‘How do you do, ma’am,’ Maggie said politely as she had been taught.

At last Mrs Dawes moved towards her with her hand outstretched. ‘How do you do, Margar … I mean Maggie.’ What a plain little girl, she was thinking as she stared at the child’s mousy brown hair and plump figure. But then she supposed she could always force a few curls if she tied rags in her hair each evening and the child would soon lose a little weight if they were to cut out cakes and treats. She would certainly be much easier on the eye then. And as this was the only child she was being offered …

Maggie was waiting, looking puzzled, as the woman continued to stare at her. The child was completely oblivious as to why she was there, so Sunday quickly stepped in and explained. ‘We visited Mr and Mrs Dawes a short time ago, Maggie dear, and when we told them what a good girl you could be, they expressed a wish to meet you. Isn’t that nice?’

Maggie’s little face was transformed then when she flashed the woman a smile and stuck her chest out. No one had ever come to see her before, as far as she could remember, and it made her feel very special. Usually when they had visitors they spent their time fawning over Kitty.

‘I can count to ten,’ she told Mrs Dawes solemnly and was rewarded when the woman dropped to her level.

‘Well, what a clever girl you are,’ she praised her and Sunday sighed with relief. It appeared that the awkward introductions were over.

‘Why don’t you stay and have a chat to Mr and Mrs Dawes while Sunday and I go and fetch a tray of tea, eh?’ Tom suggested then, the soul of tact.

Maggie nodded happily enough so he took his wife’s elbow and steered her out of the room.

‘What did you have to go and do that for?’ Sunday hissed when they were in the hallway.

‘Stands to common sense they need to get used to each other,’ he pointed out. ‘And they’re not going to feel completely at ease with us hovering over them, are they?’

‘I suppose not,’ Sunday admitted grudgingly. ‘But we’ll only leave them for ten minutes. That should be long enough for them to decide whether they want her or not.’

Tom frogmarched her off to the kitchen to sit by the roaring range and chat to Cook, and for now Maggie and the Daweses were left in peace.

Sunday paced up and down like a cat on hot bricks until Tom eventually said, ‘Right, I think we could go back in now.’

They re-entered the drawing room, carrying a tray, to find Maggie and Mr Dawes in conversation while Mrs Dawes looked on from her seat by the fire.

‘Ah, Maggie here was just telling me all about the cats you have and Barney the dog. I’ve always fancied having a dog myself but I haven’t been able to persuade Stella up to now.’