Later that day, Em’ly answered the doorbell to find a well-dressed couple standing on the doorstep.

‘We do apologise for coming unannounced. I realise we should have written and made an appointment,’ the gentleman said sheepishly, removing his hat. ‘But my wife and I wondered if it might be possible to see Mrs Branning?’

‘Oh.’ Em’ly glanced worriedly towards the stairs. Sunday was upstairs with Zillah and probably wouldn’t want any distractions. But then the couple looked very respectable, so she ushered them into the drawing room, telling them, ‘I’ll just go and see if Mrs Branning is available.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’ The woman smiled at her nervously as Em’ly flitted away.

‘Who is it?’ Sunday asked impatiently when Em’ly tiptoed into Zillah’s room to tell her about the unexpected visitors. Sunday had just ordered her mother to go and have a lie-down, and she didn’t want to leave Zillah alone.

The young girl shrugged. ‘They didn’t say, but they look quite well-to-do and they were so polite I didn’t like to send them away, especially when they’ve come here in the snow. Happen it’s sommat important?’

‘Oh, very well. I suppose I can spare them a few minutes, but will you wait here with Zillah until I get back?’

‘Of course.’ Em’ly took Sunday’s seat when she rose and taking the damp sponge from her hand she continued to gently bathe Zillah’s burning forehead.

Once out on the landing, Sunday shook out her skirt and patted her hair into place before making her way down to the drawing room.

‘Good afternoon.’ She held out her hand. ‘How may I help you?’

The couple looked genuinely surprised. They had expected Mrs Branning to be much older. The man swiftly shook her hand and explained the purpose of their visit.

‘My wife and I heard of your establishment and wondered if you ever allowed any of the orphans in your care to be homed with families?’

It appeared that Treetops’ reputation as a foundling home was spreading, Sunday thought to herself.

‘Well, it’s not impossible,’ she said cautiously. ‘But you must appreciate that I insist on stringent checks being carried out first. Are you looking to offer a child a home?’

The man glanced at his wife. ‘Well, yes, if it was possible. But do forgive me, Mrs Branning. We haven’t formally introduced ourselves. This is my wife, Stella, and my name is Victor Dawes. I own a number of shops in Nuneaton but we live in Witherley, not too far away at all as the crow flies.’

Sunday inclined her head. She was aware of one of his shops at least. Dawes Hardware. She had purchased a great number of things from there over the years.

Mr Dawes then licked his lips anxiously, and as he again glanced at his wife, Sunday saw tears spring to the woman’s eyes and her heart softened. She was a pretty woman, small and delicate, with deep brown hair and blue eyes. Sunday judged the couple to be somewhere in their mid-to late thirties.