think, Ben – can you stop here?’ Lady Huntley shouted through the carriage window as they rattled over Ansley Common. They were outside a small cottage with a very overgrown garden on the outskirts of Ansley village. Ben obligingly drew the horses to a halt as Cissie leaned out to peer at the sign on the gate, which read -L-EB--L. Some of the letters had faded away completely but she was sure that this was Bluebell Cottage. The two women climbed down from the carriage as Ben scratched his head.

‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘The place looks deserted to me.’

His words struck fear into Cissie’s heart. If the cottage was deserted it could only mean that Ada Marshall had passed away and with her would have gone any chance of ever finding her son.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Lavinia said and pushed the gate open. She and Cissie then picked their way down the brambly path and Cissie found herself thinking what a shame it was that the garden was so neglected. It must have been quite beautiful once upon a time. Hollyhocks, delphiniums and other plants were battling for supremacy with the weeds, but sadly it looked as if the weeds were winning.

Once at the door, which was badly in need of a new coat of paint, Lavinia lifted the tarnished brass knocker and rapped on the wood – and then all they could do was wait, each with their heart in their mouth. Just when it seemed that their journey had been in vain they heard a tap-tapping noise from inside and then the door creaked open, the rusty hinges protesting loudly.

An elderly lady with a wizened face peeped out at them and Lady Huntley immediately told her, ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you but the superintendent at Hatter’s Hall, Mr Wilkins, gave us your address. He thought you might be able to help us trace a baby that was born there many years ago.’

The old woman held the door wide. ‘You’d best come in then, though it’s doubtful I’ll remember. There were so many babbies born durin’ the time I worked there, poor little mites.’

They found themselves in a large room that appeared to serve as both the kitchen and the parlour. It was very dark and so cluttered that Cissie didn’t know where to look first. A huge fire was roaring in the grate despite it being summer, and a large tabby cat was curled up in a chair fast asleep at the side of it. The interior of Bluebell Cottage was a complete contrast to the outside, for everywhere was clean and tidy.